My attributes are increasing infinitely Chapter 448: Finding a shelter

The mushroom didn't taste good at all.

In truth, it stood as the foulest flavor Ethan had ever experienced. Harshly bitter, featuring a consistency like damp paper, and a lingering bitterness that stuck around like a haunting remorse.

Yet it felt warm.

He devoured every bit.

[You have consumed: Common Forest Mushroom.

+0.001 kg Physique.]

Ethan halted while chewing.

"Did I really just get stronger from that meal?"

[Yes, Master. Every bit of food in this realm holds tiny traces of spiritual energy. Eating it will slowly boost your stats.]

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

"How many of these do I need to hit the top tier of this world on my own?"

[A basic math problem. Based on your present eating pace, if you find and eat one mushroom each hour nonstop, it'll take about 847,293 years.]

Ethan stayed silent.

Then laughter escaped him.

Not from bitterness. Not from hopelessness. He chuckled because the sheer ridiculousness of it hit him as truly hilarious. There he sat, a entity who'd ripped open the fabric of existence before, now figuring out years of mushroom munching like a simple villager plotting his crop yield.

"Fine then," he declared. "Looks like I'm off to gather food."

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

Ethan hadn't rested. The whole night went to tending the flames, battling the chill, and swatting bugs with growing annoyance. Red bumps dotted his arms. His fingers stung from the friction of striking sticks.

Yet he lived on.

And even better, a strategy formed in his mind.

He checked his status screen:

[Master: Ethan Hunt

Physique: 19.2 kg

Spirit: 19.2 kg

Talent: Infinite Comprehension]

"Still pretty weak," he grumbled. "Though it's an improvement from before."

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

"Lead me to some water. Then hunt for more eats."

The brook ran shallow and pristine.

Ethan dropped to his knees by the edge, scooping water to his lips. The chill bit into 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. Messy dark hair stuck to his brow. Eyes holding a serenity unfit for a kid.

He turned his gaze aside.

"What's the closest town?" he inquired.

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

"No cultivators." Ethan nodded thoughtfully. "Perfect. I can't have anyone detecting something off."

He rose, wiping soil from his mother's garments. The material screamed luxury—fine imperial silk, no doubt—but now marred by dirt and leaves. He'd have to swap it out before long.

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

[For a kid your size and build, about six hours of steady trekking.]

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

The woods showed no mercy to pint-sized wanderers.

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

Tears didn't come.

Shedding them changed nothing. Weeping built no shelters, located no meals, or shortened no paths. It was a indulgence beyond his reach.

Thus, he pressed forward.

And pressed on.

And kept going.

[One hour passed.

Distance traveled: 1.8 kilometers.]

He slumped against a trunk, panting heavily. His thighs shook. His chest blazed.

"This," he wheezed, "feels downright embarrassing."

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

"Can't spare the time." He shoved away from the bark and resumed. "Stopping means I might not restart."

[Master.]

"Yeah?"

[A wild fruit bush sits thirty meters forward. The berries are tart but safe. Eating them will recharge a bit of your vigor.]

Ethan veered course silently.

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

He forced down three.

[+0.0004 kg Physique.

+0.0003 kg Spirit.]

Any gain beat zero.

He stuffed two extras in his pocket and headed southeast again.

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

Ethan stopped dead in his tracks, survival senses from endless realms urging him to conceal himself. He sank into a low squat behind a wide frond, flattening his little frame to the ground.

"...can't believe the queen went through with it. Who abandons a baby like that?"

"Word is the kid lacked any gift. Utterly average. In royal blood, that's worse than a disability."

"Even so. Only five days old. The poor soul likely starved out there."

Ethan's nails clawed the dirt.

"Did they recover the corpse?"

"Nope. Help said the bassinet sat empty. Folks figure the king had it handled discreetly. To preserve honor."

"Harsh. But it makes sense. A useless heir tarnishes the lineage."

Their steps receded into quiet.

Ethan held still for what felt like ages.

At last, he unclenched from the soil, dusted off his palms, and resumed his trek.

Twilight unveiled the settlement.

Modest. Unpretentious. Precisely the refuge he sought.

He edged in from the woodland border, watching closely. Timber homes topped with straw. A communal pump in the middle. Hens scratching the earth. No barriers—this spot never braced for attacks.

Ethan scanned the village's flow. How folks shifted about. Gathering spots. Structures buzzing with life versus those hushed.

That's when he spotted it.

A tiny temple on the outskirts. Likely honoring a lowly crop spirit.

A haven.

He bided until night fell completely, then darted from the shadows.

The temple entrance lacked a lock.

The interior carried scents of faded smoke and grime. A modest pedestal bore wilted blooms and a pottery figure of a rounded female clutching grain. Silver light pierced cracks in the timber.

Ethan shut the entry after him.

Quiet enveloped everything.

He lingered in the gloom, inhaling steadily. His limbs throbbed. Hunger twisted his gut, untouched even by tart berries. Bites from bugs prickled his flesh.

Still, he'd secured a roof away from the wilds.

Day one lay conquered.

"Yumiko," he murmured.

[Yes, Master.]

"Thanks. For the directions. For sticking around."

A brief hush.

[Serving you forever is my purpose, Master. No gratitude needed.]

"Perhaps." He slid down the wall, hugging his knees close. "But you're receiving it regardless."

Quiet lingered on.

Then, in a gentle tone:

[You're welcome, Master.]

Sleep evaded Ethan.

He perched in the shadows, attuned to the evening noises of the hamlet. Far-off canine yaps. Breeze rustling grain patches. A pulley groan from the well afar.

His mother occupied his thoughts.

Why had death claimed her?

Murder? Self-inflicted end? Staff mentioned taking her life, yet help seldom grasped the full story.

Truth would surface in time.

Not yet, though.

For now, endurance mattered. Growth. Power to dwarf any foe. Time alone would suffice.

The pottery harvest idol watched him with its etched stare.

Ethan met its gaze.

"Not offering prayers your way," he said softly. "We don't know each other. But I'm using your spot for the night. Nothing more."

The idol stayed mute.

He'd anticipated as much.