Chapter Eighty-Eight: Proof of Original Sin

Darkness seemed to exist only for an instant, so fleeting that even my keen senses failed to perceive its arrival. I sat upright in the tavern, everything as usual. Apart from the proprietor and myself, the place was empty. I held a half-finished glass of ale, the dregs still clinging to the sides. Had I not known beforehand, I wouldn’t have sensed that the might of the Supreme God had just manifested across this vast land.

Yet, no matter how I reasoned, I was certain that dreadful darkness had once shrouded this realm—and it had surely lingered for a long while. Its brevity was an illusion, for the Supreme God’s colossal hand had cast it into the crevice of the river of time, masking any perception of its passage.

Moreover, I firmly believed that under the majestic correction of the Supreme God’s power, subtle yet profound changes had taken root in this world.

As I drained the last sip of my ale, the air beside me twisted ever so slightly. The form of an airborne dwarf gradually materialized before me, completing his temporal journey and standing fully visible at my side.

Seeing me already present, he smiled warmly and greeted me with friendly familiarity. “You’re early today.” Before I could respond, he scrutinized his attributes, then shook his head irritably.

“Ah, it’s been reverted after all. I shouldn’t have wasted my gold on that,” he grumbled, removing the pair of “boxing gloves” from his hands. With a shrug toward me, he cursed bitterly, “Damn it. Ten gold coins flushed down the drain for a useless, level-13 piece of trash gear—ruined just like that.”

He slammed the gloves onto the tavern table, refusing even to glance at them again. Only shops run by native merchants, who never turned away customers, would accept such low-grade level-13 rubbish—and at best, they’d pay a few dozen copper coins. I doubted this dwarf lacked petty change to vex himself.

I noticed that even after removing the gloves, his attributes remained unchanged.

Ten gold coins—that price meant he must have snatched this junk from some unscrupulous guild merchant’s alt account. That thought stirred a twinge of shame within my honest heart. Standing beside him, I felt uneasy, as if he might detect our complicity with that scoundrel who sold him the gloves—though we both knew that was impossible.

I awkwardly exchanged a few perfunctory words with him, uttering hollow complaints like “I was conned too” and “It’s such a rip-off,” then fled the tavern in haste. The streets lay empty. Most airborners had yet to arrive; only the honest, almost dull-witted native merchants tended their shops in silence, awaiting customers who would come sooner or later. Such quiet streets unsettled me. I gazed blankly down the empty thoroughfare, uncertain where to turn next.

Then a crisp breeze swept across my face, clearing my mind.

Oh. I haven’t even taken off my own boxing gloves yet.

I stretched out my hands, intent on removing these gloves—an act against the divine will—according to the gods’ decree.

But as I opened my palms, a shock flooded my mind:

Fortunately, I had glanced at my attributes just before the divine might descended; fortunately, I had a decent memory and recorded all my stats; fortunately, out of curiosity, I checked my attributes once more before removing the gloves—fortunately…

In short, I was stunned to find no change in my attributes compared to before.

The “Rattlesnake’s Wind-Cutting Blade” boasted 170 attack power. Including my own strength, it should total 293. Yet now, my attack stat plainly read “123 + 210.” Scanning my new helmet, belt, ring, and all other freshly equipped gear, none bore any attack-boosting effects. So where did the extra 40 attack points come from? Surely not from my pants.

Not only that, my attack speed bonus far exceeded what the longsword indicated, aligning almost perfectly with the attack speed bonus granted by the boxing gloves.

The strangest part: previously, when wearing those gloves, the status screen would show two sets of gloves—both the boxing gloves and the original gauntlets—without hiding either.

Now, though I could clearly see the gloves on my hands, I could not find any trace of them in the equipment slots. These gloves, existing against divine law, hovered like a mysterious phantom between presence and absence—a paradox.

My mind reeled, unsure what to make of it. But soon I grasped the meaning: my attack power was now permanently a tier higher than others’. In the countless dangers awaiting me on future adventures, this hidden advantage might become my ultimate trump card, saving my life at the critical moment. I felt as if a delicious, soft, sweet pie had hit me squarely—an unexpected windfall sparking secret delight.

Yet the thrill faded quickly as reason regained control. I began to calmly consider the possible consequences:

The gloves’ peculiar existence was an error rejected by the gods;

The recent events proved the Supreme God’s power had nullified the gloves’ special effect;

Yet the divine power had not erased the gloves’ bonus on me…

Anyone with even rudimentary logic would see the chilling conclusion emerging:

Perhaps—just perhaps—this was an assumption I refused to accept—that I myself was a mistake, a solitary soul unaccepted by the Supreme God.

If this subtle difference of mine were ever accidentally discovered…

A chill ran through me. Clasping my hands, I yearned to tear off the gloves. I feared that in the eyes of the gods, this barely perceptible artifact symbolized an original sin I could never shed; feared that today’s small indulgence might someday become damning proof, provoking divine wrath.

But as my fingers touched the leather surface, a bold question struck me: What have I done wrong?

Since the first day I had memories, I had lived openly under the gods’ laws on this vast, fertile land. I revered and respected the divine, treated others sincerely and earnestly; I assisted the weak to the utmost and stood resolutely against the cruel.

Perhaps I was not the kindest or most devout soul in the world. To the sharp gaze of the gods, I was merely a flawed mortal—humble and insignificant. But within me burned the heart of a warrior, pursuing courage and justice, never unworthy of the land beneath my feet.

Would the gods—those supreme beings beyond our comprehension in the heavens—truly reject my soul because of this difference? Would a sincere heart be defiled merely for existing differently? Would these wisest and greatest entities ignore a person’s virtue and character, condemning him for deeds he never committed?

No. I did not believe it. If we doubted even the gods’ wisdom and mercy, then our faith would be lost.

If I was certain of my innocence, why should I hide or deny my difference?

I clenched my fists, gripping the gloves firmly, dispelling all thoughts of removing them. I resolved to follow the justice I believed in and do what I felt right. The rest—let the divine will judge my choice.

…Besides, I must admit: secretly becoming stronger, gaining an edge in battle—that was undeniably tempting and hard to resist.

With this burden lifted, my spirits lightened, my heartbeat quickened. I felt my entire being invigorated, blessed by a firm, resolute will.

Faith—steadfast faith—is something to rely upon, a support in moments of doubt, soothing a restless soul.

Every life needs its faith, whatever form it takes: gods, ideals, friendship, family… even if you choose to believe in an orange, happiness follows so long as you believe.

Regrettably, by the time I grasped this truth, belief and doubt no longer mattered to me…

Determined, I set aside the emotional turmoil caused by the gloves and, following magical instructions, received a parcel from the city courier—a batch of alchemical materials purchased with guild funds.

Alchemy was indeed a rare profession. Among our twenty-plus guild members, I was the only alchemist, while miners, apothecaries, and leatherworkers were numerous.

Compared to these common trades, alchemy’s study and advancement were arduous and slow. The main reason: it required gathering a wide variety of materials—from common, easy-to-find lantern grass and rock ash to rare, luck-dependent magical elements and star fragments. Alchemy spanned multiple crafts: potions, cooking, forging, and more. Generally, higher-level recipes demanded more and rarer materials, with soaring costs.

Undeniably, some enigmatic masters might exist—hidden geniuses who, through unimaginable talent and toil, became revered high-level alchemists. Reason suggested two possibilities: either they were wealthy patrons, indifferent to the cost of materials (how enviable), or destitute souls who poured all their wealth into the endless pit of alchemy (how pitiable).

Sadly, rational wealthy individuals rarely chose alchemy as a money-burning livelihood, and rational alchemists seldom emptied their pockets for experiments. Thus, the high-level alchemist became as mythical as the Supreme God, otherworldly devils, unborn fetuses, or flawless lovers—heard of but never seen.

Therefore, it was easy to understand why level-20 miners and cooks crowded the streets, while a level-18 alchemist like me was already rare.

Now, thanks to our esteemed guild leader, the greatest obstacle was effortlessly overcome. The pile of materials before me could satisfy the ingredients for nearly thirty of the highest-level alchemical recipes I knew, meaning I could at least raise my alchemy skill one more level.

Estimating their market value, this hoard might be worth nearly ten thousand gold coins; even if most were guild stock contributed by other members, the cost would still be four or five thousand gold.

I glanced again at the brief note from our guild leader, Lady Fei Yin, sent with the shipment. It read simply:

“When your alchemy level rises, remember to pay back your debts with your products!”

I smiled wryly. Our leader had great faith in me, but I could not fathom why. So far, my alchemy was limited to basic material processing, earning only small handling fees—far less profitable than adventuring and selling loot. Expecting me to repay such a vast debt through alchemy—did she truly believe I could transmute mercury and lead into gold?

Of course, it wasn’t impossible. According to alchemy’s principles, with a sufficiently powerful particle collider to alter matter’s atomic composition, even a stone could be transformed into gleaming 24K pure gold. Given current goblin industrial technology, such a machine might be built in less than two thousand years.

I didn’t mind waiting eagerly for that day, but the question was: would Lady Fei Yin be willing to wait so long?

Regardless, I dove into my alchemy research. Following my recipes, I successfully fused various metal ores into lighter yet remarkably tough alloys, and extracted tougher plant fibers from serpent’s vine to replace copper wire for stronger armor stitching. Upon completing these tasks, my alchemy skill rose to level twenty.

Level twenty marked another formidable threshold. Beyond this point, no matter how many items I crafted, previous recipes ceased to grant any skill experience.

This had happened before at level five, when basic refining and cosmetic alterations stopped improving my skill until I learned to make telescopes and alloys.

It seemed that to advance further, I needed to discover newer alchemy formulas.

With most materials consumed, I paused my work and noticed Longbow Shooting Sun nearby. I sent him a message asking his location—these newly crafted alloys were useless to me but might be invaluable in the hands of this dwarf weaponsmith.

His swift reply came: “I’m in the Holy City. I can upgrade weapons now!”