Ch.6 Forbidden Malum Fruits I

Morning in Nihar was as lively as ever, the kind of fresh start that made the village feel alive.

Birds chirped in harmony with the rising sun, their melodies blended with the laughter of children. They ran barefoot through the narrow paths. Innocence of a life untouched by cruelty…at least, for now.

Smoke gathered up from the chimneys of clay ovens, a fresh start that made the village feel alive.

The scent of roasted grains and fresh bread spread through the air. A daily ritual that reaffirmed existence. Such was the nature of mortals. Ever bound by routine.

Timekeeping in Nihar was an art rather than a science. Clocks were non-existent here. No ticking hands marked the passing hours. Only the celestial dance of the sun.

They relied on the ancient sundial near the chief’s house to measure the hours. Today, however, thick clouds blanketed the sky, obscuring even the sundial’s shadow.

Yet the absence of clear time did not halt life.

Farmers had already left for the fields. Shepherds guided their cattle to graze. The bandits of Chausar were no longer a threat.

The kingdom had sent rewards for those who aided in their downfall. Rex was among them. Yet, he had declined his share, donating it all to the village.

His contribution had paved the once-muddy roads, easing travel during the monsoons. Now, the earth was firm beneath his feet.

Rex strode through the village, a bundle of logs balanced effortlessly on his shoulders.

The weight seemed trivial to him. His form was now healed. A reassuring sight to the villagers who waved at him as he passed. One approached him to offer heartfelt thanks, which Rex acknowledged with a warm smile.

As he neared the chief’s house, he saw the old man seated outside.

The village chief’s eyes were lost in the well-worn paths of Nihar. The world moved on, as it always did. But old men? They remained. Watching.

But then he saw Rex. The chief rose quickly, his aged but spry frame moved like a doll.

“Thank you for your generosity, Rex. Fixing the village path with your reward money... truly, we can never repay you,” the chief said with gratitude.

Rex adjusted the logs on his shoulder. “Think nothing of it. It was my way of giving thanks. You all saved my life, gave me a place to stay, materials to help me settle, and even wrote a letter of introduction for me. I owe you far more than I could ever repay.”

The chief smiled. A conversation.

It had been a long time since he had one that was not directed by responsibility.

The words formed easily in his mind. A discussion about the past, or the weather, or the peculiar habits of the village livestock… anything, really.

The subject mattered little. It was the act of speaking that he sought, the act of sharing, of feeling human again.

The old man spoke instantly while shaking his head. “Repayment, debt and gratitude, such words define human relations. But they are nothing more than a means to bind people together, aren't they?”

As he was about to continue the conversation, he was interrupted by a villager approaching hurriedly.

“Chies! Chief! It’s urgent. We need you.”

The old man’s shoulders sagged imperceptibly. Duty called. As always.

He wanted to converse more have a normal conversation but…

For all their wisdom, for all their authority, they were prisoners of their own importance.

No one spoke to wise as equals. No one sought beyond necessity. People approached them with purpose, not companionship.

Old men did not converse. They were consulted.

He looked at Rex. Disappointment.

“Another time, then,” he murmured.

Rex gave a small nod. “Another time.”

As Rex continued down the path, he noticed a construction site where villagers were working together to build a new home. A house built not by hired workers, not for coin but simply because it was needed.

Such was the way of the past. Time was abundant, so it was traded for duty.

A house construction, a crippled elder, a sick child, these were the burdens none could bear alone. So, the villagers carried them, not out of kindness, but because their turn would come.

A dept repaid in advance

Farther ahead, a familiar figure, Malti. She was carrying a bucket of water from the village well, her cheerful manner lighting up the grey day.

When Malti saw Rex, her smile widened. “I told you to rest a little more before jumping into all this work,”

“And I told you, I feel perfectly fine,” Rex replied with a chuckle. “Your mother’s healing magic worked wonders.”

Malti scowled slightly. “Healing magic can’t fix everything. Besides, you’ve done enough for us already. You shouldn’t push yourself.”

“Ah, nonsense. You all helped save my life, this is nothing compared to that.”

Her expression softened. “After you risked your life to save mine,” she said. “I still don’t understand. Why? I was a complete stranger, and you didn’t hesitate. Why did you save me?”

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Rex’s steps slowed as he looked at her. “Because every life matters. I know what it feels like to hold on to hope that someone out there might come and help. Saving one person might not change the world, but it could change the world for one person. And sometimes… that’s enough.”

Malti looked at him with an unreadable expression.

People helped each other, yes, but throwing oneself into danger for another? That was just for myths and ideals. Reality had taught her differently. Survival was an individual struggle.

She said, “People always need a reason. They act only out of necessity. Love, kindness, sacrifice… all these things are luxuries, paid for in advance by something else. No one gives without expecting something back, not really.”

Rex replied, “maybe that’s why the world is the way it is.”

Malti still pressed on. “Maybe. But that doesn’t change reality. The world isn’t kind. It doesn’t reward selflessness. If anything, it punishes it.”

Rex looked towards the sky. “And yet, snow still falls.”

Malt, confused. “What?”

Rex replied still looking towards the sky, smiling. “Snow falls, even when it knows it will melt. Even when it knows the ground will swallow it whole. It falls anyway. Without expectation. Without regret. Maybe kindness is the same.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Except, snow isn’t alive. It doesn’t think, doesn’t choose to fall.”

Rex now looked at her “And yet, it does. Again, and again. Without question. Without hesitation.”

She doesn't know how to respond to that. It’s absurd. It’s ridiculous. And yet… it stays with her.

She exhales looking away, “you’re a fool.”

Rex smiled. “Probably. But if foolishness means believing in something more, I think I can live with that.”

“And if it gets you killed?” she asked with concern.

Rex didn’t hesitate. “I’m not afraid of dying. Everyone dies in the end. What I am afraid of is not living.”

Malti tilted her head, studying him. “I don’t quite understand you, Rex,” she said with a contemplative smile.

Rex laughed softly. “Maybe that’s for the best. Understanding me means carrying my burdens. And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Malti fell silent.

Responsibility, sacrifice, duty, these were things she understood. But to give so selflessly, without any promise of return? It was reckless. It was foolish. And yet... it was admirable.

“You remind me of a story my mother used to tell me,” she said finally. “About a firefly that burned so brightly in the dark, guiding others even as it exhausted itself.”

Rex smirked. “And what happened to the firefly?”

“It burned out.” Malti replied. But there was something in her eyes, concern, maybe even warning.

“Well,” Rex said with a grin, “at least it lit the way for others before it did.”

Malti shook her head, giving up. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here we are.”

They continued walking slowly. The morning village around them, people smiling and cheering him.

“Mother told me that you were leaving today,” Malti said.

“Yes. I have to head back to my comrades today,” Rex said.

She nodded, as if she had expected that answer but still wished it were different. “Be safe, Rex.”

Rex gave her a lopsided grin. “No promises.”

*

The chamber stretched into darkness with its walls unseen. Swallowed by the void beyond the reach of the single golden chandelier. The chandelier hung still. Its light barely reflected upon the deep black cold stone, untouched by dust.

Strange instruments of steel lay scattered across the table.

Ard sat hunched over a stool. Its golden-polished metal reflected faintly beneath him.

His fingers worked with precision, adjusting the dials of a peculiar device, an advanced microscope of futuristic design. His eyes remained fixed. His expression taut.

Tiya stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Ard. She did not speak. She did not need to.

A pause. Then, with a weary exhale, Ard spoke. “You were correct. The exposure of these Mana particles to the human body over generations emitted a quantum harmonic frequency. It resonates with the DNA helices.”

Tiya replied clinically. “Yes. It embedded additional codons, expanding the human genetic blueprint. These codons direct cellular mechanisms to produce force-adaptive proteins capable of interacting with the Mana field.”

Ronny waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Human DNA in this universe adapted itself to its surroundings. That’s why people here can use magic. No need to flex, nerds. What I don’t get is how magic works in stages. What’s the link with Mana?”

Ard turned slightly. “The key lies in the frequencies of these quantum oscillators and the energy levels of Mana particles. Different stages of magic correspond to different energy thresholds. Different types correspond to different oscillatory frequencies.”

Tiya gave a slight nod. “That’s why creation magic struggles to combine living and non-living matter.”

Ard inclined his head. “Correct. It’s destructive interference in those waves.”

Ronny scratched his head. “And the energy pool? You mentioned something about efficiency earlier.”

Ard leaned back, pushing the microscope aside. “Human DNA has a hard limit. There’s only so much it can expand before hitting a ceiling. That ceiling defines the total energy pool, let’s call it ‘total mana.’ To advance, a practitioner must allocate at least ten percent of their total mana to the previous stage. This creates a bottleneck. The more stages one masters, the more divided and therefore weaker their energy pool becomes.”

Ronny blinked. “Huh. So, if someone tries to master multiple stages, they spread themselves too thin.”

Tiya’s voice was devoid of emotion. “Precisely. Though the upper limit of mana storage varies by lineage, environment, or spontaneous mutations.”

Ronny tilted his head. “Ah, so different people have different mana pools. I get it now.”

Tiya remained impassive. “Yes. That much was evident in the bandits’ corpses after we experimented.”

Ronny let out a small chuckle. “So, it’s just like back home.” He got up and continued.

“Some are born special, and some are not. Some are born with talent, and some will never find it. Some will never use it, like a flame that refuses to burn. And then, there are those who chase the illusion of it. They keep chasing and struggling, until the world reminds them they were never meant to fly.”

Silence.

Ard and Tiya looked at him with serious expressions.

Ronny grinned, breaking the stillness with a light chuckle. “Relax, guys. It’s a joke.”

Tiya remained still. “You have strange humour.”

Ard exhaled. “If you’re done amusing yourself, we have more pressing concerns.”

Ronny shrugged. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Ard’s expression turned calculating. “We need to investigate the long-term effects of this particle and its field on humans like us. Those without the genetic mutation.”

Tiya’s reply was absolute. “The results aren’t promising.”

Ronny frowned. “What do you mean?”

“At best, our cells are struggling. At worst…”

Ronny pressed on with urgency. “At worst?”

Tiya did not hesitate. “At worst, our cellular processes could begin deteriorating. Or mutating. The timeline is uncertain, weeks, days, months. No way to tell.”

Ronny’s funny expressions changed. “Then why the hell aren’t we using Oridex? Why haven’t we called Lord Croxeus? Are we just waiting to die here?”

Ard replied indifferently. “He already knows.”

Ronny’s eyes widened. “What?”

Ard met his eyes. “He knew the moment he entered this universe. The barrier outside. I confirmed it. It blocks Mana particles from coming in.”

Ronny processed the information. “So, you mean… he already knew?”

Ard’s voice carried certainty. “Yes. And there’s a chance he’s already left to find a solution.”

Ronny exhaled. “I just hope he returns soon.”