Chapter 13: Lucky May

Just like Narvel, this was the first time that Voidscale had encountered another human here in The Crucible, and the meeting was charged with tension.

Having just been upset by Narvel, Voidscale's anger simmered as if its displeasure could only be sated by devouring anyone who, in some uncanny way, resembled its master. Even Narvel could sense that Voidscale was behaving far more aggressively than usual, its every movement taut with barely contained fury.

"Who are you?" Came a cautious question from one of the group of Novas that had emerged.

There were six in total—two females and four males—each clearly past their early twenties and displaying a diverse array of backgrounds. In The Crucible, it was not unusual to see people moving in groups rather than alone.

Regardless of class, skin color, education, or wealth, most preferred the safety and mutual support provided by a group. In a place as perilous as the Crucible, solo travelers were a rarity, reserved only for those truly powerful or well-equipped enough to hold their ground.

So when these Novas witnessed Narvel emerging from the Hollow Forest alive—albeit in a rather disheveled and unfashionable state—and saw that he was alone, they quickly assumed he must be one of the formidable Novas they had only heard rumors about.

In their eyes, he was easily mistaken for a Sunmoon Nova, a figure of legendary strength and prowess.

Their assumptions were further reinforced by the fact that they had been near the entrance of the Hollow Forest when the gigantic Stratus Songbird had appeared, its oppressive aura suppressed even them at a distance. They, too, had felt the crushing shockwave of its attack, an experience that left a lasting mark of fear and awe.

Yet, shortly after that devastating attack, someone had emerged from the depths of the forest—alive and bearing the corpse of a beast that looked like a miniature version of the very bird that had so recently oppressed them.

And then there was the display of Telekinesis, an ability that Narvel had used with such ease that it left the Novas speechless, they all thought that it was an ability reserved for those in the Sunmoon level. All of these events compounded in their minds, leading them to the unshakable conclusion that they were in the presence of a true expert…

As for Narvel himself, he had always found it difficult to trust people—especially other Novas. From the moment he detected their presence, his senses were on high alert, ready to either fight or flee at the slightest provocation.

When one of the Novas asked about his identity, he raised his guard; "What's my identity got to do with you?" The tone of the conversation shifted abruptly.

Sensing that his question about Narvel's identity might have been taken as a personal slight, the speaker quickly apologized, "I'm sorry, I was just curious," not wanting Narvel to mistake it for outright hostility.

Narvel could sense the shifting emotions among them—the initial hostility gradually giving way to nervousness, then to an undercurrent of fear.

It struck him as peculiar as he found himself increasingly sensitive to the emotions of those around him. He wondered, with a mix of astonishment and apprehension, since when had he gained the ability to sense the emotional states of other people so acutely?

Reeling from his earlier shock, Narvel maintained a neutral expression, determined not to appear as an easy target to the group of Novas gathered before him. Though he couldn't pinpoint exactly why they were trembling with fear or what they feared most, he resolved not to drop his guard despite the subtle emotions he sensed around him.

For over a minute, both parties remained motionless, locked in a wary stalemate.

The silence was thick with tension as each side carefully observed the other. The group of Novas found it peculiar that they couldn't detect a strong aura emanating from Narvel—instead, all they perceived was the faint, unfinished energy of a Nova still in the early stages of Awakening.

Even so, despite being Novas at the Sundered level, they dared not be careless; in this harsh world, appearances could be deceiving, and the true nature of a being was never immediately evident from the surface alone.

Finally, unable to tolerate the stagnant silence any longer, Narvel broke it by asking, "What do you guys want? Why are you all still standing here?" His voice carried both authority and curiosity, and he could sense that their apprehension stemmed partly from his own inscrutable presence. Perhaps if he spoke first, they would muster the courage to express their intentions.

One of the female Novas spoke bashfully, "W-we were looking for… food." Her words trembled in the quiet air, and at that moment, Voidscale reacted violently.

The creature bared its fangs at the woman as if driven by a primal instinct to devour her eyeballs, a reaction that sent a ripple of alarm through the group. Startled, the Novas quickly stepped back, their eyes wide with fear, worried that they had inadvertently provoked Narvel further.

"Sir, please don't misunderstand," a ginger-haired man interjected hurriedly in their defense. His tone was earnest and apologetic as he continued, "We have been scouring this place for food for hours now, but we haven't found anything edible. If what my friend said offended you, please act as if she never said it. Forgive her, I beg you." Tall and scarred from a life of hardship, with skin darker than Narvel's and a partially missing left ear that somehow only enhanced his rugged appeal, the man's presence lent a sense of gravity to the plea.

The group looked visibly frightened, their anxious gazes flitting between Voidscale and Narvel as the forest around them loomed in muted hues.

Narvel's eyes narrowed as he asked, "Why are you looking for food in the Crucible? Why not awaken and eat outside of here?" His question was laced with genuine curiosity; he wondered if there was something about the Crucible's cursed bounty that made nourishment here different from the world beyond.

After all, the moment he had consumed that first fruit, he had felt his stat points surge, and deep down, he was eager to recapture that transformative sensation.

One of the Novas answered with a sigh heavy with resignation, "That's because we are poor. Our country has been torn apart by a harsh civil war for over a decade now. Only the rich and powerful can afford proper food. As for us, we were lucky enough to awaken our Novara gene."

Narvel frowned as he pondered this.

'Lucky enough to awaken?' He thought.

In some parts of the world, the Novara gene was not seen as a curse by the people but rather as an opportunity—a means to transcend one's limitations.

Yet here, it was clear that desperate circumstances had driven them to search for sustenance in this Nightmarish Crucible.

Despite this, Narvel refrained from judgment. His own life was fraught with hardship and bitter isolation, hardly a model to aspire to, and unlike them, he harbored a deep-seated loathing for this accursed place.

His gaze drifted to the corpse of the slain Stratus Songbird lying nearby, and after a moment of contemplation, he made a decision. He had no intention of consuming the bird, nor did he feel hunger despite the intense physical exertion from the earlier pursuit and tussle in the forest.

In fact, apart from the lingering sensation of increased stat points, Narvel felt as though he had only just eaten the fruit moments ago.

"You guys can have it," he offered coolly, "in exchange, I want information from you."

At this, the faces of the Novas brightened. "Sure, please ask us anything, and if I know the answer, I'll tell you truthfully," the ginger-haired man said quickly, his tone earnest. Others echoed his sentiment with nods or brief verbal affirmations, collectively signaling their willingness to trade knowledge for sustenance.

Voidscale, on the other hand, didn't like this idea at all. It was fuming as it began digging its claws into Narvel's shoulder, drawing a thin line of blood as it grumbled its complaints.

Narvel flicked Voidscale's head dismissively and retorted, "You've had enough already. I know you're not really hungry, you stupid thief. You're just a gluttonous freak who never stops eating." His voice was laced with exasperation and a hint of amusement, for he was certain that Voidscale, too, was feeling the peculiar effects of the fruit it had bitten into.

Moreover, Voidscale had already devoured the bird's eyeballs and part of its meat. With its limited body size, Narvel couldn't help but wonder what kind of stomach his pet possessed.

Meanwhile, the other Novas quickly set up camp, or at least they tried to do so with the fluid efficiency that came from years of surviving in the Crucible.

While most of them went ahead to de-feather the slain bird, the others gathered wood from the broken remains of the trees scattered around the clearing. The area was a rugged scenery of shattered branches, scattered leaves, and the rough textures of dried timber.

"Seems like another lucky month for us," one of the male Novas exclaimed excitedly.

"Yeah, we haven't had any meat since February," another added his tone a blend of longing and resignation.

The ginger-haired man, with a spark of enthusiasm, then declared, "This year might just be it for us—eating meat twice in a year, not just leftovers from what another beast has feasted on. Maybe we should call this month Lucky May." His words resonated with the shared struggle and optimism of those who had endured scarcity for too long.

Observing the way these Novas acted, Narvel began to suspect that their claims of coming from a war-torn country might not be entirely genuine. They moved as though they had momentarily forgotten about him, their initial fear replaced by an almost casual indifference.

Yet, he could understand such behavior if he knew that they truly believed him to be far stronger than they were. To these Novas, someone at Narvel's level wouldn't need to resort to trickery if he intended to confront them.

'Since February, when I entered this place, it was only the 3rd of the month,' Narvel mused silently as he listened to their conversation. 'And now they call it Lucky May? Do they use a different calendar in their country?' That's rare." Unable to quell the unsettling feeling in his heart, Narvel spoke up. "Why Lucky May?" He asked.

Without a moment's hesitation, the ginger-haired man answered, "Because we are in May." His reply, though simple, carried the weight of hard-won survival and the bitter irony of their situation.

At that moment, Narvel's mind raced with conflicting thoughts.

'But how? I've been in this place for two whole months! How is that possible? Time dilation? But… Joseline.'

The thought of Joseline flashed painfully in his mind as he squeezed the Ember orb in his hand. The familiar energy coursing through the orb forged a connection between him and the unseen barriers that enshrouded this dimension.

With a single, determined thought, Narvel activated that energy and vanished from the Crucible, leaving alongside a furious Voidscale.