My attributes are increasing infinitely Chapter 448: Finding a shelter

The mushroom lacked any appealing flavor.

In reality, it stood as the foulest taste Ethan had ever encountered. It carried a sharp bitterness, a consistency like soggy paper, and a persistent aftertaste that clung on much like lingering sorrow.

Yet it provided warmth.

He devoured every bit of it.

[You have consumed: Common Forest Mushroom.

+0.001 kg Physique.]

Ethan halted while still chewing.

"Did eating just boost my strength?"

[Yes, Master. Every bit of food in this realm holds faint traces of spiritual energy. Ingesting it will slowly enhance your attributes.]

He gazed at the bare leaf that once held the mushroom.

"How many of these would it take for me to hit the peak of this world on my own?"

[A straightforward estimate. Based on your present eating pace, if you find and eat one mushroom each hour nonstop, you'd need about 847,293 years.]

Ethan fell silent.

Next, he burst into laughter.

Not out of bitterness. Not from hopelessness. He chuckled because the sheer ridiculousness of the situation suddenly seemed truly hilarious. There he sat, a entity who had once ripped open the fabric of existence, now figuring out years based on mushrooms like a lowly villager plotting his crop yield.

"Fine then," he declared. "Looks like I'm gathering wild plants now."

Dawn came hesitantly, with faint light seeping through the treetops.

Ethan hadn't rested. The entire night went to tending the flames, battling the chill, and swatting bugs with growing irritation. Red marks dotted his arms. His fingers stung from the effort of sparking fire with sticks.

Yet he persisted in living.

And crucially, a strategy had formed in his mind.

He checked his status panel:

[Master: Ethan Hunt

Physique: 19.2 kg

Spirit: 19.2 kg

Talent: Infinite Comprehension]

"Still woefully weak," he grumbled. "Though improved from before."

He extended his tiny arms and legs. The ache in his joints had vanished. His motions flowed smoother these days. Within a week, he'd match an adult's power.

"Lead me to water. After that, seek more sustenance."

The stream ran shallow and pristine.

Ethan dropped to his knees by the edge, scooping water to his lips. The chill bit at his teeth. He ignored it. He guzzled until his belly rebelled, then leaned back on his heels.

His image gazed back from the surface.

Appearing two years old. Perhaps three at most. Dark locks stuck to his brow. Eyes far too steady for any child.

He averted his gaze.

"What's the closest human gathering?" he inquired.

[A village lies roughly twelve kilometers to the southeast. Population: around three hundred. Main livelihood: farming. No cultivators dwell there.]

"No cultivators." Ethan nodded thoughtfully. "Perfect. I can't risk anyone detecting oddities."

He rose, dusting off the garments from his mother. The material was fine imperial silk, most likely, yet now marred by dirt and blades of grass. He'd have to swap them out before long.

"Twelve kilometers," he noted. "That's..."

[For a child your size and fitness level, about six hours of steady trekking.]

"Six hours." He glanced upward at the sky. "Better get going right away."

The woods showed no mercy to tiny wanderers.

Vines snagged at his feet. Roots jutted up suddenly to make him stumble. Limbs that grown-ups could brush away turned into hurdles demanding cautious steps. He tumbled twice. One scrape on his knee drew blood deep enough to sting.

Tears didn't come.

Weeping changed nothing. It built no shelters or located meals or shortened the path. Such indulgence lay beyond his reach.

Thus, he pressed onward.

Kept pressing.

Marched further.

[One hour passed.

Distance traveled: 1.8 kilometers.]

He slumped against a trunk, panting heavily. His legs shook. His chest seared.

"This," he wheezed, "feels utterly degrading."

[Your heart and lung stamina match that of a underfed infant. Rest might help, Master.]

"Can't spare the time." He shoved away from the bark and resumed his pace. "Stopping means I might never restart."

[Master.]

"Yes?"

[A wild fruit tree stands thirty meters forward. The fruits are tart but safe. Eating them will replenish a bit of your vitality.]

Ethan shifted course silently.

The fruits hung unripe, firm and verdant. Their flavor proved revolting as well.

He consumed three.

[+0.0004 kg Physique.

+0.0003 kg Spirit.]

Any gain beat none.

He tucked two extras into his pocket and headed southeast once more.

As the sun dipped low, voices reached his ears for the first time.

Ethan stopped abruptly, survival senses sharpened over endless realms urging him to conceal himself. He sank into a low squat behind a wide fern, flattening his little frame to the ground.

"...can't fathom the queen going through with it. Who abandons an infant that way?"

"Word is the kid lacked any gift. Utterly average. In royal lines, that's graver than disability."

"Even so. Only five days old. The poor soul likely perished from hunger."

Ethan's nails clawed into the dirt.

"Did they recover the remains?"

"Nope. Help said the crib sat vacant. Folks suspect the king arranged a discreet removal. To preserve honor."

"Harsh. Though I get it. A useless heir tarnishes the lineage."

Their steps receded into quiet.

Ethan stayed frozen for quite a while.

At last, he loosened his hold on the soil, wiped the grime from his palms, and resumed his journey.

Twilight unveiled the village.

Modest. Unpretentious. Precisely the refuge he sought.

He edged closer from the woodland border, watching closely. Homes of timber with straw coverings. A communal well in the middle. Hens scratching at the earth. No barriers—this spot anticipated no threats.

Ethan observed the village's patterns. How folks shifted about. Spots where they clustered. Structures that bustled versus those left still.

Then it caught his eye.

A modest shrine on the outskirts. Likely honoring a lesser crop spirit.

A haven.

He lingered until night fully cloaked the land, then darted from the shadows.

The shrine's entrance lacked a lock.

The interior carried scents of aged incense and fine particles. A compact altar bore wilted blooms and a pottery figure of a rounded female clutching grain. Moonbeams pierced cracks in the timber sides.

Ethan shut the door after entering.

Deep quiet enveloped him.

He lingered in the shadows, inhaling steadily. His limbs throbbed. His gut twisted from emptiness no tart fruit could ease. Bites from bugs irritated his flesh.

Still, he'd secured a roof beyond the trees.

Day one lay conquered.

"Yumiko," he murmured.

[Yes, Master.]

"Thanks. For the directions. For staying with me."

A brief hush.

[Serving you forever is my purpose, Master. Gratitude isn't necessary.]

"Perhaps." He leaned against the wall, pulling his knees close. "Still, you're receiving it."

Quiet lingered on.

Then, in a gentle tone:

[You're welcome, Master.]

Sleep evaded Ethan.

He remained in the gloom, attuned to the village's nocturnal whispers. Far-off canine yaps. Breeze rustling through grain patches. The groan of a well's pulley in the distance.

His mother occupied his thoughts.

Why had death claimed her?

Murdered? Or self-inflicted, as the help claimed? Staff seldom grasped the full story.

Truth would surface in time.

Not yet, though.

For now, endurance mattered. Growth. Power to render none his equal. Time alone sufficed.

The pottery harvest deity watched him with etched eyes.

Ethan met her stare.

"Not offering prayers your way," he said softly. "We're strangers. But I'll use your spot for the night. Nothing more."

The deity gave no reply.

He'd foreseen as much.