Chapter 72: The Black Marsh

Another lingering question gnawed at Ion.

Mass simultaneous awakening on Cataclysm day versus individual awakenings afterward. Both meet the system’s criterion of ‘those who strove to save the world from ruin’—so why the difference in timing?

Did post-Cataclysm individual awakeners rank lower in the system’s priorities? Like the difference between planting ten trees versus one?

In the novel, Hwang Yul’s discovery hinted at more awakeners in the future.

If only those who fought to prevent ruin could awaken, the number of awakeners would inevitably decline. Those born after the Cataclysm hadn’t experienced Earth’s climate crisis or Idea’s mana oversaturation.

Yet the novel suggested an increase in awakeners.

Il-on’s working with Wendy Lowell to research awakening methods. If Brainstorming uncovered the system’s criteria…

Then:

1. The system’s judgment.
2. Stress hormones triggering the system’s response.

The first wasn’t a prerequisite for the second. They were distinct conditions—meeting either could trigger awakening.

“Master, are you pretending to think to dodge our questions?” Zieg pressed.

“Master Ion, perceptions of mana oversaturation’s severity vary. We won’t judge—please be honest,” Semir added.

Ion realized they’d deduced he wasn’t awakened. As he considered deflecting, Zieg sighed.

“We won’t judge if you’re not an aura user. My parents and best friend aren’t awakened. I don’t resent or blame them. Not everyone meets the conditions based on their circumstances.”

“Exactly. Judging them is wrong,” Semir agreed.

Ion noticed something strange. They spoke as if they knew the awakening conditions—and implied some blamed non-awakened for failing to meet them.

“Do you know what the awakening conditions are?” Ion asked.

“Huh? Of course. Who doesn’t?” Zieg replied.

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Hah,” Zieg chuckled dryly. “You know things we don’t but miss what everyone knows.”

They actually knew? Ion’s eyes widened. Semir began.

“The awakening condition is…”

“No, me!” Zieg interrupted, raising his hand with the gravity of a patriarch revealing a family secret. “Aura awakening is a divine gift given only to those who strove to prevent the world’s destruction.”

Crackle. Munch.

Amid the campfire’s crackling and Baba’s banana-munching, Zieg continued.

“Even you must know Idea was heading toward ruin before the Cataclysm.”

“…”

“You didn’t know that?”

Reading Ion’s expression, Zieg pressed on.

“For thousands of years, Idea relied on abundant atmospheric mana. Humans, elves, dragons—all grew accustomed to magic’s convenience, arrogant in their mastery.”

“…”

“They developed magical devices, eventually creating mana generators.”

These devices produced mana indefinitely in a given space, unlike the natural mana used before.

“Within three years, side effects emerged. Mana oversaturation caused spirits to go berserk.”

Spirits—those cute, playful, childlike beings now sleeping in the orphanage. Ion realized something.

I haven’t seen a single spirit since arriving.

Teacher had brought spirits from Idea. They weren’t common but could be found in deep valleys or lake bottoms, dozens frolicking together. Yet, despite traversing forests and staying in the mana-rich elf village, Ion hadn’t seen one.

“What’s the link between mana oversaturation and spirit rampages?” Ion asked.

“Dunno, but they’re connected,” Zieg said. “Anyway, voices warned against using magical devices—”

“I’ll explain,” Semir cut in. “Spirits feed on mana but don’t feel ‘full.’ They stop absorbing only when a space’s mana is depleted, digest it, then start again.”

With oversaturation, mana never ran out. Spirits absorbed endlessly, eventually going mad, attacking people, animals, and plants like field monsters. These were called “frenzied spirits.”

The letter was left fifteen years ago by the one who saved our village during the Spirit Frenzy, the elder had said.

That was this frenzy.

“No record of spirit rampages existed in Idea’s history—mana was never this abundant. Some scholars warned about oversaturation’s effects, but few listened,” Semir said.

Ion felt uneasy. This paralleled Earth’s climate crisis—ignored warnings.

“The problem was, even during spirit rampages, people didn’t stop mana generators. They were too reliant on magical devices.”

Many depended on magic for livelihoods—flight devices for travel, temperature regulators for comfort, enchanted trinkets…

“They thought, ‘Spirits live in remote areas, and suppression teams handle frenzied ones, so no problem.’”

Ideans made two grave errors:

1. Spirits wouldn’t go extinct, right?
2. Even if they did, would it matter?

These proved catastrophic. Spirits regulated atmospheric mana. As their numbers dwindled, humans and elves contracted Mana Sickness, rotting their organs. It spared no one—newborns, deep-sea creatures, desert plants.

“Some tried to reduce mana generation—avoiding devices, volunteering for spirit preservation. Others kept consuming, believing dragons or gods would fix it.”

Idea edged toward ruin until the Cataclysm. The common trait of aura awakeners was soon clear: those who worked to reduce mana generation, even in small ways—like riding horses instead of magic vehicles—awakened.

“Post-Cataclysm, mana oversaturation worries faded. Field byproducts auto-regulate mana. Some called the ‘system’ a divine blessing, though that talk’s died down with the Giant war,” Zieg said, peeling another banana for Baba.

He looked at Ion, explanation finished. Ion, lost in thought, spoke.

“I thought, except for the mass awakening on Cataclysm day, individual awakenings happen in life-threatening situations.”

“There’s a prerequisite: you must have tried to counter mana oversaturation, even slightly. Those who ignored warnings and consumed mana freely don’t awaken, even at death’s door—they just die,” Zieg said, sighing about his non-awakened parents.

Semir pressed, “Now answer us. Are you awakened, Master Ion?”

“…”

Ion stayed silent, grappling with confusion.

The system identified those who tried to save their world. Teacher knew this, making orphans plant trees, limit meat and seafood, and ban disposables. Her methods worked—all the orphans awakened on Cataclysm day.

Except me.

Why didn’t I awaken? Ion, who loved plants, planted more trees than anyone and ate vegetarian. He met the conditions perfectly.

Yet he didn’t awaken.

Why?

Ion’s group reached the Black Marsh. Sarah Harundas’s Imperial Knight Corps was still tackling the field. At the camp, a few Imperials greeted them warmly, likely informed in advance.

“Welcome, Master Ion, Sir Semir, Sir Zieg. I’m Commander Hains,” said a bearded man, like Minwi’s commander.

“Greetings, I’m Ion.”

“An aura lord of Revelation attribute, I hear. Please guide us.”

“I’m the one who needs guidance.”

“Lord Sarah should emerge today or tomorrow. Rest after your long journey.”

“No hardship here,” Zieg said. “But this place looks like a battlefield. Smells of ash and blood, monster corpses everywhere. Semir, Master, feeling energetic? Let’s clean up.”

The camp bore scars of fierce combat—acrid smoke, blood, scattered monster remains. The Black Marsh, site of the spirit frenzy decades ago, was uninhabited. Leaving corpses would spread toxins, killing even plants. Exhausted mages purified the poison, while soldiers cleared bodies. Apparently, five fields had formed nearby, two recently unsealed, with monsters dealt with just days ago.

“Semir, we’ll take the swamp,” Zieg said.

“Yes.”

“Master Ion—”

“I’ll clean elsewhere. You two can handle the swamp.”

Before they could protest, Ion used flight magic to zip to a tree, eager to avoid their probing and clear the monster flesh dangling from branches.

Plop, plop.

He knocked off chunks, moving tree to tree. Baba refused to leave the pot, whining about the mess.

“You’re a chimera. You ate monster corpses in Giant territory.”

“Gross. Don’t say that.”

“Try it. You can probably digest the poison.”

“Nope. Full. Sleep.”

Baba feigned sleep.

After clearing the trees, Ion sat on a thick branch, cradling Sanse. Below, Semir and Zieg tirelessly fished monster corpses from the swamp, their clothes, hair, and faces filthy. Soldiers nearby worked just as hard, equally grimy.

Ion reflected.

They all tried to save Idea in their own way.

He thought of Jin Seongha, Hong Insu, Lee Jina, Bae Younghoe, Shin Minji, carpenter Harry Strange, playwright Uiji Krilin—even Park Yujik. They’d strived to save Earth, earning awakening through the system’s selection. Despite Park Yujik’s disdain for others, his efforts granted him Sanctuary, a top-tier protection skill.

Why didn’t I awaken?

What was I missing? I tried so hard.

While other orphans planted trees grudgingly, Ion patted the soil with care. When they snuck disposable cups, Ion used a reusable one, accepting the inconvenience.

What did the system find lacking?

Until now, Ion hadn’t cared about awakening beyond wanting an inventory. But learning the conditions stirred a sense of injustice.

The plan was to join Sarah Harundas, meet Commander Killia at Imperial Command, and through her, encounter the dragon suspected to be the Breeder.

But…

“Strange. Three weeks in the field, and they still haven’t cleared it…” Hains murmured.

A complication arose. Five days after arriving, Sarah’s party hadn’t emerged. People gathered before the flickering red gate.

“What if something happened inside?” Zieg frowned.

“Don’t jinx it,” Hains snapped.

“Sorry… but really, what’s going on? Lord Sarah can solo twelve Giants. A red field should take two weeks, max.”

“She’s always cleared in ten to fifteen days.”

“Exactly. Something’s wrong—”

“Enough ominous talk!”

“Right, right. Bad mouth.” Zieg mimed slapping himself.

Ion paced before the gate, as troubled as Hains. On Earth, it’s a “gate”; in Idea, a “field entrance.” Unlike Earth’s white gates, the Black Marsh’s was red.

Idea didn’t use Earth’s alphabetical dungeon rankings. Gate colors indicated difficulty: white for F-rank, blue for D, green for E, lime for C, yellow for B, orange for A, red for S.

S-rank gate… Illusion attribute?

Ion pulled out Mosi, his dungeon measurement device.

[Monity Dungeon Measurement System !Prototype! 29

Dungeon Rank: S (Clear Completed)

Gate Creation: 29 days, 1 hour ago

Flood Scheduled: 3 days, 7 hours from now

Clear Method: Monster Extermination

Attribute: Normal

Entrants: 9

※Modified 44 times (Horizon)

Durability: 30/100

Remaining Uses: 2/5]

“What’s that?” Zieg yelped.

“Scared me!” Semir added.

“Hm? This system window… numbers and odd characters?” Hains said.

The Ideans, able to read Arabic numerals but not Korean, marveled at the display.

“What is it? Your aura ability?” Hains asked.

“No, a magical device showing field details. Nine entered?”

“Yes.”

“This ‘9’ shows the number of entrants. They’re all alive.”

“Oh, quite useful.”

“Never seen these characters. Not even in ancient texts,” Semir said.

“Looks like a cipher. You won’t explain it, will you, Master Ion?” Zieg teased.

Ion ignored them, studying the window. On Earth, it showed “entry terrain”; now it read “entrants.” Jipyungseop’s upgrades had synced to Ion’s Mosi, despite Earth and Idea not yet interacting directly.

“Wait, the third line—field creation date?” Hains asked.

“Yes. The next is time until the seal breaks.”

“Three… three hours?”

“No, three days.”

“Three days…”

Better than three hours, but still tight.

“Got a device to peek inside the field?” Hains asked.

“No such thing.”

“Hm…”

Hains’s brow furrowed deeply, as did the faces of everyone at the camp. The red field’s seal breaking in three days—and Sarah’s party not emerging—were both worst-case scenarios.

Ion shared their unease.

It says ‘Clear Completed’…

On Earth, a cleared dungeon’s entrance gate vanishes once an exit forms. In Idea, field entrances persist even after a clear, acting as true “entrances.”

The field was cleared, an exit formed—why hadn’t they emerged?

Was something wrong inside? Giants, chimeras, Demonkin—potential dangers abounded.