Chapter 34 – Meeting Sophia

I woke up once more on the cold, hard ground, but by now, the world outside was pitch black.

My head was spinning—a classic symptom of anemia—and my stomach was growling incessantly from hunger.

I called out to the adjacent cell, “Hey, Alan, has dinner time passed yet?”

There was no response for a long moment, making me fear that Alan was either unconscious from blood loss or, worse, dead. Eventually, however, he replied with a suspicious, hesitating tone:

“How do you know my name?”

Oops. In this specific loop, I hadn’t actually spoken to him yet. This is the ultimate side effect of constant time regression – memories of previous timelines start bleeding into the current one.

“I just took a lucky guess,” I bluffed. “Anyway, is it mealtime yet? I’m starving.”

“…Not yet, but it should be soon.”

I was currently so weak that even the act of sitting up drained my remaining strength. My limbs wouldn’t stop trembling slightly.

Note to self: do not completely deplete mana while suffering from severe blood loss. It’s a dangerous combination to keep in mind.

Wait. It seems I still have some mana left.

It’s hard to explain, but after pushing my mana consumption to the brink so many times, I’ve begun to distinguish the physical sensation of having mana versus being truly empty. Furthermore, my left eye was still providing perfect night vision, proving there was still fuel in the tank.

I pulled up my status window and saw my mana count: 53/???.

Natural mana regeneration couldn’t possibly be that fast, so I likely hadn’t used it all up before. My brain simply couldn’t handle the sensory overload and “forced a shutdown” to protect itself.

Even with a Goddess’s eye, this is still a mortal vessel with definite physical limits. I can only hope its endurance increases over time.

Regardless, having mana to spare was a good sign.

After sitting for a while longer, the dinner crew finally arrived. They were all shrouded in floor-length black cloaks, moving as silently as ghosts without uttering a single word.

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I hadn’t paid them much mind during the day, but after seeing where Sophia was being held, an idea suddenly struck me.

Tending to mana slaves is a tedious, filthy chore—one the high-ranking members of the Church certainly wouldn’t do themselves. Most likely, they used other slaves for the task, ones who were also forbidden from leaving this basement.

That cramped, dark communal ward was likely the living quarters for these “caretaker” slaves. If that were the case, Rachel’s sister could very well be one of the people delivering these meals.

I crawled toward the bars, scanning the group for the smallest figure, then used my left eye to peer through the heavy fabric of their cloaks.

There she was, a young girl with red hair. Sophia’s face bore a striking resemblance to Rachel’s, and that distinctive red hair was unmistakable. Anyone would tell they were sisters at first glance.

Fortunately, that very girl was approaching my cell.