Plateau of Growth and the Rolling Head

RPG games let you grind side quests without much issue, but here my overall stats had hit 40. It was the tear-jerking fruit of relentless effort. I hunted monsters non-stop in the Magic Palace, never slacking off. When I had a breather, I'd pick up swordsmanship basics from a manual. I was shocked they sold it separately, but it only covered fundamentals like stances and spacing.

I mastered the basic thrust perfectly, at least. After that, it was just mindless swinging—training to swing with consistent power no matter the situation. The Spirit Sword Yokoshima weighed about as much as a flashlight, so it wasn't great for building strength. My honed technique got tested on monsters, slicing them down. Even with short sword durability, its thin, light blade made it easy to put force behind swings. Against foes stronger than me, though? Useless.

Still, I was growing steadily, step by step. Would it have been faster at the academy? Who knows. The goddess probably figured the constellations would hand out strong skills eventually. I had no idea how to extract the World Tree seed, so it sat unused. The guardian tree existed in theory, but it never answered summons. I asked the red bamboo how it protected the World Tree—silence. A forest inside me... In fantasy terms, maybe some inner mental world?

'What a headache.' Hand it to those hostile elves and call it a day? Larirure Larirarion warned that, given their temperament, a lowly race daring to touch a World Tree seed meant death once; talking back to elves, death twice; and as a human, I'd end up livestock for breeding before slaughter—death three times. She said it dead serious.

So, give it to the benevolent elves of the Trust Union? Nah, that'd spark all-out war with those hellbent on reclaiming the World Tree. Maou and heroes clashing, and elves ready to kill both? Yeah, they'd do it. In the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠end, the bamboo squatting in my body ignored me, and I kept the seed.

'...'

How many years of back-and-forth in this Magic Palace before I'm done? It'd been a while since I got the Constellation Ticket. No big achievements or rank-ups, so no surprise. First time in my life hitting a growth wall. Stats climbed steadily, stair by stair, no issues there.

That was the problem. I couldn't handle mana. Other races were born with it. I hadn't even reached the starting line. To gain real power, I'd have to throw myself into dangerous adventures.

The mysterious villains who'd seemed poised to strike vanished after achieving whatever goal, not a shadow left. They dodged the Pantheon’s eyes, including the combinations—how? Rumors swirled they had Evil God backing. Citizens trembled at whispers of unsealing all sealed Evil Gods; adventurers buzzed uneasily.

"Why not just kill the Evil Gods?"

"Fighting disasters, monsters, Maou, elves—no bandwidth left for gods, so they just sealed 'em."

They were divine-tier beings, after all. War with gods demoted and sealed them. Elves broke the seals; Maou revived them. Heroes journeyed grandly to reseal every one.

"Evil Gods supposedly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠submitted to the Maou's overwhelming power. Most of the Four Heavenly Kings were Evil Gods, they say."

The shocker from Noksu's Maou tales? Maou outclassed even fallen gods. A being stronger than gods... Toppling that? My future loomed endless.

I calmed myself with hot ginger-garlic-persimmon tea. Noksu, mocking my taste, soaked paper in water and ate it. Like she could judge diets.

After a simple breakfast, I unfolded the daily paper—now routine—to check Trust Union news. Biggest shock: Volef Kingdom's fall near the Salacia Sea. The kingdom that paid us a fortune, crumbled overnight. No time to call for help before monsters devoured it whole.

At first, I thought it was bad writing, but...

This horror wiped out the kingdom. Only a witch seething hatred for all life could unleash such a curse—the legendary worst, Sea Witch Circe.

I knew the name from Greek myth. Similar here? Reports said slaying the beast was a headache. Trapped in the kingdom for now, but the Union had reasons to breach it: top-secret hazardous cargo inside, plus stranded nobles at the port.

Did the mythical Sea Witch Circe really curse them? Why so vicious? Legends said she recruited talented women into witches, granted immortality, used them to kidnap seafaring men for essence-draining curses or threats to coastal kingdoms. Seafolk tales—continentals like me were clueless. Even Noksu, uninterested in seas, found it fascinating new gossip. Her interests started and ended at heroes, so obvious.

'Bought new gear, at least.' My fortune: about 4 PP, 279 GP, 464 SP. Upgraded for higher stamina: brigandine with steel plates in quality leather, plus overcoat, leather gauntlets, boots for emergencies. Monster hides ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠vary, but she used half-ogre leather Larirure made—wife goals! Poured love into it. I gifted pricey booze in return. She downed 10 bottles in a day, caused chaos; Lemon Hyacinth suffered.

Mint choco ice cream tickets: 7 now! Hoard 'em for a feast. Memorize Spellbook maxed at 30. Rare metal short sword, buckler, 2 knives, spellbook (30), purification mask, mine canary, flashlight, first aid, 7 tickets, Spirit Sword Yokoshima+1. That's the rundown. Bag's bulkier.

Rare metal? Larirure's fancy name for alloy. New hood with goddess emblem, temp-regulating magic—stays cool worn long. No need for AC or fans here.

'What now?' First time feeling lost. Trouble always found me idle. Bored enough to master glow-in-dark dino play one weekend.

"Better than expected, right?" Rubber material I chose, real-size possible, adjustable. No neck-stretching, but endless fun. Sold big ones too—last event, oversized T-rex prize for drinking contest netted a fortune. Larirure won. Noksu puked; she converted booze to energy like a reactor. Peaceful, lazy days.

Insurance sorted—Trust Union rebuilding. Human perks saved cash; Larirure beamed.

"Hope something dramatic happens..."

Waiting at the table for party, eyeing special-order sweet potato mango mint choco parfait. Thud—a head rolled onto it. Not the body's head—a real lone head. Didn't want this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dramatic.

Didn't stop there. A tall woman in priestess robes, neckless, straddled the seat opposite. Astral sight of a headless body moving made my sweet potato chunk drop from my mouth.

Fumbling in her robes like searching pockets, she pulled out glasses, perched them on the head. Braided hair framed, eyes snapped open.

"No, not at all."