The sky was blue, serene. So calm in comparison to the thunderous fall of a human body hurled from the divine heights of heaven like a sack of potatoes.
Lucy, covered in dried blood, scratches, and with clothes torn to shreds, crashed onto a cart full of animal shit with a noise less like a 'thump' and more like a wet 'flop.'
"By the goddess's beard!" exclaimed a humble-looking farmer with a trembling beard, who had just witnessed the scene from his field on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Reindhart.
He cautiously approached, as if about to meet an angel or some mystical creature.
"Are you… a messenger from the heavens?"
Lucy groaned, opening one eye.
"Messenger? More like the universe's unwanted junk mail." He coughed, spitting up a bit of blood. "And this is the second time I've landed in something disgusting. Does the author of my life have a fetish for filth?"
The farmer looked at him, confused, with a mix of disappointment and concern.
"Oh… you're hurt all over…"
Lucy let himself fall back into the warm, reeking bed of dung, with a sigh that sounded more like surrender than relief.
Then, on his chest, the stone Lya had given him began to emit a faint glow, somewhere between blue and violet. A pleasant warmth spread through his torso, slowly closing the worst wounds. His breathing stabilized.
"Thanks… magic rock number one. Unlike the rest of this world, you actually seem to have good intentions," he murmured, closing his eyes for a moment.
Meanwhile, the farmer watched the spectacle with eyes wide as saucers.
"It's a miracle!"
"Don't exaggerate. It's just emergency semi-divine healing. Happens to me every Tuesday."
"But today... is Thursday?" the farmer said, frowning.
A mechanical voice, far too chipper and laced with sarcasm, suddenly echoed in his head:
[Congratulations, Lucy! You have survived certain death for the second time in a row. Would you like to check your skill panel or surrender like a coward?]
Lucy blinked.
"Since when do you talk so much? You used to be all formal and quiet."
[Response: The Judgment Core unlocked additional capabilities, including sarcastic conversation. Consider this an upgrade for your entertainment.]
"Perfect, now I have an assistant with attitude. Just what I needed."
[Displaying mental panel. Please lower your expectations.]
[CURRENT CORE: Minor Judgment]
• Passive skill: "Ashes of Resistance" → Keeps the user alive by a thread. Literally.
• Active skill: "Late Instinct" → Grants deadly concentration in desperate situations. Usage limit: when everything is going really wrong.
• User status: Partial repair in progress. Combat style: improvised and lucky.
"Uh-huh. Just as I expected: recycled skills with epic names. Although I admit 'Late Instinct' sounds like my entire life summed up."
The farmer, who had only been listening to murmurs until then, knelt down.
"Are you… talking to the gods?"
"Depends. If by gods you mean a sarcastic interface with a superiority complex, then yes."
[Note from system: We'll take that as a compliment.]
Lucy struggled to get up. The pain was still there, though softened by the stone. His thoughts, however, weighed heavier than his wounds. He looked back up at the sky.
Look… the kids… Lya…
They had all been pulled into that vortex. Had they survived? Or was that the end?
[Survival probability of the rest of the group: unknown. No compatible vital signals received. Do not get your hopes up.]
"Thanks, system. Your ability to give hope is as useful as a rock in my shoe."
[Warning logged. Irony detected. Increasing dark humor level by 12%.]
"Don't you have an off switch?"
[.....]
Lucy sighed. He didn't know what hurt more: his body or his soul.
He slid the black blindfold over his eyes, covering them completely. It made no difference—he couldn't see anyway.
The farmer jumped back a little, as if afraid Lucy was preparing some kind of divine ritual.
"Is that… a divine sign?" he asked, with a tone mixing respect and confusion.
Lucy let out a weak, sarcastic laugh.
"No, I'm just trying not to get dazzled by the cliché kingdom's sunlight."
The farmer nodded and offered him water in a clay bowl.
"If you want… I can take you to the nearest town. Reindhart is big, but it has doctors, inns… and maybe someone who understands that thing you have on your chest."
Lucy nodded slowly.
"And what do you get out of helping me?"
"Nothing. But if you're a divine sign, I'd rather be on the right side… just in case."
Lucy felt the roughness of the farmer's hands, hardened by years of working under the sun. His voice carried tiredness, but also simple, straightforward honesty. He was a simple man. Too real for this cliché world.
"All right. But if I fall in dung or get teleported naked into a dragon's nest again… I'll complain loudly. And in public."
[Logged. Complaint clause will be added in the next update.]
And so, the cart slowly made its way along the dusty roads of the Kingdom of Reindhart, and Lucy finally allowed himself a breath. With a bit of luck—and a whole lot more miraculous magic stones—Maybe, just maybe, he'd survive the next round without falling in the shit… again.