Minutes passed, or was it hours?

  It was of no importance, not in the current situation at least. Faust’s tears had dried, and he finally found the necessary strength to stand up, not actively, but moving more like a flesh automaton of passiveness.

  Inside his mind, thoughts whirled in every direction, flooding his brain with information that cared not for all the cold outside. His gaze was empty, observing the pale blue moon up above, his face expressionless while he still recovered from the shock.

  The pungent air from the bodies around him was carried by the gusts of freezing wind at the same moment their blood smeared the snow crimson.

  Confusion was what he felt the most a few moments ago. Why had he fought so fiercely to survive? Was not his goal to die inside this place? Why not just allow himself to be killed?

  Many options passed through his reasoning, his logical brain failing to find a suitable answer. Yet, despite the lack of a clear winner in the sea of choices, he reached a shallow conclusion.

  He did not want to die, not anymore. It was possible to blame instincts, fear, rationalization, humanity, and lots of other things. In the end, uncaring of reason, the truth remained: he did not want to die, at least not like this.

  His previous thoughts of suicide seemed to have momentarily vanished under all he had just experienced; months with a clear objective broken down in the span of hours. Was his will so easily destroyable? Apparently so.

  Moving his crimson eyes away from the moon, he observed the bodies. Approaching them with shivering hands, he carefully removed the undamaged, or at least close to it, clothing.

  Seeing the undressed bodies of those creatures, pale and thin, their anatomy similar if not identical to that of humans, he nodded to himself while avoiding staring at them directly.

  “Monsters… yes, they are monsters…”

  Had they not attacked him first? Enemies! That was what they were. How could a dungeon harbor humans? Senseless, truly senseless! For what it was worth, they were definitely not illusions as he had pondered earlier; their flesh was real, their blood even more so.

  At most, they should be enemies created by the dungeons. Faust could not be certain, but since his knowledge of dungeons was lacking, they might as well be monsters.

  No. They are monsters.

  He thought in confirmation, taking a final glance at them. With their clothes in his hands, he wore them over his own clothes.

  Made of a thick and dark leather, they were ideal to fight against the cold. Even by only wearing them, it was possible to notice a significant reduction of the low temperature’s effects on his body.

  They’re still warm…

  Then, he took their hats. Using their long-brimmed hats above his kettle helmet and looking down was sufficient to avoid the wind in his eyes.

  Faust also observed their weapons. He could take them, but they seemed highly damaged and unuseful already. While they were still able to cause damage, his axe was clearly of superior quality.

  His shoulder was only lightly pierced by the blade, as it was stopped by the leather armor. Thankfully, the stab was not enough to cause a disabling injury or heavy bleeding. If that had been the case, he would likely die. The realization made him shiver, or maybe that was the cold.

  Taking a sip of his wine, his throat was remedied of the dryness, but the pain in his stomach grew even further. In response to that, he looked at the bodies but quickly dispersed the thought. He would not eat the meat of something so… humanoid.

  Although difficult, he would do his best to resist the pain for now, seeing as simply ignoring it was no longer possible. So, now that he was partially protected from the cold, he pondered one final time about his options.

  Going away from the village was the first thing that came to mind. The other option was going to it again, but of course that was quickly dismissed. The last option was going to the place where he had first appeared, or at least to its proximity, and wait for the others to enter the dungeon so he could follow the journey with them.

  Since it was told to him that everyone would have the same appearing point, if he could just wait for them, that would be a great deal. It was even better than simply running away without any sense of localization. Turning around, even from this far he could still see the silhouette of the village. Apparently, it did not matter the distance; he would be able to see it.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Well, the whole ice forest was weird as well, so just accepting the fact that the village contouring could be seen from this far away was not a difficult thing. With his decision taken, he used the shape of the distant village and attempted to align it with what he saw initially. If he could do so, it was possible to triangulate and approximate his appearing area.

  Glancing one final time at the bodies, Faust closed his eyes strongly and then moved away forcibly, his expression mostly neutral but with tinges of complicated feelings.

  …

  Walking far from the village while trying to match the distant shape with what he first saw, Faust had a lot of free time.

  Howling breaths passed by his ears, pure air entered his lungs, and his footsteps were muffled by the snow. Meanwhile, the blue moon observed from above like the gaze of a watchful god who dared not to approach.

  One thing he noticed was that from the moment he entered the dungeon until now, the moon had stood still. At first, he thought he was imagining things, but now he was sure of it; it stood exactly in the same place as before.

  The dark, starless sky served as its home, and it had no intention of leaving it.

  At the same time he cast some strange looks at the moon, he was thinking about other matters.

  Killing… he had just done it. He had killed. Despite living in a village amidst the woods, Faust had never killed before. He had never hunted, or fished, or even fought at all.

  Sometimes, he was able to see hunters returning to the village accompanied by the bodies of hunted animals. He never paid much attention to it; after all, they were just animals. Truthfully, he was not an animals person; such irrational creatures just lived with no purpose. What was the reason for such a shallow existence? It never made sense to him.

  On some rare occasions, he also saw the inversion of roles, the hunter becoming the hunted. Once in a while, hunters would bring back the bodies of their fallen companions, felled by beasts or traps of nature, such as poisonous plants or unlucky accidents. Seeing the bodies of humans also caused no reaction in him; their lives were simply forfeited.

  But now, that he had killed using his own weapon and body, things changed. It was weird, being able to forfeit the life of another being so… easily. The enemies this time showed little resistance; his training seemingly bore fruit, seeing how he was able to cut them so easily with the axe.

  Yet, the dried blood on his face did not make him feel nothing; it made him feel a lot, actually. Though this “lot” was incomprehensible. Something happened when he had to fight. From the moment he realized the first cut until the moment he felled the last monster, he felt out of control.

  Not in a normal sense, such as being ravaged by emotions or things of the like. In fact, he felt no anger against the enemies, nor did he feel any immediate enmity. Fear could be argued, but deep in his heart he could tell fear was more about the situation than the combat itself.

  It was like he acted automatically to protect himself, and deep within his own being, something stirred like a soup of conflict. All that he knew was that it was a feeling he had never felt before, or if he had, he could not remember it.

  Whatever it was or may be, he would ponder it later in another fruition of thoughts. Right now, Faust had reached the same point, or somewhere close enough, where he had entered the dungeon. He did not count the time, but was sure at least two or three hours had passed.

  In any case, he reached an ice pillar and sat next to it, axe in hand in case anything tried to attack him again. For the moment, all he had to do was wait. Eventually, likely in a few hours, the next batch of villagers would appear here, and then he would accuse Chris if he was with them, watch him be killed or locked up somehow, and then follow the journey with the villagers. Of course, he had enough awareness that Chris was stronger than a normal guard, but there was no way he would be stronger than all of them, despite being a mana user.

  Mana users… Faust idly swayed to the topic.

  Most books described people able to use mana as superhumans, people one step above the others, the guides of humanity and so on. Their titles were enough to create the impression of an unreachable height, which translated to reality once Faust witnessed what Chris could do, turning a man to ash? Unbelievable, but he had seen it up close.

  Initially, it was worth noticing that no books delved into the specifics of mana. Whether because it was such a tremendous power, because it was concentrated in the hands of nobles, or any other reason on the same line of thought, Faust did not know.

  But what they did disclose were the normal paths for achieving mana. Most commonly was being born into a noble family or house of any kind, which usually held their own familiar techniques and taught them to those they deemed worthy. If not born into a noble family, it was also possible with enough resources to trade for mana gathering manuals and accumulation techniques, though the price could be hefty. Finally, there was the most common method used in books about heroes and legends: talent.

  If one was born with talent, then all the previous issues were solved by themselves. While once again, the books had no extensive detailing on the topic, they held a common information that was also known to a lot of people. In case someone was talented with mana usage, they would be able to use it naturally around the age between of twelve to fifteen. In one specific book he had read about history, it was said there were supposedly other methods, though not documented.

  Although to use mana itself one needed to control it and create a mana circle or core—depending on the wording—everyone was born with and had mana in their bodies. That was a given for a motive that was engraved into the minds of everyone: “Mana is life. Life is mana.”

  Everything that was alive had mana; otherwise, they would not be alive, be it trees, grass, animals, humans, and every other organic creature. While the amount of mana one had would differ from people to people and creature to creature, it was mandatory that they had mana. Years back, when Faust was at the age of discovering mana talent, he had a small fire of hope in his heart that he was one of the lucky ones to be blessed by the energy.

  Clearly, judging by his current situation and social standing, he was wrong. Neither born into a noble family, nor with enough money to acquire such manuals, nor talented with it, rendered him unable to use the magical energy.

  It was not something to be disheartened about; the chances were low, it's simply the way it is. One could not be lucky every time.

  Waiting for the other villagers to appear and thinking about many topics concerning both himself and the situation, he quietly stood still, taking care to notice anything approaching so he could defend himself in time.