Astar sat on the rocky bank, staring at the glowing walls of the cave. The cold and fear were slowly fading, replaced by exhaustion and a heavy tightness in his chest. His mind began working again, analyzing everything that had happened and breaking it down piece by piece like a strategy game.

  “What now?” he wondered, glancing at the winding paths that disappeared into the depths of the cave. “Where do I even go? I don’t know where I am.”

  He rose to his feet, trembling with fatigue, and, swaying slightly, took a few steps forward. Water dripped from his clothes, leaving a damp trail across the stone floor. If not for the changes in his body caused by the memoria—and the “training” in the mines—the cold and exhaustion might’ve finished him off by now.

  The light of the stalactites and glowing fungi bathed the cave in a soft glow, casting strange, rippling shadows. This place was terrifying, yet mesmerizing in its own way.

  “That thing…” Astar’s thoughts returned to the monster that had killed Dalanar. “It’s out there. Roaming, looking for me… Or maybe it’s gone? But can I risk it?”

  He pressed on, surveying the tunnels that stretched out in every direction. Each step echoed around him, and the damp underground air filled his lungs with the taste of stone and moisture. Still, it was far better than the dust-choked air of the mines he’d endured for months.

  It felt like hours had passed. Astar wandered through branching passages, trying to memorize his path, but eventually realized it was useless. The tunnels all looked too similar, and the glow of the stalactites made it impossible to distinguish clear landmarks. Navigation was a lost cause.

  The entire time, he processed everything that had happened to him. Only after an endless inner monologue did he finally calm himself. Or rather, convince himself that he needed to remain cold-blooded. He pitied Dalanar—Astar had grown used to him, maybe even placed a fragile hope in him. But now, he was alone again, in a worse position than before, and very likely to join his first—and perhaps last—companion in this world.

  "What if there is no exit?" The thought stabbed through him like a blade. "What if I just die here? Alone. In the dark?"

  “Just perfect…” he muttered, glancing around. “Feels like I’m in one of those internet videos—people crawling through caves for god-knows-what reason… Let’s just hope I don’t have to squeeze through some nightmare tunnel.”

  “I don’t even know what’s more absurd—being eaten by a monster or getting stuck in a cave on another damn world…”

  He shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts.

  “No. You can’t give up, Astar. You’ve already been through hell. That means you can survive this too.”

  More time passed. Hours, maybe. Astar pushed deeper into the cave, walking under the pale light of luminescent fungi—until he felt something strange. A faint, almost imperceptible draft brushed against his face. Amid the cave’s chill, it even felt warm.

  “Wind?” His heart leapt.

  He froze, trying to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. There it was again—a soft breeze. Weak, but unmistakably different from the stagnant air of the cave.

  “An exit…” he whispered, and for the first time in hours, hope rang in his voice.

  Summoning the last of his strength, he moved toward the source of the breeze. His pace quickened, becoming a stumbling half-run. More than once, he nearly fell, but he caught himself on the walls and kept going.

  The breeze grew stronger. With each step, the air became fresher, and with it came the scent of something long forgotten—freedom.

  Astar moved faster, slipping on wet stone, but the wind pushed him forward. The gentle draft was no illusion now—it was real, alive, carrying the scent not just of grass, but something strange… something slightly off.

  The glow of the fungi and stalactites began to fade, replaced by natural light. The tunnel widened, and the breeze carried with it faint sounds that could have been the rustle of trees.

  “There’s a way out. Just a little farther,” he kept telling himself, doing everything he could to stay composed. “Just don’t let it be a trap. Let this actually lead outside…”

  He felt the ground beneath his feet growing drier, the darkness giving way to something clearer. His heart pounded, his body screaming with every step, but he pushed forward through the pain, through the fear. Each movement sent shocks of pain through him, but he didn’t stop.

  "But even if I do get out… what then? If that thing finds me again—I'm done for. Can I even reach a city?" The thoughts churned in his head, heavy with dread, as he realized this wasn’t the end of his problems. Not even close.

  And then—he saw it.

  Light poured through a crack in the cave wall. He couldn’t yet see what lay beyond, but he knew—this wasn’t the dim glow of fungi or the shimmer of stones. It was real, natural light. Soft, warm sunlight.

  “Please let it be an actual exit…” Astar whispered, pausing for a moment to process what was happening.

  His body seemed to move on its own, pushing forward through the last few meters. When he reached the edge of the fissure, he saw… something horrifying.

  Spread out before him was a vast cavern that opened to the outside world. But between him and that exit stood something extraordinary.

  An enormous skeleton, five meters long and nearly three meters tall, lay sprawled across the cave floor. Its black-violet bones glimmered faintly beneath the golden sunlight spilling in from above. Its outline was grotesque—misshapen and unnatural, as though the bones belonged to a creature that should never have existed. Crooked ribs, shattered limbs—every piece of it screamed of something monstrous. It was easily the size of the beast that had killed Dalanar.

  “What the hell…” Astar whispered, staring at the remains.

  From the hollow cavity of its ribcage rose a barely perceptible black mist, coiling around the massive skull with its long, jagged fangs. The empty sockets of the beast’s eye sockets seemed to bore into him, sending a shiver through his core. Scattered around the chamber were piles of smaller bones—skulls and shattered remains of lesser creatures, no doubt devoured by this monster during its lifetime. But all of Astar’s attention was consumed by the central skeleton.

  Clearly, this had once been the creature’s den. Now, it was dead—at least outwardly.

  Astar froze, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. What was this thing? Another abyssal? His thoughts tangled. The mist rising from the bones sent out a strange chill, and there was a whisper—so faint he wasn’t sure it was real, or just his imagination.

  He had to decide what to do. Approach? Search the cave for anything useful? Or flee before it was too late?

  “I wonder if it died on its own… or if someone killed it,” he muttered, cautiously peering from behind the rocky edge.

  Astar took a deep breath, wrestling down the tension building inside. The cave was silent, save for the sound of his own breathing. Nothing moved. No signs of threat.

  “No rush… Better to wait a day, let that creature that killed Dalanar wander farther away,” he murmured, clenching his fists. “If anything in here was dangerous, it would’ve revealed itself already. So… maybe I can hide out here for a while.”

  Slowly, as if afraid to disturb the dead, Astar stepped forward, descending into the cavern across mounds of bones. He noticed, with growing unease, that some of the remains bore scraps of fabric.

  “Looks like this thing didn’t just kill forest animals…”

  The chill from the black mist grew stronger with each step, as if invisible tendrils were curling around his body. But still—nothing happened. No sound. No movement.

  “Nothing to be afraid of,” Astar whispered, forcing himself to keep walking.

  As he got closer, something caught his eye inside the creature’s ribcage—a glimmer. Nestled deep among the bones, like the heart of a dead beast, was a sphere the size of a grown man’s fist. Its surface shimmered faintly in the dim sunlight, and inside swirled a black substance—like smoke or thick liquid. For a brief moment, Astar thought he saw faces inside it. Shadowy, almost human visages that twisted and vanished into the void.

  “A core…” he muttered, recalling Dalanar’s stories. Just before his death, Dalanar had mentioned that abyssal cores were incredibly valuable, and could fetch a high price in the city.

  “This explains a lot,” Astar said quietly. “If the core’s still here, that means the beast died on its own—no one took it down. Otherwise, something this valuable would never be left behind. And if the core’s untouched, this cave probably hasn’t been entered in ages. The flesh has rotted off, but no scavengers, no signs of looting…”

  He knelt down and cautiously reached toward the bones. The mist didn’t burn him. It simply hovered, heavy and cold, weighing down the air like fog that carried memory.

  “Judging by the aura… this core feels like that monster’s,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Was this thing on par with a Gray Mnemarch? If so, the danger ratings for these roads are way off—or this entire region needs to be reassessed.”

  After circling the corpse a few times, Astar began to contemplate his future. If he made it to the city, he’d need starting capital—something to build a new life with.

  “If I can get this core out of here, maybe I’ll have a shot at starting over. Maybe I should even try to become a Mnemarch… It’d be something, testing the limits of this strange new power…”

  But he understood—this core might be more than just valuable. It could be dangerous. The abyssia surrounding it could easily cause harm if not properly purified. Dalanar had described this substance as the opposite of memoria—something that could twist and destroy if left unchecked.

  But after a moment’s thought, Astar realized there shouldn’t be any problem. After all, Dalanar had recently planned to extract a similar core from an abyssal and bring it to the city. So maybe it wasn’t as dangerous as it seemed.

  “All right… Looks like luck’s still on my side. On Earth I bought Bitcoin at the right time, and here I find a valuable core… ha-ha…” he muttered, trying to laugh off the weight pressing on his chest.

  Astar reached into the ribcage of the skeleton to shift one of the large bones covering the crystal. Carefully, holding his breath, he leaned closer, already picturing how the wealth from this find would become his first step toward survival in this world.

  He stretched out a hand toward the core, his gaze fixed on the hypnotic dance of black smoke within. His fingers trembled slightly, but he forced the doubt away. “It’s just an artifact. Everyone here uses these,” he reassured himself.

  But the moment his skin touched the surface of the core, everything changed. Chaos erupted.

  Shuuuv! A tendril of “smoke” from the sphere lashed out and pierced his hand.

  Pain blinded him. The black smoke inside the sphere began to swirl wildly, raging like a storm. A searing pain tore through his palm and shot through his entire body like a thousand needles stabbing at once. It raced for his head, burning like lava as it flooded his consciousness—then flared directly within the Soul Vault.

  It felt as if something had pulled cursed energy from the core into him!

  “AAAHHH!” A scream tore from his throat, echoing through the cavern. Astar jerked his hand back as if burned and stumbled away, gasping for air. His mind was on fire, emotions thrown into chaos, but there was no visible damage. He glanced at the core: the smoke inside had returned to a slow, gentle swirl, as if nothing had happened.

  Dizzy, he lost balance and collapsed onto the floor, the scattered bones jabbing painfully into his back.

  But that wasn’t the end of his body’s strange reaction…

  Astar suddenly sensed something stir—the plaque of the Corruption Devouring Technique.

  “Shit… Is this because of my technique?” he growled through clenched teeth, closing his eyes and shifting his focus inward—into his Soul Vault. The black energy from the core now floated around the plaque, like it was awakening the ancient artifact.

  Its surface, usually lifeless and inert, now radiated a sinister glow. The thin engravings across it pulsed with black, living energy.

  “Did I just accidentally activate the Corruption Devouring Technique?!” Astar thought in shock. That artifact had remained dormant no matter what he tried, as if sealed away from him—but now, something had changed. Now, he felt something emanating from the plaque—something ancient, ominous… yet obedient.

  “Could it be that my ancestor’s technique isn’t fueled by memoria… but by abyssia?” Astar realized the inheritance passed down to him was far more complicated than he had imagined.

  He barely had time to breathe before another wave of agony surged through him—worse than anything before!

  It poured from the plaque, now alive inside his Soul Vault. The Corruption Devouring Technique began to spread black mist, which lunged at the white vortex of Memoria within him!

  “KGAAAAH!” Astar screamed aloud. It felt like his body was being torn apart from the inside, his soul forced to channel something ancient and unnatural.

  He collapsed onto his knees, writhing. His fingers curled from the spasms, and another scream ripped from his throat, his voice raw and cracking. Astar clutched his head as if trying to contain something inside that was about to burst.

  “What’s happening to me?!” the thought slammed through his mind as the pain reached its peak.

  He could feel it—black mist seeping into the white vortex of Memoria, corrupting it, forcibly altering its nature. The vortex darkened, groaned, and began to resemble the cursed energy from the abyssal core. It was becoming abyssia!

  The transformation was pure torment, so intense Astar began smashing his forehead against the stone floor. Terror engulfed him again—he thought he was dying. From the moment he’d arrived in this world, it had been one deadly situation after another!

  The agony stretched on, minute after minute, though it felt like an eternity. His screams filled the cave, and he stopped caring whether it might attract abyssals. At this point, he would have welcomed anything that ended his suffering.

  Then—suddenly—silence. But only for a breath…

  DOOM!

  His consciousness exploded with a torrent of knowledge. Symbols, diagrams, and shapes flared through his mind, as if someone were forcefully embedding information into him. But it wasn’t structured knowledge like a book or a voice—it was patterns. Schematics of the Corruption Devouring Technique fusing into his Soul Vault.

  And then he saw him—the man whose soul had passed down the technique to him. The figure stood tall, his face focused but eyes haunted with concern. His voice, calm and melodic, echoed directly within Astar’s mind.

  "If you're hearing this, it means a worthy descendant has finally appeared..."

  That phrase alone made Astar's skin crawl. When he’d broken through to the Premarch stage, there hadn’t been any direct message—no voice speaking to him.

  "Today, you’ve received the Corruption Devouring Technique. From now on, you are bound to it forever. My legacy has become your fate."

  The voice was gentle, almost comforting, but every word carried a cold, creeping dread. "My technique is unique. Powerful. One of a kind… And because of that, it comes with serious side effects."

  Astar breathed heavily, listening. The man in the vision sighed, his voice softening further as he continued:

  "Forgive me, my descendant… but I had to put safeguards in place. Now that my technique has been activated, you can no longer abandon it. I couldn't risk a compatible heir turning their back on it. You could say you are cursed by me… and yet also blessed."

  "And if you—my worthy successor—had never come, my life, my work, everything I lived for, would have been lost forever. Finish what I started. Unlock the secrets I never had time to uncover. You must—because this is the only way to subdue the abyssia and stop its spread. You must master this technique, push it to its limits, and do what I was never allowed to do..."

  But the voice of the ancestor abruptly cut off, as if he hadn’t had time to say all he wanted.

  As his voice faded, so too did the pain. Astar began to return to himself, wiping cold sweat from his brow.

  "He cursed me?" Astar whispered, heart pounding with renewed fear. "What the hell?!"

  He closed his eyes again and felt the plaque still floating within his Soul Vault. Its glow had softened, but it no longer seemed inert. It was part of him now—fused with his soul. And strangest of all, his entire Memoria had changed color. Despite that, he felt undeniably stronger than before.

  Astar stood on trembling legs, cold sweat running down his spine. The black glow of the plaque in his Soul Vault was fading, but its presence remained. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

  He leaned heavily on the skeleton beside him, struggling to catch his breath. His body shook, his mind still spinning from everything that had happened.

  "Okay… okay… Enough panic," he muttered, wiping sweat from his face.

  His voice was shaky, but there was more resolve in it than fear now. He straightened up, glanced around the grim cavern, and a faint, crooked smile tugged at his lips.

  "Who cares, really? I just won’t mess with all this cursed magic… I’ll find something else to do. Ha-ha..."

  He lifted his gaze to the abyssal bones, which now seemed far less intimidating. The cursed technique that had bound itself to his soul, and the shift in his Memoria—they were far more unsettling.

  “Everything will be fine,” he told himself. “I just won’t develop this weird power. I’ll rely on my memoria only in extreme cases. If I don’t train the technique, there’s nothing to be cursed for, right?”

  He inhaled deeply and looked over the skeleton, the cave, and the sunlight filtering in from outside.

  "Alright. Let’s see just what this Corruption Devouring Technique and its so-called curse are all about… I’m sure it’s nothing that bad..." he muttered, closing his eyes.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  After hearing his ancestor’s words, Astar clearly sensed that the plaque had changed. It felt like, now, if he touched it, he might finally understand at least a piece of its mystery.

  Mentally entering his Soul Vault, he once again saw the now-black vortex spinning in the void, and the black plaque. As soon as he focused, a black strand of memoria drifted toward the plaque.

  And in the instant they touched, sealed information surged into Astar’s mind. It wasn’t the full technique—he had access only to the first level of the Corruption Devouring Technique. But it described how to control the energy, how to shape it. As if he'd received a unique code that rewrote the structure of energy itself.

  The moment his consciousness touched the technique, a strange tension seized his mind. At first it felt like thousands of tiny lightning bolts flickering across his brain—then something else. Something he’d never felt before.

  “It’s like my brain is a cloud server, and someone just uploaded a file…” Astar thought, finding the closest metaphor. He was reading the first level of the technique without using his eyes, or any normal sense at all.

  The first paragraph of the text, like the title of some ancient scroll, echoed in his mind with a promise of overwhelming power:

  "Those who master the Corruption Devouring Technique shall wield greatness capable of eclipsing even the light of the Golden Mnemarchs... Our lineage has refined its craft for over a thousand years. But I was the one who found a path once thought impossible. This technique will become the force that restores balance to the world."

  Astar felt a strange stirring in his chest—a blend of excitement and caution. He immediately realized this was something far greater than he had ever anticipated.

  Until now, he had thought of these techniques for developing memoria in terms of his own limited understanding. During the escape, he had witnessed the Gray Mnemarchs using something that resembled magic. Because of that, he’d expected something similar from this technique—like throwing fire from his hands or some other flashy trick.

  But with each new line he read, the wave of horror rose higher.

  "However, this power comes at a cost. By activating the Corruption Devouring Technique, you have altered your very nature into something others deem impossible. Because of me, your soul now bears the imprint of the Abyss. From this point on, your Soul Vault becomes a vessel for the cursed matter—abyssia! From now on, any memoria you absorb will be defiled and become part of that darkness… part of the world’s inverse balance!"

  Astar’s eyes widened, and his breath caught. He was certain his heart skipped a beat. He tried to shut the tablet from his mind, to stop the reading, but the technique had already embedded itself into his Soul Vault like a parasite, rooting deep.

  “This has to be a joke! My bloodline cursed me too?!” he shouted furiously, like a trapped animal.

  His memoria… No, it wasn’t even memoria anymore! Everything he had absorbed from stones in the mines had turned into something alien, something forbidden and destructive. Abyssia. That was the substance found in abyssals—never in the living, never in sentient beings!

  “It’s over. I’m doomed…” the thought flashed through him. “Abyssals can’t even enter cities… does that mean I’m no longer meant to be part of civilization either?!”

  Astar could definitely feel that after his spiral of memoria had blackened, his strength had increased significantly. But that brought no comfort—if anything, it now meant he might be severed from the entire world, like the abyssals themselves.

  Astar, calm down… just breathe, just breathe… First, understand the full scope of the information, and only then try to analyze it. Rushed conclusions only lead to mistakes and more problems, he whispered mentally, trying to hold onto reason. Panic clawed at him, but he knew he had to keep going.

  He directed his mind back to the tablet. The black lines on its surface pulsed, as if waiting for him to continue. His consciousness brushed against the technique again, and more of the text revealed itself.

  "The development of abyssia has always been deemed heretical—a pursuit considered madness. Too many beings lost their minds, destroyed their souls, or turned into spawn of the void. But the Corruption Devouring Technique is different... If its true potential were understood, no exorcist would be able to resist the desire to claim it! Though for anyone but me and you, that is impossible."

  "Abyssia is the fuel for the Corruption Devouring Technique. You must draw it from voidspawn and other cursed sources to evolve your power. Memoria is now useless to you. Far too weak. Only abyssia can reveal the full power of this technique! Only it can truly cleanse the world!"

  Astar froze. His heart paused—then thundered. He clenched his teeth, feeling a surge of rage and despair.

  “Exorcists? What the hell kind of exorcists?!” he hissed, unable to believe what he was reading. “And what do you mean… useless? Memoria is the foundation of everything in this world!”

  “Shit… and what the hell are ‘spawn of the void’ supposed to be? That’s how he’s referring to abyssals?!” he shouted, catching the obvious context of the message.

  His hands trembled. Memoria was the essence of life, its core. And now… it meant nothing to him?

  But the next line crushed him:

  "Remember: protect your soul, for it was born in the Source of Memoria, and you are still connected to it. If you do not regularly consume abyssia, your control over it will begin to decay, and the Corruption Devouring Technique will weaken. In turn, abyssia will spiral out of control, corroding your soul, your mind, and your identity. Abyssia will become your master, and you—its slave. Without regular sustenance, you will go mad and transform into one of the spawn of the void."

  Those words hit Astar like a bolt of lightning. His fists clenched, and a storm of fury boiled within him. He had always tried to maintain at least a shred of composure, even in this absurd world. But now… now he wanted to scream, to tear the entire cavern apart.

  “What the… You people are just…” he shouted, unable to express his emotions clearly. Overwhelmed, he began pacing back and forth through the cave, doing anything he could to contain the eruption inside.

  “Oh-ho-ho… Just pray I never find you! I’ll kill you with my own goddamn hands!” he roared, as if addressing his bloodline directly. “This insane world! To hell with your memoria and abyssia! What the hell is this?!”

  The world blurred before his eyes. Everything he had dreamed of now seemed like a lie. A peaceful life? Freedom? Purpose? What could be further from reality than this? He wasn’t just cursed by the technique. Its demands had chained his fate, dictated the rules by which he had to live.

  He approached the monster’s skeleton, clenched his fist, and struck with all his might.

  Only he hadn’t expected what would happen next…

  Shuuuv! The sound of something slicing through the air tore past him, followed instantly by an explosion. Ba-boom!

  A massive bone from the monster shattered into dust and shards, which slammed into the cave walls like shrapnel.

  For a split second, Astar’s eyes widened — it was hard not to be stunned by something like that. But his rage burned too fiercely now for even a miracle to drown it out.

  "I'm not just trapped in this idiot of a world… now I might go insane too! Just perfect!"

  And yet, despite all the horror, a shadow of fury began to rise in him, scorching away the remnants of fear. Rage at his ancestor, at fate, at his parents, at this strange, cruel world. But more than anything — absurd as it was — one realization stung him worse than anything else...

  He was infuriated by the idea that he would never get the peaceful, free life he’d dreamed of. Even if he somehow found a way into a city, even if he managed to hide his nature… then what?

  "Regularly absorb abyssia..." the words echoed through his head like a curse.

  "That means I’ll become dependent on hunting abyssals or scavenging cursed objects and herbs that cost a damn fortune! Just amazing! My life is once again nothing but endless grind just to survive! Fuck!"

  He clenched his jaw so hard it ached. His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms and leaving stinging marks.

  "I was a fool to hope I could start fresh and find something I actually wanted to do in this world..." he muttered, his voice shaking with fury as he paced in tight, agitated circles. "All those years clawing my way into the sunlight — gone! I escaped the mines and now this! And again, because of my parents! Or my bloodline — or whatever the hell this garbage is!"

  First, the endless work, stress, and sleepless nights on Earth, trying to grow his company. Then the slave labor in the mines, the desperate escape… Just a day ago, he had dared to hope he and Dalanar would make it to the city, that things might finally turn around. He’d even imagined becoming a hunter, or maybe a merchant. One way or another, Astar had no doubt in his abilities.

  But now, the image of the mine returned—endless swings of the pickaxe, blood on his palms, dirt sunk deep into his pores, the screams of the overseers. He remembered the ones who died from exhaustion, those who broke themselves just to survive one more day.

  "And here I am again. Back in the cage of endless labor. And now I’ll have to fight monsters, risk my life just to harvest this damned resource. All so I don’t lose my mind. Fucking déjà vu..."

  Astar stopped, breathing hard. His rage had swelled in his chest, pressing out like it might burst him from the inside.

  Bam! He punched the cave wall with all his strength, and fine cracks spread across the stone.

  "This is just… mockery," he said quietly, but there was steel in his voice. "No matter where I go, I’m still a slave. On Earth I was a slave to money, just to buy my freedom and chase a dream. And here? I’m a slave to this cursed power."

  And yet, beneath the fury, another thought was forming. Buried deep under the weight of his rage, it slowly rose to the surface. If he was doomed to live like this anyway… maybe it was time to turn weakness into strength. Maybe he could use these cursed circumstances.

  "Fine…" he muttered, folding his arms over his chest. "Time to think..." he grumbled, finally sitting down, radiating a stormy aura of frustration like a stormcloud hanging over his head.

  Astar took a deep breath, forcing his mind back into focus. His body still trembled with fury, but his thoughts were starting to line up again.

  "Alright. Let’s break this down..." he murmured, clutching his head in both hands. "The creator of this technique clearly interacted with others. That means he must’ve lived in a city. And that, thank the stars, is hopeful."

  He closed his eyes, concentrating on the fragmented visions he’d received when advancing to the Premarch stage. The image of a man in a long cloak flashed through his mind, moving through a place of towering architecture. It wasn’t a cave, nor a forgotten village. It was a city. A real, large city. In the background, glowing structures stood tall — likely Memoria Temples, casting their protective barriers.

  "There’s a chance the barrier won’t stop me..." he muttered, furrowing his brow as doubt gnawed at him. "Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems? If I can get inside the city, there might be ways to acquire abyssia. Find craftsmen who work with cursed items."

  "If that guy pulled it off, then I can too. I mean, I did live in the modern world — I must know something useful... Maybe I’ll even have a competitive edge? Then again… I don’t know as much as I thought..." he mumbled. "When you’ve got the internet, you feel a lot smarter..."

  He exhaled, leaning back against the cave wall. Finally, his thoughts began falling into a structured pattern.

  "Okay, what do we know?" he began, as if trying to organize everything out loud. "The technique only works with abyssia. Memoria is meaningless to me now. So to grow stronger, I need abyssals or infected objects. Fine. That part’s clear."

  He paused, recalling the words he’d read within the technique.

  "What's the point of all this?" he muttered, frowning. "It clearly says my goal is to absorb abyssia until I form a core. Only then will I reach the stage of a Gray Mnemarch and unlock combat techniques… and more answers. Maybe there’s a way to weaken the curse? Right now I’m only seeing the tip of the iceberg."

  The words echoed in his mind like a sentence. But despite that, he felt there had to be a deeper reason. Something that explained why his ancestor created this technique. Why he had been so certain of its importance to the world.

  "There was something else... about my soul and a connection to the Source of Memoria..." he said aloud, lifting his gaze to the glowing stalactites above. "Maybe that’s the reason I can still enter cities?"

  He drew a deep breath and straightened up, his gaze sharpening, more focused than before.

  "Alright, step one: I need to survive. Step two: find a way into a city. And step three..." he smirked, glancing at the monster’s skeleton, "figure out how much cursed items are worth in this world. If I can at least work to keep myself alive... then I’ll do it! Wouldn’t be the first time!"

  At that moment, Astar’s eyes returned to the black core, still lying peacefully within the skeleton, a faint mist of dark vapor curling from its surface.

  "If abyssia makes me stronger… then let’s try using this Corruption Devouring Technique and see what happens."

  Astar walked toward the skeleton with quick, decisive steps, as if afraid he’d lose his nerve if he hesitated. His heart pounded, but not from fear — it was adrenaline, pulsing with a grim excitement. He reached the remains, clenched his fist, and delivered another crushing blow.

  Boom! — the bone exploded into dust, and shards of it clattered against the cave walls in a shower of brittle debris.

  When the core was finally exposed, Astar grabbed it without ceremony. He clenched his teeth, bracing for another wave of agony like last time. But… nothing happened.

  "What the…?" he muttered, surprised, as he held the core in his hand. The thick, black substance inside had stilled, almost as if it were observing him in return. "Huh. That’s… unexpected."

  A tremor ran through him, not from pain — but anticipation.

  "Alright… let’s see what I can do now," he whispered, closing his eyes and focusing. In his mind’s eye, the vortex of abyssia within his Soul Vault flared to life. Astar focused on the technique now fused with his being and activated it. It was a strange sensation — like instinctively knowing how to wag a tail he’d never had.

  The vortex stirred in response to his will. The abyssia within the core began to move, slowly at first, then faster, until the two flows synchronized in a mirrored rhythm.

  Shuuuv... A thin stream of black energy spilled from the core and entered his body through his hand.

  Astar froze, expecting the familiar discomfort — but instead, a warm, almost euphoric wave spread through him. It felt like a gulp of cold water on a blazing day, or a breath of fresh air after hours in a stifling room. Every cell in his body felt renewed, his fatigue washed away in an instant.

  "What the hell..." he murmured, unable to hide his astonishment. The energy flowed through him like liquid strength. Abyssia — the force he had feared — wasn’t hurting him now. It was soothing him. "This… this is insane! It’s way stronger than any crystal I absorbed back in the mine!"

  The vortex in his Soul Vault burned brighter, flooding with new energy. Each wisp of abyssia flowed into him with mesmerizing ease, merging with the whole.

  "If this is the price for using the technique…" he muttered, feeling his body fill with new strength, "then maybe it’s not such a bad deal."

  He looked down at his hands, still pulsing with energy.

  His awareness shifted back to the abyssal vortex raging inside the Vault. Astar could feel it — this energy that had once seemed alien and hostile was becoming a part of him. It spun faster, thickening and coiling.

  At first, it was wild and chaotic — but gradually, its motion became more focused, more deliberate, as if guided by invisible hands. At the vortex’s core, something new began to form — a small sphere, tiny but dense, radiating staggering power.

  "A core…" Astar whispered, sensing the change deep within. It felt like he was nearing a new threshold. But immediately, he also realized something else: despite the progress, a true core was still a long way off.

  This is only the beginning, the thought flashed through his mind. Along with the first level of the technique, he had received instructions on how to advance it. And somehow, he just knew — a completed core would look vastly different… and be infinitely stronger.

  "Alright…" he muttered, opening his eyes. "From what I understand, reaching the stage of a Gray Mnemarch is a long and grueling process. Even if I find dozens of these cores, it won’t be enough."

  "The Corruption Devouring Technique..." he said aloud. "One way or another, I’m now bound to absorbing abyssia. Earning money and living quietly as a rich mortal? That’s off the table… Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something," he added, smirking darkly at himself.

  Astar continued holding the core in his hand, feeling the streams of abyssia steadily flowing into his Soul Vault. The vortex within him grew denser, mesmerizing in its raw power. But then, suddenly, he noticed something strange — the core in his palm was changing.

  What had once been dark and ominous was now growing lighter. The black mist that had swirled inside began to dissipate, replaced by a pure glow. Astar instinctively held his breath, watching the transformation unfold before his eyes. The core’s cracked, shadowy surface became smooth and translucent, like flawless crystal. From its depths, a soft white-blue light began to shine.

  “What the hell…?” he exhaled, sensing the vortex of abyssia inside him begin to slow, stabilizing.

  Now the core, which moments ago had radiated menace, had become a source of astonishing energy. Astar realized that, somehow, memoria had formed within him — pure, potent, and impossibly strong. Or rather… it had always been there, corrupted and buried beneath the abyssia. And there was far more of it than in any of the crystals he’d mined in the pits.

  His eyes widened. Words caught in his throat. He couldn’t believe what he was sensing.

  “Memoria…” he whispered, feeling how the core’s power had completely transformed. “So I don’t just absorb abyssia… I purify cursed objects?”

  He ran his fingers over the crystal in awe, feeling its radiance. It no longer felt like a cursed object. It had become something else entirely — something clean, like it had been pulled straight from the Source of Memoria itself.

  Astar’s face twisted into a sly, almost predatory grin.

  “Ha... ha-ha!” He laughed shortly, staring into the light. “There was something in the technique… about exorcism,” he muttered, recalling the earlier words. “In our world, that term was used for religious rites. But maybe here… it means something else entirely?”

  He gripped the crystal tighter, his thoughts rushing into form.

  “Pure memoria. And in this volume…” he murmured, voice low, but trembling with concealed excitement. Could it be? Could these purified cores be sold… for a fortune?

  Astar looked again at the core, then down at his hand, feeling a rising confidence swell within.

  “Well then… this so-called cursed technique might not be such a curse after all. If I can purify cursed objects… this could be a business. Or even a weapon.”

  His grin grew wider, and a sharp gleam lit his eyes. It was as if something old within him — that part of him that once thrived on competition and “the game” — had begun to stir again. He could smell opportunity.

  “Maybe I’ll have to rethink my opinion of you, ancestor,” Astar said smugly. “But let’s see if you really told me everything…”

  He slowly lifted the core, its white-blue glow casting soft light across the cave walls. His gaze bore into the crystal as his thoughts echoed in his mind: “The technique says memoria is useless to me… But what happens if I try to absorb it anyway?”

  He drew a deep breath and focused, channeling his will toward the core. Mentally activating the technique, he tried to pull the memoria into himself, like testing the reaction of his own body.

  At first, everything seemed normal — energy began to flow into his Soul Vault in a thin, nearly imperceptible stream. Its structure was airy, delicate… different from the crude, heavy force of abyssia.

  But almost immediately, he felt resistance. The stream slowed, and the process became a struggle. The memoria moved through his body as if squeezing through channels too narrow to pass. Astar winced, discomfort flaring through him.

  “What the…” he hissed through clenched teeth.

  Gradually, the energy reached the vortex within the Vault — but instead of merging like abyssia, it began to shift. The white-blue memoria started to unravel, losing its brilliance, darkening… transforming into the very same abyssia he had just purified.

  Astar froze, his breath caught in his throat. He watched in disbelief, realizing he had no control over it.

  “Even this?” he muttered, staring at the core.

  He tried again — harder this time — pushing the flow, hoping speed would change the outcome. But the result was the same: the memoria resisted him, as if his body no longer recognized it as nourishment. And once it reached the vortex, it curdled… and turned to abyssia.

  "The old man wasn’t lying. This is pretty much useless," he muttered, lowering the hand holding the core. "If I keep absorbing memoria at this pace, I’ll die of exhaustion long before I get anything out of it."

  Astar looked at the crystal with new understanding. Even if memoria didn’t suit him anymore, that didn’t make it worthless.

  "Well then..." he smirked, tightening his grip on the core. "Looks like I’ve stumbled onto a new niche to explore. Maybe everything that’s happened isn’t as catastrophic as it seemed..."

  At that moment, unexpectedly, Astar felt a strange, predatory curiosity begin to stir inside him. It was something he hadn’t felt in years. The fact that such traumatic events had awakened it again felt paradoxical.

  He took a deep breath, feeling the new power pulsing through his body. The abyssia now flowing in his Soul Vault filled him with a strength he never thought possible. The despair had passed, replaced by a firm confidence. He gripped the core tighter, still feeling its warmth.

  "There’s a chance," he muttered, his voice calm and steady. "With the Corruption Devouring Technique, I might just be able to hunt... If I absorb more cores and grow stronger, reaching the city could be possible."

  "Besides, I have no idea where I am — which means I need to scout the area. Wandering aimlessly through the forest is pointless until I find a road. At least here I’ve got shelter..."

  His gaze swept over the remains scattered through the cave as he began searching for anything useful. Amidst the wreckage and dust, he caught the faint glint of broken weapons — likely once belonging to the monster’s unfortunate victims.

  Then, something caught his eye — a spear. Simple, but sturdy. Its shaft, made of dark wood, had survived surprisingly well, and the black metal tip still looked sharp and deadly.

  "Now that could come in handy," he said, stepping closer. Astar picked it up, his hands instinctively testing the balance. He didn’t know much about weapons, but the spear felt light and reliable.

  Though… that lightness likely came from his own newfound strength. No ordinary spear should have remained so well preserved.

  "Perfect for me. I’ll stab those bastards from a distance. No need to get close to those damn monsters. I once heard that even a peasant with a spear could take on a trained warrior… Though that always sounded like total nonsense..."

  His eyes drifted to the torn and dirty clothes among the bones — all that was left of those the beast had torn apart. Most of the fabric was in tatters, but a few pieces still seemed salvageable.

  Astar knelt and examined the scraps. One tattered cloak or mantle looked intact enough to be wearable. Nearby, a worn belt with a small pouch still clung to it. Inside, he found a few metal coins made from some strange gray alloy.

  On one side was an ornate glyph that read "Church of Memoria." The other bore a swirling vortex and tiny flames — likely symbolizing the Source of Memoria, the place all those who reached the Premarch stage were said to ascend to.

  "Currency, huh?" he muttered, tossing one of the coins into the air and catching it. "Chances are they’re still in use. Or at the very least, I can trade them for something useful."

  He slung the spear over his shoulder, secured the pouch to his belt, and glanced around the cave. With every passing minute, he found more usable clothing. As filthy as it was, it was still better than his rags from the mine.

  "If I do find a road... it’d be a terrible idea to go walking around dressed like a mine slave..." Astar mumbled, pulling on a pair of pants. "Better to look like a wandering hunter than a fugitive. Never know if someone might try to drag me back..."

  Only after changing completely did Astar finally turn toward the exit, where sunlight still streamed in.

  "First step — get out of here and figure out where I am," he said to himself, his voice firm. "Also, I need to eat. I completely forgot with all the stress... Hopefully, with my current strength, I can catch something."

  Gathering everything that might be useful, Astar headed for the cave’s exit. He had a spear in his hand, and a clear plan in his mind: find food, locate a road, and ideally, use his new power to kill another abyssal. If he could grow stronger and get used to fighting, he’d be able to start playing this game on his own terms.

  As he stepped into the light, Astar understood perfectly — the road to the city would be far more difficult and treacherous than he’d imagined during the escape. But now, at least, he knew: thanks to abyssia and the Corruption Devouring Technique, his strength had grown — and more importantly, for the first time, he had a real plan, and a goal. That combination alone did more for his morale than anything he’d felt since waking up in this nightmare of a world.