List Cut Syndrome
The injured spot happened to be my neck, but it wasn't a deep wound by any means. No major blood vessels like the carotid artery were cut, so even if I left it to bleed without staunching it, I wouldn't bleed out. To begin with, I had the Combat Healing skill, so a scratch like this would heal on its own in no time anyway.
"No need to fuss. I'm not dying."
I swatted away Rizmel's hand as she anxiously offered me a potion, her face full of worry. I had plenty of potions myself, and I didn't need one in the first place.
Rizmel had to know she was overreacting to some degree. She wasn't clueless enough to think a wound like this was fatal. I'd already shown her my self-healing ability back during the crystal spider fight.
"I-I wasn't really worried or anything!"
She turned her head away with her usual obvious tsundere act. I showed her the wound already closing up and told her to keep going.
And so, five minutes later, the test resumed in the pitch darkness.
Even with my vision restricted, I moved diligently, relying on my hearing and touch to face off against the puppet. But after exchanging a couple of moves, I'd always miss once. Even with the help of my Instinct skill, this was the best I could do.
And the real problem was Rizmel's constant interference. The moment she thought I'd taken a solid hit, she'd rush over to check on me.
"That one was a real bad hit. Take a break."
"Bad hit my ass—I'm fine, so let's keep going."
"You're bleeding that much and you call that fine?!"
Truth was, I had zero talent for physical stuff. I couldn't learn jack shit properly unless I threw myself into it, rolling and crashing until it stuck.
But every time Rizmel saw me take a tumble or get smashed, she'd come running, halt the test, and inspect me. At this rate, there was no end in sight. Hell if I knew when I'd actually grow like this.
But giving up wasn't an option. Honestly, I hadn't expected vision loss alone to trip me up this hard. It was a weakness I never could've imagined.
Starting with the lizardman shaman on Floor 3, enemies using magic were popping up more and more. And from what I knew, black magic and curse spells had a ton of ways to mess with vision. The dark elves here, with their shadow magic, were a prime example.
Even with my bare-hand fighting and other weapon arts sealed off, getting hit by a single puppet was unacceptable. Now that I knew, there were no other choices.
I had to master the sensory expansion Rizmel was talking about.
"Ahem, for a first try, you're doing amazingly well."
Maybe my impatience was showing on my face, because Rizmel suddenly piped up like that.
"This isn't something you pick up in a day or two, even for quick learners like humans."
"If it doesn't take a day or two, how long does it usually take?"
"Assuming daily practice, to pass the first stage—longest is ten years, shortest half a year. Took me half a year."
Familiar timeframe. I'd blown about half a year on Floor 1, and the same on Floor 3 for secluded training. Not an investment I couldn't afford.
But half a year at minimum was a different story.
Memorial halls gave an initial 15 years for ashes, extendable each time. Unclaimed ones got 10 years, plus 2-year temp holds—12 total. Guilds connected to outside via graduates could stretch it further.
So I wasn't dead set on leaving in a few years. Even if it took several, as long as I got out, fine by me. No time limit on my goals.
But I didn't trust myself. I trusted the effort and strength I'd built, but not my own willpower or diligence.
Deep down, I was still that NEET leeching off Mom's back. Sure, I'd started charging forward somehow, but lose momentum once and it was over.
Surrounded by dark elves fawning over humans like cute pets, spend a long stretch like that and I'd stall out for sure.
"Half a year?"
"Yeah, if you're fast."
Rizmel caught something in my expression and hurriedly added that I had decent talent, humans learned quick anyway, so generously, a year tops.
Yeah, I figured the same. A year this way, sure.
But that wasn't the plan.
If a leisurely method took a year, an extreme one should do it in a month, right?
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
After wrapping up training with Rizmel, I returned to the lodging to find Elenoir waiting as usual.
"You came back a bit early today. Practice end sooner?"
I brushed off her question with a vague "got stuff to do" and started gearing up to head out.
"You're too much—won't even give a proper reply."
She grumbled like she was hurt by my curt attitude but didn't pry about where I was going or try to stop me. Good thing, too—I had no intention of answering straight anyway. She'd have tried to talk me out of it for sure.
I opened the community map, lit up the whole Floor 7, and headed to a pre-marked spot.
Destination: the spawn area for a field boss I barely touched during the faction quest.
This was a spot you had to hit if you picked the kingdom faction, like how the dark elves did the twilight spider subjugation.
The mobs were humans who'd lost their minds to the curse overflowing the area. Bandits, kingdom soldiers, knights—passing by, getting cursed, turning hostile.
"Enemy... enemy... kill the enemy."
"Fight! Protect our kingdom!"
"Wipe 'em all out, lads!"
Facing cursed humans approaching with unfocused eyes, weapons drawn, I pulled my dagger.
Why I'd mastered so many weapon arts in that short time on Floor 3? Because I'd thrown myself into crises on purpose.
Stabbing myself with poison arrows, charging headlong at overpowering lizardmen.
Stimulating my survival instincts for explosive growth.
This time was no different.
—Slash!
I dragged the dagger in my right hand across my eyes. No fancy shadow magic needed—this did the job easy.
"Guh... ugh, fuck."
The pain was beyond imagining. Couldn't tell if the stuff streaming down my cheek was blood or tears.
And with footsteps closing from all sides, my heart pounded like mad.
Eyes properly slashed—no potion would fix this quick. No turning back now.
The overwhelming sense of crisis hit after so long. And a weird thrill made my fingertips tremble.
"Hoo... haa."
These enemies weren't blunt-weapon shadow puppets. No Rizmel to stop if I got hurt.
I drew my sword and charged toward the sound of footsteps.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
To max out tactile sensitivity while nerfing my specs, I'd ditched all armor this time. Not quite down to underwear like some game, but defensively, close enough.
These crazed humans' weapons were curse-enhanced, so taking hits was a no-go.
—Whoosh!
Relying on a faint wind noise, I dodged the incoming attack. My body already bore four or five deep and shallow cuts.
But none were lethal. Perfect dodges impossible, but I could manage fatals.
I evaded a stinky bandit's presumed axe swing, lunged forward, and slashed.
Aiming for the neck—guessed weapon height, calculated shoulder position, sliced a bit higher.
—Slash!
Felt flesh tear, blade hit bone. Nailed the neck.
I kicked the beheaded bandit aside, dodged a spear thrusting from another direction, counterattacked.
—Schwick!
Couldn't confirm without eyes, but that felt critical. The handfeel of a fatal.
Rizmel's five-senses tips flashed in my head.
Dust on my cheek made me grin. Yeah, I'd heard that heavy drag of a hammer on ground.
This dust? From its swing. That thick whoosh, the breathing. Right on cue, I raised my sword and severed the bandit's wrist mid-swing.
Felt stupid for relying on just weapon and footstep sounds before.
So many senses reading the surroundings, and I'd ignored 'em.
—Slash!
Sliced the last presumed enemy, slowly opened my eyes. Vision cleared a bit.
Combat Healing and item effects must've kicked in.
And in my recovered sight, blue interface messages floated up.
Sensory Enhancement Lv.1
A new skill acquired before I knew it, and Instinct leveled up a bit too.
I'd done it.
"Heh heh."
A silly grin leaked out.
Then another message popped up.
"Great king of this land, why do you leave the wicked mage's altar untouched?"
"Why no more soldiers or knights? Just orders to seal the perimeter?"
"Are you that afraid of the undead guarding it? That rotting corpse of a warrior, already decayed!"
With the system message came a zombie-like sword-wielding corpse, reminiscent of Floor 6.
His stance and presence were no joke, but I laughed again and slashed my eyes once more.
Leisurely: a year. Extreme: a month.
My way: half a day.
Suits me perfect.