Irene slept for two whole days and nights. The aftereffects of her mana depletion worked even better than drinking a full pot of Sleepytime Tea.
Now fully awake, she was assessing the results of this journey—and the price she had paid for it.
Magic scrolls, along with a backpack stuffed full of consumables, were nearly all used up. The total expenses came to 11,451 gold coins and 4 silver—an astronomical figure. And that didn’t even include the high-quality mana crystal used to repair Lilisah, or the materials consumed in the process.
She had even crafted a new arm for Lilisah from scratch.
The more she calculated, the more her scalp tingled. The costs were simply terrifying. If this happened a few more times, even someone like Irene wouldn’t be able to afford it.
After tallying the expenses, it was time to calculate the gains—and they were just as astonishing.
First, the spoils of war: Combat Automaton Lilisah ×1.
Although, regrettably, Lilisah had no memory of the past, it might actually be better this way. That unpleasant chapter with Froya? Better forgotten entirely.
Next were the magic tomes she’d casually “borrowed” from the Royal Magic Library. Right now, Clarét and Helga were flipping through them with fascination in the carriage.
As for Helga—after she confessed what really happened in Duskfall Town and disguised herself as Master Garhai to tag along with the party, Irene wasn’t all that angry with her anymore. She thought that to herself, at least. Outwardly, she kept up a cold front, acting like she hadn’t forgiven Helga at all.
‘Oh, repentance? Atonement? Come with me then. I might find a use for you later.’
Yes, Irene planned to make use of Helga’s remorse. Maybe it would get her to do things she had previously refused to do.
And as for Serena—
Just like she said during their farewell in the city: she had absolutely no intention of forgiving her anytime soon.
According to Helga, those magic tomes were priceless. But their existence must remain absolutely secret. If the Mage Guild caught wind of them, they’d go absolutely mad trying to obtain them.
And when that happened, Irene would never know peace again.
That was also why Irene decisively dumped all the credit for this mission on Serena. Let her deal with the trouble.
The third major gain was the “Great Saint Set” that the Holy King had personally entrusted to her after she entered the real White Tower. Every single piece was a rare treasure. Helga had practically drooled when she saw them.
But unfortunately—
All the divine artifacts were soulbound. In anyone else’s hands, they were completely useless.
Wearing the full set only served to increase Irene’s maximum mana pool. As for the rest—mana amplification, extreme chant speed boosts—they were utterly wasted on Irene, who couldn’t even chant properly to begin with.
What Irene was satisfied with, however, were the few enchanted magic rings she now had. After studying them for a while, she discovered that they stored simple but effective attack spells. All she had to do was inject mana, and the spells would trigger.
With this, even someone like Irene—useless at both martial and magical combat—finally had a means of offense!
The final gain was perhaps the most important of all: a clearer understanding of herself.
The Codex of Endymion’s Laws had been a scam. But Irene didn’t care anymore. This cooperative battle with her former companions had helped her realize just how absurdly powerful her talent was.
In the past, she had chalked it up to dumb luck—thinking she was just fortunate, and that those around her were lucky to bask in the blessing of the Lust Goddess.
But now she understood: the so-called “Miracle Weaver” wasn’t just a lucky title!
She had a near reality-bending power that allowed her wishes to manifest. Depending on the nature and difficulty of the wish, the amount of mana consumed would vary accordingly. The more outrageous the miracle, the more mana it demanded. That was why her maximum mana pool had always been so abnormally high.
Miracles weren’t free. That last battle against Shadow had nearly pushed her past her absolute limit.
But this discovery left Irene beaming.
It wasn’t that she needed Serena—Serena needed her. Even if Serena had apologized, Irene had no plans of forgiving her easily.
Nothing in this world is ever that simple.
For now, she would return to her rural hometown on the border and tend to the wounds in her heart. A peaceful countryside with chirping birds and blooming flowers was the perfect place for rest and recovery.
Just as Irene was thinking that, the carriage came to a halt. The voice of Uncle Ansel, who was driving the carriage, called out, “Miss Irene, it’s getting dark. Let’s spend the night in the nearby town ahead.”
Irene wasn’t in a hurry to return to her family home, nor did she need to get married, so she simply nodded her agreement. With support from Layla and Claret, she stepped down from the carriage and was greeted by the sight of an ordinary inn.
Irene had once ventured deep into various labyrinths as an adventurer and had endured sleeping rough—she was no delicate young lady. As long as there was a roof over her head, she wasn’t picky.
But the moment she stepped into the inn, a loud commotion erupted.
With just one glance, Irene’s brow furrowed. She couldn’t help but speak up. “What’s going on? Is the public order around here so poor that someone’s committing robbery and kidnapping in broad daylight?”
The inn was a mess—clear signs of a conflict. Several fully armed mercenaries had surrounded two travelers, one elderly and one young. The old man, still rather sturdy despite his age, was doing his best to hold his own, but his strength was clearly waning. Behind him hid a girl with pale golden hair.
One look was enough to understand the situation, especially when the leader of the mercenaries jeered at the old man, “You damned geezer, we just wanted to have a little chat with your granddaughter. Did you really have to get violent?”
“If you stop now, it’s not too late. She’s not someone you lot can touch!”
Though the old man was short of breath from exhaustion, his aura didn’t falter in the slightest. To Irene, he exuded the bearing of a noble house—clearly, this old man wasn’t ordinary.
“Then I’ll see for myself what makes her untouchable!”
Irene let out a cold snort and stepped forward without hesitation to “meddle” in the matter. It wasn’t like she was the kind to look away when there was nothing she could do—but these men were committing violence right in front of her. Did they have no respect for the kingdom’s laws?
The mercenaries were momentarily stunned to see Irene stand in front of the old man. Frankly, she was quite a beauty, enough to daze even these backwater thugs. One of them sneered, “What’s this? You looking for a fight, lady? We’re with the Black Hunt Mercenary Corps. You better think twice!”
“Never heard of you.”
Irene genuinely had no idea who they were. She’d lived most of her life in the royal capital—how would she know anything about these borderland affairs?
But to the mercenaries, her dismissive tone came across as provocation. Though they found her appearance and demeanor suspiciously refined, her adventurer’s outfit gave them a false sense of courage.
“If you’re looking to die, then don’t blame us! Get her too!”
The old man behind Irene grew anxious and called out to her, “Miss, thank you for stepping in, but this has nothing to do with you—”
Irene shot him a thumbs-up and made a no problem gesture.
Right now, she was just itching to test how far her ‘ability’ could go. Back in Endymion, the outrageous power of the Miracle Weaver had already been confirmed. Now, Irene was determined to refine it to the point of full mastery.
And what better training dummies than a few overconfident mercenaries?