My attributes are increasing infinitely - Chapter 448: Finding a shelter

Chapter 448: Finding a shelter

The mushroom was not delicious.

It was, in fact, the worst thing Ethan had ever tasted. Bitter, with a texture reminiscent of wet parchment, and an aftertaste that lingered like regret.

But it was warm.

He ate every piece.

[You have consumed: Common Forest Mushroom.

+0.001 kg Physique.]

Ethan paused mid-chew.

“Did I just gain strength from eating?”

[Yes, Master. All sustenance in this world contains trace amounts of spiritual energy. Consuming it will gradually increase your attributes.]

He stared at the empty leaf where the mushroom had rested.

“How many of these would I need to reach the highest level of this world without your help?”

[A simple calculation. At your current rate of consumption, assuming you locate and consume one mushroom every hour without rest, you will require approximately 847,293 years.]

Ethan was quiet.

Then he laughed.

Not bitterly. Not in despair. He laughed because the absurdity of it all finally struck him as genuinely funny. Here he was, a being who had once torn holes through reality itself, calculating mushroom-years like some peasant farmer planning his harvest.

“Alright then,” he said. “Guess I’m foraging.”

Morning arrived reluctantly, pale light filtering through the canopy.

Ethan had not slept. He had spent the night feeding the fire, fighting off the cold, and slapping at insects with mounting frustration. His arms were covered in red welts. His fingers were raw from rubbing sticks together.

But he was alive.

And more importantly, he had a plan.

He looked at his panel:

[Master: Ethan Hunt

Physique: 19.2 kg

Spirit: 19.2 kg

Talent: Infinite Comprehension]

“Still pitiful,” he muttered. “But better than yesterday.”

He stretched his small limbs. The stiffness in his joints had gone. His movements felt more fluid now. He would become as strong as an adult with in a week.

“Guide me to water. Then more food.”

The stream was shallow and clear.

Ethan knelt at the bank, cupping water into his mouth. It was cold enough to ache his teeth. He did not care. He drank until his stomach protested, then sat back on his heels.

His reflection stared up at him.

Two years old. Maybe three, by appearance. Dark hair plastered to his forehead. Eyes too calm for a child.

He looked away.

“What’s the nearest settlement?” he asked.

[There is a village approximately twelve kilometers southeast. Population: approximately three hundred. Primary trade: agriculture. No cultivators reside there.]

“No cultivators.” Ethan nodded slowly. “Good. I don’t need anyone sensing anomalies.”

He stood, brushing dirt from his mother’s clothes. The fabric was high quality,imperial silk, probably but already stained with mud and grass. He would need to replace it soon.

“Twelve kilometers,” he said. “That’s…”

[For a child of your age and physical condition, approximately six hours of continuous walking.]

“Six hours.” He looked at the sky. “Then I should start now.”

The forest was not kind to small travelers.

Vines caught his ankles. Roots rose unexpectedly to trip him. Branches that adults would simply push aside became obstacles requiring careful negotiation. Twice he fell. Once he scraped his knee badly enough to bleed.

He did not cry.

Crying accomplished nothing. Crying did not build fires or find food or cover distance. Crying was a luxury he could not afford.

So he walked.

And walked.

And walked.

[One hour elapsed.

Distance covered: 1.8 kilometers.]

He leaned against a tree, breathing hard. His legs trembled. His lungs burned.

“This,” he gasped, “is humiliating.”

[Your current cardiovascular endurance is consistent with a malnourished toddler. Consider resting master.]

“No time.” He pushed off the trunk and kept moving. “If I stop now, I won’t start again.”

[Master.]

“What?”

[There is a wild fruit tree thirty meters ahead. The fruit is sour but non-toxic. Consuming it will restore some energy.]

Ethan changed direction without comment.

The fruit was barely ripe, hard and green. It tasted like disgusting too.

He ate three.

[+0.0004 kg Physique.

+0.0003 kg Spirit.]

Better than nothing.

He pocketed two more and continued southeast.

The sun was beginning its descent when he first heard voices.

Ethan froze mid-step, instincts honed across countless worlds screaming at him to hide. He dropped into a crouch behind a broad fern, pressing his small body against the earth.

“…can’t believe the queen actually did it. Who leaves a newborn alone like that?”

“They say the child had no talent. Completely ordinary. In the royal family, that’s worse than being crippled.”

“Still. Five days old. Poor thing probably starved.”

Ethan’s fingers dug into the soil.

“Did they find the body?”

“No. Servants said the cradle was empty. Some think the king had it disposed of quietly. To save the face.”

“Cold. But I understand. A waste prince reflects poorly on the bloodline.”

Their footsteps faded.

Ethan remained motionless for a long time.

Then he released his grip on the earth, brushed the dirt from his hands, and continued walking.

The village appeared at dusk.

Small. Humble. Exactly what he needed.

He approached from the tree line, observing. Wooden houses with thatched roofs. A central well. Chickens pecking in the dirt. No walls—this was not a place that expected invaders.

Ethan studied the rhythm of the village. The way people moved. Where they gathered. Which buildings seemed occupied and which stood quiet.

Then he saw it.

A small shrine at the village edge. Dedicated to some minor harvest deity, probably.

Shelter.

He waited until full darkness, then slipped from the trees.

The shrine door was unlocked.

Inside smelled of old incense and dust. A small altar held dried flowers and a clay statue of a plump woman holding wheat. Moonlight filtered through gaps in the wooden walls.

Ethan closed the door behind him.

The silence was profound.

He stood in the darkness, breathing slowly. His legs ached. His stomach cramped with hunger that even sour fruit could not satisfy. His skin itched from insect bites.

But he had found a shelter at least outside of the forest.

He had survived day one.

“Yumiko,” he whispered.

[Yes, Master.]

“Thank you. For the guidance. For being here.”

A pause.

[It is my eternal duty to serve you, Master. No thanks are required.]

“Maybe.” He settled against the wall, drawing his knees to his chest. “But you’re getting them anyway.”

Silence stretched.

Then, softly:

[You are welcome, Master.]

Ethan did not sleep.

He sat in the darkness, listening to the night sounds of the village. Distant dog barking. Wind through wheat fields. The creak of a well rope somewhere.

He thought about his mother.

Why did she die?

Had she been murdered? Had she truly taken her own life? The servants spoke of suicide, but servants rarely knew the truth.

He would find out eventually.

But not now.

Now he needed to survive. To grow. To become strong enough that no one could stand infront of him. All he needed was time.

The clay statue of the harvest goddess gazed at him with painted eyes.

Ethan gazed back.

“I’m not praying to you,” he said quietly. “I don’t know you. You don’t know me. But I’m borrowing your space tonight. That’s all.”

The goddess offered no response.

He had not expected one.