The Fountain of Wisdom Without Mimir
The fleeing group of Michael managed to escape the Crimson Zone and finally reached the vicinity of the ruins in the Abyss. As they left behind the disgusting, filth-ridden walls of flesh and arrived in a space filled with wide-open ceilings and massive pillars, Michael felt like he could finally breathe again.
“Haa... haa... did we lose them...?”
“There is no presence nearby. It seems we have successfully shaken them off.”
“Ha... that’s a relief. Everyone, let’s catch our breath for a moment.”
At Dantae’s confident words, Michael gasped for air and slumped against a pillar in the ruins. Perhaps because they had run without rest, his clothes were soaked through with sweat, and his legs were trembling. He had run for his life, knowing full well that if he were caught, he wouldn’t die a clean death.
Just then, Killian, the Beast Hunter, rummaged through his bag and called out to Michael with a look of despair.
“Hey, Michael.”
“Yes?”
“I’m out of materials. I can’t set any more traps.”
“Is that so? Haa... damn it.”
They had only managed to evade the pursuit because the Beast Hunter had laid down dozens of traps while they fled. Hearing that Killian was out of materials and could no longer craft traps left Michael feeling a bit hopeless. If they were caught again, it was clear that someone would have to be sacrificed. Just as they had sacrificed the Dragon-Blooded Knight Aran to escape a desperate crisis, someone would surely have to stay behind to buy time for the rest of the group in the next emergency. The thought that it might be him made Michael sigh.
If Michael hadn’t abandoned Aran, they might have all been captured. Aran had taken the full brunt of Cheshire’s Gatling gun, buying them the gap they needed to put distance between them and their pursuers. Of course, Aran hadn’t chosen to take all those attacks, but in the end, he had blocked the enemies, however briefly. Michael sent a silent word of gratitude to Aran.
‘You noisy lizard bastard... you were useful in the end... thank you...’
After briefly praying for Aran’s soul, Michael looked around at his party.
“Let’s regroup here... and move on. And Caesar... are you still alive?”
“Ugh... of course. Do you think I’d die from a measly wound like this?”
Anna had used healing magic to suppress the bleeding while they were running, but they had been too busy to properly reattach his arm.
“I’m glad you seem fine. You’re at an age where you don’t say much, so I thought you had passed on.”
“Hmph... I’m not the type to die from a single slash like this.”
“Then Anna, we have a moment, please reattach his arm.”
“I know... I was planning to... Caesar... just a moment... I’m low on mana...”
Alex and Roy laid Caesar down on a relatively flat patch of floor. Anna pulled a vial that shimmered with a soft green light from her robes.
“It will sting a little, Caesar.”
“It’s fine. Take your time... I’m still perfectly fine.”
Anna sprinkled holy water onto the stump of Caesar’s severed arm. Bubbles formed, and all the foreign matter and germs on the wound were purified. She had used an item to replace her purification skill because she lacked the mana to purify the gastric juices and impure blood from the walls of flesh while also healing the physical loss. In some ways, the Saint’s healing magic was superior to Jojun’s Fleshing-Filling, but the mana consumption was extreme. Unlike Jojun’s Fleshing-Filling, which suppressed mana consumption at the cost of the target’s pain, the Saint’s healing magic was infinitely merciful to the patient. Consequently, any healing magic that didn’t involve pain consumed far more mana than Jojun’s technique.
“As the Lord watches over you, may His grace envelop you.”
After finishing the disinfection, she reached out and activated her skill. A blue light erupted from her hands, beginning to reattach Caesar’s severed arm. Caesar sighed as he felt the sensation slowly returning to his limb.
“Huu... those damn bastards...”
Caesar looked at his reattached arm with resentment. It was humiliating enough to have been deceived by the heretic’s priestess and toyed with by illusions, but to have his limb severed as well—he felt like dying of shame.
“Caesar. How is the arm?”
“Better than it was before it was cut off.”
Michael nodded, seeing that Caesar seemed to have no issues. He then surveyed the faces of those resting. His gaze landed on Nicholas.
‘Nicholas...’
He was sitting in a corner, head bowed, staring blankly without a shred of will. Before he lost his memories, he had possessed a stronger will than anyone, but now he was just a lethargic fool. It felt as if the human himself had changed. Michael couldn’t tell if it was simply because of the memory loss, or if his personality had shifted along with his gender, like a cat turned gloomy after being neutered. Even his Piercing Eye couldn’t fully grasp the inner psychological state of a human.
‘Even if his memories return... if he stays in that state...’
Michael feared that all their efforts would come to nothing. If he remained like this even after they managed to draw the Holy Sword, Michael would have to seriously consider killing Nick.
‘The problem is... the luck called 777...’
That was the biggest issue. Nicholas was the only human in the entire world with the absurd luck of 777. If Jojun was a human who had artificially acquired the luck of 666 due to the foul play committed by the God of Void, Botamilli, Nicholas was a human born with immense, innate luck. In short, his luck had been extremely high from the very moment he was born. The reason he could become a Savior, the chosen one of the Pantheon, was solely due to his innate luck. The benevolent gods had no interest in his character or talent. They had simply chosen him because his luck was high from the start, without the need to expend any causality.
But if Nicholas were judged beyond saving and they had to pick a new Savior...
‘It would be impossible to find a being with that level of luck... so they would have to create one artificially... and that would consume an absurd amount of causality...’
From a long-term perspective, that would lead to the weakening of the Pantheon. It could even fall to a level similar to the Manma-jeon. Yet, the current benevolent gods were judging that it might be better to kill Nicholas. If that happened, there was a high possibility that a "chicken race" with no turning back would begin. The difficulty of the disasters would rise further... and the world would be consumed by ruin until only a single person remained. If that happened, there would surely be no hope left for the survivors. That was not the ending Michael wanted.
‘It’s difficult...’
Michael rubbed his forehead. Knowing too much made it hard for him to easily reach a conclusion about Nick. He only resented the cultist who had suddenly appeared and twisted the situation. According to the original history, Nicholas would have walked a smooth path, saving people and utilizing his trait of becoming stronger for every person he saved, accumulating enough merit to be selected as the sole survivor whom no one could touch. But the appearance of the owner of the non-existent luck 666 had ruined everything. The benevolent gods’ future sight had been shattered, and the situation had become so tangled that they were being dragged into it without any way to intervene.
‘If only I could inherit that luck... that would be nice...’
Michael even thought that if he had been born with such luck, things wouldn’t have come to this. That thought came from his dissatisfaction and annoyance toward Nick, who had stupidly let himself be toyed with by the cultist. Honestly, if not for the luck issue, Michael just wanted to kill Nicholas. And if he could, he wanted to steal his destiny and become the cultist’s adversary himself. Of course, on the other hand, he wondered if living a life where things always worked out well even if you did nothing would make a human easily trust others and act like an idiot. Michael thought that if he had truly lived a life full of luck like Nick, he might have become just as carefree. Thinking that, he realized that having high luck wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
“Let’s start moving again.”
Michael shook his head to clear his distracting thoughts. They had rested for about five minutes, so it was time to move. The group moved forward, guided by the Beast Hunter. If they had continued straight ahead, they would have encountered Jojun’s group and engaged in a decisive battle without Nick ever regaining his memories. But the luck of 777 exerted its effect for the first time in a while.
“Uh... over there...”
“That’s it... there it is. There... the fountain is there...”
They had finally discovered the Fountain of Wisdom. The pool glowing with a blue light was indeed the Fountain of Wisdom.
“We finally... made it...”
“Drink quickly, Nick... drink this... and regain your memories.”
“Uh... okay.”
Michael felt relieved that they had found the fountain quickly.
‘The side effect of the fountain... in exchange for wisdom, it takes the right eye as the price...’
Michael didn’t bother telling Nick about the side effect. He felt that if Nick, who had become as weak as he was now, heard that his eye would be gouged out, he would get scared and waste time. Meanwhile, Nick, knowing nothing, hurriedly drank the Fountain of Wisdom from the cup Anna handed him—one sip, two sips, three sips. As he drank, the fountain lost its light and soon turned completely black. The Fountain of Wisdom had lost all its power.
“Uh... ugh... ah, it hurts!!!”
Finally, Nicholas’s memories began to return. At the same time, his right eye burst, and a blue light took its place. He would never be able to recover his right eye again.
“Mi, Michael... Nick is...”
“It’s the price of the fountain. It can’t be helped.”
“Ah...”
Anna wiped the area under Nick’s bleeding eye with a towel. Whether she did or not, Nick was submerged in a flood of returning memories and, unable to keep his sanity, began muttering strange things. Nick was currently absorbing the knowledge held by the fountain along with his lost memories.
“Th... this... these memories... they aren’t mine... ah... aaah.”
Nick muttered incoherently, seeing something. Michael began to feel anxious and prepared to flee. They had wasted too much time. They had to quickly enter the trapped nest and hide. Just then, a shout was heard from afar.
“Found you!!! You sons of bitches!!!”
It was the roar of the enraged cultist.