The Crack In Heaven [A LitRPG Progression Fantasy] Chapter 9: Chapter 9: Anchor Stress: 5%

Read chapter 9 of The Crack In Heaven [A LitRPG Progression Fantasy] by Adamus_Auguste on NovelPedia.

Chapter 9: Anchor Stress: 5% Stress on Anchor: 0.5% Why did it change? Kael frowned beneath his sheet. If he thought about the worst, it would be a countdown with stress as the watch hands. Though wounded, he felt great with his full stomach. So, not physical. Mental, then. Targeted at the anchor of endurance—at his memories of his mom. He had already lost their warmth. Would they disappear if it reached 100%? Would he lose his truth of endurance, or... Would it be something worse once it broke? Terror crept beneath his skin, tickling his wounds and jolting his mind. An hour and a half. That was all it took for the stress to rise. So, seventy-five hours... In seventy-five hours, he'd lose something else. Just thinking about losing himself left him sweating for endless minutes. How long? He didn't know. But long enough for Els' talk about priests to die down and for her breath to become a peaceful background noise. In the silence, he pressed his lips into a tight line. That would be the worst, but I'm not giving it any chance to happen. Sister Harrow; she must have had her truth for years, decades perhaps. Garrick, Brannick, and likely Silma must be the same, or they wouldn't rule the slums. There has to be a method to either slow or stop the stress from increasing. After a moment, he nodded. They must be aware, but don't have my ledger to monitor their states. I think they stopped it. Need to find out how before I run out of time. Don't pressure yourself, Kael. You need to understand the ledger and your truth before experimenting. With a deep breath, he forced the question aside to focus on the basis. How did he awaken endurance? His eyes trailed to the core of his truth. I persist. He had stated it with everything he believed in as he lost consciousness. He jotted it as condition one, then moved to condition two: almost dying. Could near-death experiences help someone awaken a truth? His father did when the mine collapsed, so most likely. Perhaps there were other ways. Ways he couldn't begin to guess with the little information he had. But they were enough for now. Nodding, he moved to the anchor. His crystallised endurance in recollections of his mom's unbending back. If his statement triggered the truth awakening, the recollection—no, his personification of endurance—must have caused it to latch on his memories of her. Those memories became his anchor, and the price... the painful price took away his most important treasure. He clenched his loose, yellowed shirt, feeling his heart hasten beneath the rough linen. If only he had known... In vain, he reached for the beautiful smile of his mom when she wished him a happy sixteenth spring. Still no warmth. He let out a long sigh. On one hand, he hated endurance for what it took from him. On the other, he would have bled out and frozen to death in the alley. Survival had costs. Powers had costs. If it ever happened again, he would choose what it took next. His next question made him clench his fist. Who gave him his truth? Certainly not the gods. He wouldn't believe these distant, cold bastards cared about him, or anyone, for that matter. If not the gods, then truths existed on their own. Perhaps rules like how boiling water made out steam. What if truths were the very tools the gods used to rise to power? Could they—could he—wield more than one? Dangerous ideas without understanding how stress works. I should drop them for now and test what endurance truly changed in me. I need less food, and winter frost can't freeze me. Is there something else? And that ledger appeared out of nowhere... He undid his bandages. Red skin had already veered to a natural pale. Silma's balm helped, but he believed endurance healed him faster. Strength also returned to his broken arm, much faster than he would have expected. The stab wound at his side still burned beneath a healthy scab. No blood, not when he had woken up, now that he thought about it. So, endurance also made him harder to kill. Othe