Amora soon had no time to worry about the ring, as her life was under immediate threat.
After dawn, the sky remained a dull, grayish hue. The entire city was shrouded in thick smoke, and amidst the ruins, Amora discovered the corpse of a bird.
Without any equipment to measure the energy fluctuations in her surroundings, she had no choice but to dissect the bird with her bare hands.
Wearing gloves, she tried to lift the bird by its wing to move it to a flatter surface. However, as soon as she touched it, the wing detached. There was no blood at the site of detachment; instead, the bones and flesh inside had turned into a cotton-like mass—sticky, crimson, and odorless. Amora leaned in to examine the half-bird in her hand but found no external injuries. The radiation had liquefied its insides into a pulpy mess.
Feeling uneasy, she dropped the bird and began searching the ruins for other animal corpses.
She found that small animals' bodies were almost entirely destroyed internally by radiation, while slightly larger ones, like stray dogs, still had fresh flesh visible upon dissection. However, the disintegration process was ongoing. A freshly dissected corpse would soon resemble the bird's state.
This meant that strong radiation was still present in the area.
Realizing this, Amora immediately ran back to the underground wine cellar. If she remembered correctly, the large storage boxes used for experimental waste were designed to block radiation.
She had anticipated that the Emerald Holy Spear Corps might take destructive measures to erase evidence, but she hadn't expected them to use such an all-encompassing, lethal radiative magical formula. These formulas, though infamous, were rarely deployed. They were primarily reserved by sky fortresses as deterrents.
The Death Radiance of the Emerald Holy Spear, the Undead Catastrophe of the Pallbearers, and the Endless Divine Grace of the Holy Cross—Amora could recite the names of every strategic-level magical formula but had never imagined how she might escape one on her own.
An individual's strength was utterly insignificant compared to a sky fortress or a magical corps.
Amora shut the wine cellar door from the inside and found the massive iron boxes in the corner, their outer layers coated with powerful anti-magic substances. She climbed over the top of the boxes and found the smallest one in the back, which she assumed would be the easiest to maneuver.
The anti-magic coating had originally been liquid but had solidified into a thin, transparent film over time. Amora used a sharp bone to start scraping along the edges of the box. The bone could only leave faint marks on the surface, but she persisted. With repeated scratching, the edges of the film began to heat up from friction, eventually softening and reverting to a liquid state.
Amora quickly managed to peel off a large, intact sheet of anti-magic film using this method. She rotated the box so that the area without the film was pressed tightly against other boxes, ensuring that the materials inside wouldn't harm her.
She casually stuck the thin, paper-like anti-magic film onto the wine cellar door, then crouched by the door and began calculating by the dim light seeping through the cracks.
The anti-magic film couldn't completely neutralize the effects of the radiative magical formula, so Amora knew she had to leave the cellar and seek safety elsewhere. She needed to find uncontaminated water and food in the city and prepare weapons for self-defense, as she might encounter mutated creatures along the way. She even hoped to find a functional cart because the ruins stretched endlessly, and her stamina was limited.
When her charcoal ran out, she switched to using the sharp bone, scratching her calculations onto the floor. The marks were faint but legible, and that was enough.
The anti-magic material created a localized magic-nullification field. Amora was calculating how to use it most efficiently to ensure the field would cover her entire body. Thanks to Mongel, Amora had spent years in high-radiation laboratory environments, so her coat already had some degree of anti-magic properties. Now, she just needed to reinforce protection in critical areas.
As she calculated, she marked the thin film on the door, treating it with the precision of a tailor drawing on fabric—exact and meticulous.
In many ways, Amora and Mongel were alike. Both possessed exceptional calculation skills, logical thinking, creative talent, and remarkable mental resilience and endurance.
Amora decided to cut the thin film into strips and attach them to the joints inside her clothing. She also lined part of her coat hood with the material, pulled up the collar, and wrapped herself securely. She inspected her shoes, hair tie, earmuffs, and gloves, ensuring they could provide some degree of protection against the rampant energy waves outside.
Only after completing these preparations did Amora leave the cellar again.
Her plan was to explore the area. She wasn't expecting to find survivors but thought she might come across a healthy horse that could help her travel.
By now, the sky outside seemed brighter, though the sun was nowhere to be seen—perhaps it was a cloudy day.
Amora found the cool, overcast weather agreeable. Intense sunlight would accelerate the decay of the corpses of humans and animals, creating conditions for disease and plagues to spread more quickly in the heat. On the other hand, rain would be disastrous. It could flood the cellar, carrying pollutants into her shelter, and make travel nearly impossible.
Amora wandered aimlessly. Even when the city was intact, she had rarely ventured out, and now she couldn't tell north from south. The only recognizable landmark was the tall clock tower standing conspicuously amidst the ruins. It was the most intact structure left, towering above everything else. Using both her hands and feet, Amora navigated the scattered debris, making her way toward the tower.
The clock tower housed an old mechanical clock that had long since stopped keeping accurate time. The city lord had officially retired it years ago.
Amora vaguely recalled hearing its long, resonant chimes when she was very young, though in recent years, she'd had little interest in listening to it. She reasoned that if the clock tower had survived such indiscriminate devastation, it might have some protective magical properties. If she could find a refuge within, it might ensure her safety. Even if it didn't, the tower might still hold some useful supplies.
Although the tower didn't seem far, it took Amora a long time to climb over the ruins of houses, leaving her panting for breath.
When she finally reached the clock tower, she realized she might have a problem.
The lock on the door was so corroded it no longer resembled its original shape. Amora picked up a rock and smashed it off, but when she tried to pull the door open, it didn't budge.
Clearly, someone had locked it from the inside, and that person might still be alive.
Amora hesitated at the base of the tower, unsure if she should knock. She wasn't confident that any fellow survivors in the aftermath of such a disaster would necessarily harbor good intentions.
As she debated, the door suddenly swung open with a loud bang, nearly hitting her in the face.
A burly old man stood before her. He wore a weathered leather coat, his face covered in a bushy beard. His small, sharp eyes were piercing, and he towered over Amora, who barely came up to his waist. Looking straight ahead, she could see the axe he gripped in his hand.
"Take this and get lost!" the old man barked, lifting his arm. Amora instinctively took a few steps back, bracing for a blow, but instead, he threw a dried ham hock at her.
She caught it awkwardly, struggling to keep her balance. Stunned, she stammered, "Uh… thank you, I mean…"
"Get out!" the old man roared. His loud voice matched his intimidating size, and his tone was gruff and impatient.
"Wait!" Amora raised her voice to match his. "I'd like to trade something! Weapons, a cart, anything!"
Before the old man could respond, a series of clattering noises came from inside the tower. A lanky, monkey-like young man darted out, blurting the first thing that came to his mind:
"Oh, it's a girl?"
Amora glanced up at the man. He was about as tall as the old man but far less muscular, his face showing the wear of indulgence in vices. His small eyes looked dull and exhausted, though they brightened with a glint of excitement when he saw her.
The old man raised his axe threateningly and shouted at the younger man, "Hardy, get back inside!"
Turning to Amora, he barked even louder, "And you, get lost!"
Hardy seemed unfazed by the old man's temper. He shrugged and said, "Come on, Dad, she wants to trade. Let's hear her out!"
The old man raised his axe again, prompting Hardy to retreat into the house with his hands over his head, muttering, "Alright, alright, whatever you say."
Amora kept a cautious distance from the axe-wielding elder and tried to speak as calmly as possible. "I have a lot of jewels and gold coins. If you could just provide me with a cart…"
"Jewels, you say?!" Hardy's face lit up with greed, the avarice practically etched into his expression. Dodging his father's axe, he addressed Amora with exaggerated friendliness. "You could check the ruins for a cart. We've got an old horse in the tower. But first—where are those jewels you mentioned?"
"Hardy!" the old man growled, shoving Hardy back into the house and slamming the door shut with a resounding bang.
"My house is south of the city, just below the hill!" Amora shouted through the closed door. "There's a broken gryphon statue out front!"
Inside, Hardy was too excited to pay attention to his father. He rushed into his bedroom, where a barely clothed woman was lying on his bed. He shook her awake, exclaiming, "Oh, darling, we're going to be rich!"
The woman rubbed her eyes groggily and asked, "What are you talking about?"
"A kid just came by offering jewels for a cart," Hardy explained, practically trembling with excitement. "Dad didn't agree, but we'll go after her ourselves!"
Still half-asleep, his wife frowned in confusion. "But if your father didn't agree, what are you going to trade with her?"
"Oh, my dear, you silly woman," Hardy said with a sneer. "We'll follow the kid, take her jewels, and we're set for life! Why bother trading? The mayor's mansion is gone, the sheriffs are dead, and no one's left to enforce the law! We can do whatever we want. The city's ours, and so is everything in it!"
His wife didn't look convinced. "But what if the rescue teams come? They'll start tallying up everyone's belongings…"
"By the time that happens, we'll have taken new identities in another city!" Hardy laughed loudly, recalling Amora's directions. "South of the city, she said. I'm heading there right now!"
His wife panicked and tried to stop him. "No, dear, it's not safe outside! Stay in the clock tower!"
But Hardy didn't listen. He bolted out of the bedroom and, while his father was busy putting down the axe, slipped out the door and headed toward the location Amora had described.
When the old man returned to the base of the clock tower, he found the door wide open, and outside stood a small, slender girl.
"Your son just went out," Amora said politely. "May I come in?"
The old man eyed her warily, then called out "Hardy!" several times into the distance. No response.
"He'll come back once he realizes there's nothing and no one there," Amora said calmly, still standing outside. "I'd like to see your horse. If it looks healthy, I have something interesting to trade for it."
"Who are you?" the old man asked, his tone still guarded. He knew the city was likely devoid of other survivors, and the sudden appearance of a lively little girl seemed highly suspicious.
This clock tower had been built during wartime, and the craftsmen had incorporated anti-magic materials into its construction. That was likely why it had survived the destructive attack the previous day. The old man was the tower's caretaker. Though it had been decommissioned years ago, he had remained out of sentimentality, voluntarily guarding the place he had spent most of his life.
His son, Hardy, was a notorious troublemaker in the city of Campell. A drifter who relied on petty theft and his father's support to get by, Hardy had no home of his own. He and his wife lived off the old man, stealing money from time to time to fund Hardy's gambling habits.
When the old man had woken that morning, he discovered the city in ruins and realized the destruction had left dangerous residual energy in its wake. The clock tower, possibly the last standing structure in the area, was their only refuge. After realizing this, the old man had spent most of the day at the top of the tower, scanning for signs of a rescue team. But no one had come.
Just moments ago, the old man had spotted a living person near the clock tower. At first, he thought it was a rescuer, but as the figure approached, he realized it was just a young girl seeking help. The old man knew his son was not a good person, and letting the girl stay in the clock tower would likely put her in danger. Reluctantly, he had refused to take her in. However, feeling sorry for the child, he gave her a leg of cured pork after much deliberation.
What he hadn't expected was that the girl would persistently try to trade with him.
"Get out of here! Don't stay around!" the old man barked, trying to shoo Amora away.
"I have something that can help protect you from the energy outside," Amora replied, her tone urgent. She desperately needed transportation and a storage solution, but the severe contamination outside had killed most livestock; the streets were littered with decaying carcasses. She thought the old man seemed decent—at least he had given her the pork leg without hesitation—so she decided to try convincing him one more time.
If she could use her anti-magic materials to help the old man while securing what she needed, it would be a win-win situation.
"No, I don't need it," the old man replied firmly, convinced that staying inside the clock tower would keep him perfectly safe. He had no interest in the strange items this child was offering.
"Yes, you do," Amora said with conviction. "Please believe me. The materials in this clock tower offer limited protection against magic. Last night's Death Radiation was a strategic-level spell. Almost nothing short of a sky fortress could withstand it completely. You need highly effective anti-magic tools."
The old man was about to loudly dismiss her claims, but Amora spoke even faster. "It's just an old horse. In this contaminated environment, it will soon die and rot. And rotting is the best-case scenario. What if it mutates? Everyone in this clock tower could be killed."
"Shut up, you little brat!" the old man exploded with rage. He couldn't believe the girl had the audacity to speak such ominous words after he'd given her food. Cursing his entire household—how dare she?!
"Alright," Amora said, pulling her hat lower over her face. "I hope you won't regret this."
The old man rushed forward, intent on slamming the door shut. Just then, a woman's scream pierced the air from inside the clock tower.