I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

Chapter 132: Tales Of A Fifteen Year Old That Walked Through Hell

Gilbert’s fingers softly caressed the crimson crystal, his eyes studying it intensely before raising them to meet Northern’s gaze.

”And this is?” he asked, an inquisitive brow arched.

”A red crystal,” Northern responded. ”I don’t know if it has a special name, but it’s a crystal with healing properties.”

Gilbert’s eyes widened in surprise, mirrored by the flabbergasted expressions contorting the faces of those around the table.

”Although,” Northern added, his tone laced with a hint of caution, ”I also think it comes with a side effect...”

Gilbert’s hand stilled, and he ceased his inspection of the crystal, lifting his head to regard Northern with a furrowed brow.

”A side effect?”

Northern nodded solemnly.

”Yes, I think it has a tendency to make someone mad... or at least susceptible to darkness and malice.”

”What do you mean?” Gilbert’s voice carried a note of confusion. ”I don’t understand.”

Northern inhaled deeply, then exhaled, his features hardening as he began to explain.

”I’ve not been in rifts many times, but I’ve heard a thing or two from my mother. Rifts are supposed to be broken dimensions. To close down a rift, one must find its core, and to find the core, it’s crucial to understand the history of that dimension—ultimately, what led to its demise. Isn’t that right?”

Murmurs rippled through the gathered individuals, causing Northern to glance around uncertainly, unsure if his understanding was correct.

Gilbert’s voice cut through the low hum, commanding attention.

”While you are right, there are also some things you need to be corrected on. The word is not ’dimensions’ but ’regions.’ See, probers postulate that rift territories are all different regions of a particular dimension.”

As Gilbert spoke, Northern’s eyes narrowed in contemplation. ”So while each rift might be different... we think they are all different regions. There have been cases of the same region appearing in multiple rifts.”

Northern’s brow furrowed deeper.

’I don’t know what prober postulated that theory, but it doesn’t even feel right!’

If that were the case, how could one explain the vast, contrasting histories and conditions behind each rift?

This particular one was a realm of endless night. If they were all regions of the same dimension, did it mean that there existed a region that never saw the sun’s kiss?

While others basked in its warmth?

It sounded plausible when considering this was a world where anomalies were becoming increasingly common.

But Northern wanted to believe—no, he had seen enough evidence to know that even those anomalies had a common reasoning behind them.

There was no solid reason for his premonition, and yet, after striding along the ethereal weaves of the rift’s reality, he could tell... that they were wrong.

However, those were his thoughts to hold onto for now.

Northern nodded his head humbly, meeting Gilbert’s gaze as the older man corrected him.

”So, rifts tear apart these dimensions, and these tears are what appear in our own dimension. All these resources and heritages received by different drifters are believed to have been originally owned by natives of this once united dimension.”

A glimmer of understanding dawned in Northern’s eyes as he nodded in response.

”That does make a lot of sense. I guess it explains a lot of things.” A small, grateful smile tugged at his lips. ”Thank you very much.”

”You’re welcome.” Gilbert cleared his throat, a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

Raven’s impassive gaze flickered between the two men before settling on Northern.

”So, this crystal. You were explaining,” she prompted, her tone devoid of emotion.

”Thank you.” Northern’s expression grew somber as he delved into his explanation.

”What I mean is that the underlying history of this certain dimension... region is about a mad king who killed his entire kingdom as some kind of ritual to gain unrivaled power. The kingdom is characterized by red mines; these crystals, when struck, can exude a potent bloodlust. I theorized that taking a large amount of something as such could probably increase your thirst for blood and make you slowly descend into the realm of utter madness.”

His gaze swept over their faces, and he added after a weighted breath, ”Although this is my own theory based on the things I saw, I only took it in small quantities. But I think it played a major role in why I enjoyed the war there so much. Although, I do think the eyes of the castle lord, in particular, had the main effect.”

”Wait a moment... bro, chill. What do you mean ’war’?” A young man with sharp, shark-like teeth and a grating, froggy voice intoned, raising both his brows in bewilderment.

Northern rolled his eyes, the weight of his experiences etched lightly into the lines of his face as he recounted, ”Ah, that’s right... there was war. We prisoners were thrown into the fray as meatshields, so the monsters from the kingdom of Red Mine could gain a moment of respite and turn the tide of the battle. But I managed to survive by feigning death and hiding myself amongst other monster corpses.”

Their faces crumpled into strained frowns, a mixture of fear and pity forming on some, while others regarded him with blatant distrust.

Of course, Northern expected such diverse reactions. But he continued nonetheless, his words painting a vivid, haunting picture.

The atmosphere grew tense and heavy as he narrated the major events that had transpired within the rift.

The more he revealed, the more they looked upon him with skepticism and doubt etched into their features.

Annette, however, stood apart. Her frown seemed to be a force battling to hold her expression together, to prevent the tears from spilling forth.

The twins gazed at him with undisguised compassion and pity in their eyes.

Terence, too—her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Gilbert paid rapt attention, though a slight frown creased his brow.

It was difficult to discern his thoughts, but at some point during Northern’s narration, pity for the young lad flickered across his features.

Northern was barely fifteen years old, yet he had endured a hell that none of them had ever seen or heard of before. None!

While Northern was completely honest about the things he mentioned to them—the level of monsters, his ’adventures’ with Night Terror—he left out a couple of critical details.

The Vestige of the Chaos Prince.

The fact that he could speak the monster tongue.

The things that Koll had said—he didn’t even speak of Koll’s ability to converse.

In his explanations, he carefully navigated around those subjects, taking routes that would prevent them from asking questions that could unravel those threads.

Since he couldn’t lie.

He just didn’t have to mention it.

Those facts were his to hold and investigate. At least until he knew the identity of the Chaos Prince and these Origins, one of which Koll worshipped... until then, they were his alone.