Chapter 3
The Weight of Truth
In the days that followed, fragments of understanding slowly assembled in my mind—like scattered pieces of a puzzle finally locking into place.
At first, I resisted the implications. I clung to doubt, to denial, to the fragile hope that I was still within the bounds of the world I knew.
But the longer I listened, observed, and learned, the heavier the truth became.
This was no longer suspicion.
I was not on Earth.
The realization did not strike like lightning. It settled quietly instead, pressing down on my chest with unbearable weight. Every explanation I heard, every law of nature I was taught, pushed me farther from familiarity and closer to an unavoidable conclusion.
This world did not merely differ from Earth.
It operated on entirely different principles.
This was a world of magic.
Here, mana was not a myth or a forgotten concept. It was the foundation of everything—life, power, progress, warfare, even survival itself. Crops grew through it. Medicine relied on it. Buildings endured because of it.
Strength, status, and authority were all measured by one thing alone.
power.
Despite its breathtaking vastness and raw beauty, this world was anything but peaceful.
Humanity did not rule it.
Humanity endured it.
From the stories and records shared with me, I learned that this land was a massive island.
Yet humans occupied only a small portion of it, clustered within a basin of relatively safe terrain.
To one side rose an endless mountain range.
No one knew where it truly ended—or whether anyone had ever reached its far side. These peaks were known as the Chaotic Mountains.
To the other side stretched a vast sea scattered with countless islands, treacherous and untamed. It was called the Chaotic Sea.
At first, the names puzzled me.
Then I learned the truth.
This world was lethal.
Death could come from natural disasters, from starvation, from disease—but most often, from monsters.
Yes. Monsters.
They existed alongside humanity, not as legends or nightmares, but as a constant and undeniable reality. That was why humans were confined to this land, unwilling—or unable—to venture beyond the mountains and seas.
By fortune rather than conquest, this basin provided flat terrain and manageable danger. It allowed humanity to survive long enough to establish roots, preserve bloodlines, and pass down knowledge through generations.
Because of this, the land came to be known as the Sacred Island.
It was the only place humanity could truly call home.
Even then, humans controlled only about eighty percent of it.
The rest belonged to monsters.
These creatures were not mindless beasts from fairy tales. They were a fundamental part of the world—its predators, its calamities, its living disasters. Humanity had fought them for thousands of years, and still the war showed no sign of ending.
What made monsters truly terrifying was not merely their strength.
It was their evolution.
They adapted.
They learned.
Some ancient monsters had lived long enough to develop intelligence equal to—or even surpassing—that of humans. These beings were capable of planning, negotiation, deception, and slaughter with terrifying precision.
Both humans and monsters could surpass natural physical limits.
But they walked entirely different paths to power.
human accumulated enough mana, then they refined it inward—circulating it repeatedly through their body until it condensed around the heart. Over time, this process forced the heart itself to evolve into what was known as a Mana Heart.
It reminded me of an engine from Earth.
A Mana Heart generated power, regulated output, and distributed energy throughout the body. With it, humans could draw mana from the environment, from mana crystals, and—under carefully controlled conditions—even from monster remains.
Mana crystals were pure, condensed mana without attributes, making them safe for any human to absorb.
Monster mana cores were another matter entirely.
Each core was bound to specific attributes—fire, ice, lightning, poison, and countless others. Absorbing a mismatched core could permanently damage a Mana Heart, or kill the user outright.
Monsters followed a more instinctive path.
Their bodies absorbed mana naturally over time. As it accumulated, it condensed within them—beginning as faint dust before solidifying into a Mana Core. This core circulated mana continuously, strengthening flesh, bone, instincts, and combat ability.
During battle, monsters could draw directly from their cores, unleashing power far beyond their physical limits.
In simple terms—
Monsters perfected their bodies until a Mana Core formed.
Humans refined mana until their hearts evolved.
Two paths.
One endless war.
As if that truth were not heavy enough, the sheer scale of this world left me breathless.
Legends spoke of lands beyond the Chaotic Mountains and Seas—places where humanity once thrived. Whether those stories were true, no one could say. Survival here took priority over curiosity.
From Elder Martha, I learned that the Sacred Island spanned nearly one hundred thousand square kilometers—roughly the size of South Korea back on Earth. Its population was estimated at five million.
There was no single ruling power.
Instead, humanity was divided into tribes.
Each tribe governed itself, its strength determined by numbers, resources, and powerful bloodlines. The tribe I currently lived with was known as the Ancestor Tribe, numbering roughly a thousand adults.
There were hundreds of such tribes across the island.
And yet, cruel irony dictated that the Sacred Island possessed the lowest mana density of all surrounding lands.
Humanity had been forced to survive on the weakest ground.
To compensate, humans launched dangerous expeditions beyond the island—into the mountains and seas—in search of mana crystals, rare herbs, monster materials, and ancient ruins.
These were not adventures.
They were gambles with death.
But the danger went both ways.
Humans hunted monsters to survive and grow stronger.
Monsters hunted humans to refine their bodies—and sharpen their minds.
Thus, the war continued unbroken, written in blood and sacrifice.
The island where Captain Jane's group found me was only one among thousands scattered across the Chaotic Sea—each containing resources humanity desperately needed.
To stabilize survival, tribes eventually established neutral trading cities.
Two of them became pillars of human civilization.
The Forge City.
And the Alchemist City.
Forge City was built in the north, near the Chaotic Mountains, beside ancient ruins believed to be remnants of a dwarven civilization. From these ruins came forging scriptures that revolutionized human equipment—and nearly ignited endless tribal wars.
To prevent total collapse, Forge City was declared independent. Any tribe could send members to study forging without restriction.
Alchemist City rose in the south, near another mysterious ruin—an ancient city dominated by a broken tower. There, humans discovered knowledge of potions, enhancement, and healing.
Its rise triggered conflict as well.
For fifty years, war ravaged the Sacred Island, halving humanity's population.
Only when the three hidden Tribes emerged did the chaos end.
A treaty was formed.
The two cities would remain independent.
No tribe could control them.
In exchange, both cities would remain open to all tribes, sharing knowledge and providing resources. Resource allocation would be determined through competition, overseen by the Three hidden Tribes.
In return, the Ancient Tribes claimed twenty percent of all resources.
The treaty bound all factions together.
It had endured for hundreds of years.
Together, they formed the pillars of humanity.
Forge City—masters of forging, enchanting, and artifacts.
Alchemist City—healers, scholars, and enhancers.
And the Three hidden Tribes—bearers of unknown and overwhelming power.
Smaller tribes could venture into dangerous lands under their protection—but at the cost of thirty percent of everything they gathered.
Survival demanded sacrifice.
There were no exceptions.
Strength in this world was measured in tiers—from Tier 1 to Tier 5.
For monsters, Tiers 1 through 4 focused purely on physical enhancement. At Tier 5, true intelligence awakened.
For Tier above 5, they said it's monsters possessed power and wisdom worthy of legend.
Humans advanced differently.
Each tier strengthened both the body and the Mana Heart, granting control over elements or concepts. But humanity faced a brutal truth.
A single Tier 1 monster required three Tier 1 humans to defeat.
Human Mana Hearts evolved faster—but lacked raw quality.
Humanity survived only by compensating.
Weapons.
Armor.
Formations.
Potions.
Strategy.
These were the thin lines separating survival from extinction.
As the final pieces of knowledge settled into place, the last traces of doubt vanished.
This was not Earth.
Not another continent.
Not another era.
This was another world.
Another planet.
And if I wished to survive—
If I wished to search for my family—
If I wished to defy a fate that had already taken everything from me—
Then strength was not a choice.
It was a necessity.