Harvest

Lumian did not dare catch his breath for long, fearing that other monsters might arrive. After a brief rest, he endured the ache in his neck and back and the lingering discomfort within his body, then squatted down beside the monster's corpse. His right hand still gripped the axe, worried that his prey was not entirely dead and might suddenly jump up like the skinless monster had before. Using only his left hand, he searched the creature's body and found three 5-kopeck copper coins known as "ricks," as well as an empty cloth pouch. "Just this little?" Lumian was disappointed not by how little money he had found, but by the absence of anything tied to supernatural powers. If not for the latter, why would he have fought this monster in a life-and-death struggle for no good reason? Had he not possessed a certain specialness within the dream, he would already have become food for the beast. Lumian pushed himself up and looked toward the rifle-wielding monster's severed head lying to the side, praying that what he wanted was there. Right at that moment, he saw specks of deep-crimson light precipitate from the monster's puncture-riddled body. Like fireflies, they drifted slowly and irresistibly toward the same spot. Lumian stared with wide eyes, a surge of joy welling up in his chest: This phenomenon was definitely closely tied to supernatural powers! Before long, a viscous patch of deep crimson formed over the creature's chest, and no more motes of light emerged from around it. Lumian cautiously bent down and reached out to grasp the mass. The substance was very slick; it slipped twice before he managed to pick it up. He weighed it in his palm: Very light, with a distinct texture and elasticity, its surface exceptionally smooth... "What on earth is this?" Lumian once again realized that in terms of mysticism, he was truly illiterate. Amidst his silent mutterings, he caught a faint whiff of metallic blood coming from the strange crimson mass, while he himself quickly grew irritable, an indescribable savagery swelling within his body. For a brief moment, Lumian wanted to raise his axe and hack into the monster's corpse a few more times just to vent the violent impulse within him. Fortunately, Aurore had always stressed that pursuing supernatural power was a dangerous endeavor. He had stayed on guard and kept close watch over his own state, never letting down his vigilance in his joy, and caught the anomaly in time. "It affects my mental state?" Lumian dropped the crimson mass into the cloth pouch he had retrieved from the monster. The moment direct contact was broken, he immediately regained the calm that followed a fight to the death and the lingering trace of excitement that had not yet subsided. His body still trembled faintly. "As expected!" Lumian whispered in delight once he returned to normal. He promptly tied the pouch tight and hung it from his belt loop. After a moment's thought, Lumian took the pouch down again and stuffed it into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. It was less likely to get lost that way, and gave him a greater sense of security! As he unbuttoned his clothes, a book tucked behind his back lost its support and fell with a thud. Its surface was riddled with dents, the whole thing battered and tattered. This was the workbook Aurore had compiled for Lumian, titled *Mock Training Collection for the Unified Higher-Education Entrance Examination*. It had a soft cover and a large format, making it suitable for outer protection and filling empty gaps. Today, at the crucial moment, it had blocked a blast from the hunting rifle for Lumian. Of course, the credit did not belong to this single book alone. Lumian picked up the workbook, walked back to the monster's corpse, and chuckled at his dead prey. "See? Knowledge really is power!" Having said that, he initially intended to toss the workbook right onto the monster's face, but reluctant to discard something his sister had poured so much effort into compiling, he could not bring himself to do it. He slipped the workbook back into his belt behind his waist, bent over, dragged the creature's corpse over to the pit trap, and threw it in. Then, he kicked the monster's severed head down after it. Having briefly tidied up the battlefield, Lumian endured the pain and discomfort, secured the axe, took the now-bulletless hunting rifle along with his steel fork and shovel, and retreated toward the wilderness. He kept watch behind him as he walked, not daring to be careless in the slightest. Finally, he crossed the wilderness, returned home, went up to the second floor, and entered his bedroom. Only then did Lumian truly relax. The pain in his body, the pronounced discomfort, and an overwhelming exhaustion erupted all at once. He sat on the edge of the bed and rested for a long while before regaining some mobility. Instead of rushing to sleep and leave the dream, he stripped off his clothes, put away the books, and walked over to the full-length mirror on the wardrobe to inspect his injuries. His neck was badly swollen, with five bloody finger marks visible amidst the dark bruising. His back bore several distinct patches of contusions, while minor scrapes and bruises were too numerous to count. *I might even have sustained some of those internal injuries Aurore talks about. I wonder if they'll be completely healed the next time I enter?* Lumian could not help replaying the battle in his mind, grading his own performance: *Failing grade, but not by much.* In truth, he could give himself a high mark for the first half of the fight. He had capitalized on the creature's mediocre intelligence to lure it into the second trap, strictly adhered to his plan, maneuvered flawlessly around his target for a long time, and stalled it until its injuries were on the verge of erupting entirely. His only mistake was a lack of experience—choosing to stab the monster at the bottom of the pit with a steel fork instead of finding heavy rocks to hurl down directly. In the second half, the joy of nearing victory, his lack of combat experience, and his underestimation of the creature's wits led him into its trap, nearly getting him killed. Such performance was definitely a failing grade. Fortunately, his prior success had pushed the monster to its limits as well, preventing it from killing him quickly and giving him the chance to enter meditation and summon his "specialness." Frankly, Lumian had never expected that "specialness" to be so effective, plunging the monster into an inescapable terror that it could not even shake off when attacked. He had originally worried that the near-death state induced by summoning the "specialness" would allow his enemy to finish him off with ease. "It really is special, and strong..." Amidst his marveling, a thought suddenly crossed Lumian's mind. The reason the monsters in the ruins never entered his house, leaving this place a "safe zone," was that an even more terrifying entity existed inside—for instance, the owner of that mysterious voice he had heard when summoning his "specialness"! *Hiss.* Thinking of this, Lumian could not help drawing a sharp breath. His instinctive reaction was to search every corner of the house and ferret out that terrifying entity, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Someone who couldn't even defeat the rifle-wielding monster in fair combat had better not provoke a terrifying thing that scared that monster out of even resisting! Since all was quiet at home, there was no need to rip away that fig leaf; it was better to maintain the current status of a "safe house" as long as possible. Take it one day at a time. As for future dangers, face them when the time comes. "No, not later—once I become a Beyonder and grow strong enough." Lumian turned his gaze to the cloth pouch clutched in his left hand. —Even bare-chested while inspecting his wounds before the mirror, he had refused to let this hard-won source of supernatural power out of his grasp. "How am I supposed to use this thing?" Lumian opened the pouch and looked at the crimson mass. It lay quietly at the bottom of the pouch, its shape not entirely fixed, yet clearly lacking any vitality. Lacking knowledge of mysticism, Lumian did not know whether he should eat it directly, hold a ritual to fuse it with himself, or sacrifice it to some hidden existence. He had only been able to think of the latter two methods because he had read *The Secret Veil* magazine; in the past, he could have squeezed out only one word: "Eat!" Lumian was in no hurry to make a decision, intending to consult the mysterious woman in the Old Tavern first. He sensed that she would likely guide him on how to use the crimson mass to obtain supernatural powers. Although he had no idea why she would be willing to do so, his intuition told him she would. If all else failed, he could always try to pry information from his sister. Dressing at an unhurried pace, Lumian tucked the crimson mass and all the money he had obtained into his inner pocket. With all of this done, he lay down on the bed. A profound exhaustion swept over him, overpowering the ache in his neck and back and the discomfort in his body, quickly pulling him into a deep slumber. ... When Lumian woke up, the sunlight outside had filtered through the curtains, illuminating the entire room. He slowly sat up, feeling sore all over as though he had been given a severe beating in a dream. *I really was beaten black and blue... The injuries from the dream really have reflected in reality, though significantly diminished...* Lumian tested a few movements; aside from aching muscles, he felt no other adverse effects. This put his mind at ease. Next, he checked every pocket on his body. "Not here... Not here either!" Lumian failed to pull out the crimson mass. His expression turned solemn, brows furrowing tightly, at a loss for what to do. As an item tied to supernatural power, the crimson mass had not crossed over with him into reality—which seemed slightly different from what the mysterious woman in the Old Tavern had said! Lumian steadied himself, quickly changed clothes, and walked out of the room. The washroom door stood open. Aurore was facing the mirror, brushing her teeth with diligence. "Morning," Lumian greeted her. "Not morning anymore, you're just late..." Aurore mumbled around her toothbrush. *Gargle, gargle, spit.* With a flick of her blonde ponytail, she spat out the mouthwash. Then she turned her head toward Lumian: "What mischief did you sneak out to do last night?" "With that owl out there, how would I dare leave?" Lumian replied, calm and collected. "True." Aurore dropped the topic and switched to, "Remember to take five ferrins later and go to the administrator's to send a telegram." Lumian nodded. This was the key to him and Aurore fleeing Cordu Village; he did not dare forget it for a single moment. After breakfast, Lumian headed straight for the village square. The administrator's office was located there in a two-story building. When he arrived, the administrator, Beost, was still at home, but the rest of the staff had already begun their day's work. Having paid the fee and sent the telegram, Lumian turned around and made for the Old Tavern. Though the mysterious woman was likely not yet out of bed at this hour, he was willing to wait. In his pursuit of supernatural power, he had already waited for so long; waiting a little longer did not bother him in the least.