Omniscient First-Person’s Viewpoint-Chapter 381: It Didn’t Fall From the Sky - 2

The underground was quite literally beneath the earth—a layer hidden below the surface, concealing what could not be exposed under sunlight. Humans often buried things they didn’t want to show, things that shouldn’t be touched by light, or things that didn’t need to come out for air too often.

The Lightning Tower was no different. Even a structure designed to channel the power of lightning into the ground had things it preferred to keep out of sight.

The entrance to the underground was sealed by a thick iron door. I pushed against it, just in case, but it didn’t budge.

Of course it wouldn’t. What was hidden down here wasn’t meant to wander out, nor was anyone supposed to stumble upon it.

There was no visible lock. This basement could only be accessed by the Thunder Overseer or the Thunder Guardians, as it required the flow of lightning to unlock. No matter how skilled a thief I was, as an ordinary human, there was no way to open this door...

...At least, that was true before I encountered the Golden Mirror.

I drew the Eight of Spades and pressed it against the door. A sharp click echoed as it latched on.

The Demon God’s unique magic expanded the horizon of perception. What humans had once dismissed as divine law, the natural order, became tools within their grasp. Just as a branch could be carved into a spear or a stone chipped into an axe, humans who understood the mysteries of the world began to wield its powers. Geomancers harnessed the earth, druids commanded nature, and alchemists turned the arcane into instruments.

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But no matter how refined these tools became, they could never match the mysteries themselves. No matter how sharp a branch was carved, it couldn’t capture the wisdom embedded in tree rings. No matter how finely a stone was split, it couldn’t hold the value of a gem forged by the earth.

True mysteries hid behind practicality.

This relic existed to recall those forgotten mysteries.

I slid the card to the side. Since it was merely pressed against the door, the card should lift to reveal the steel barrier beneath it—at least, that’s what logic dictated.

But when I pulled the card away, another card was there, fused to the door like it had always been part of it.

“Well, this really makes me feel like a magician.”

Not that there was anyone watching. This wasn’t sleight of hand—it was real magic. The area where the card had touched had genuinely transformed into another card.

The old alchemists’ fanciful beliefs were true. All matter shared a common origin, and by transcending the barriers of existence, it could be reshaped into something else. Anything could become gold—or, more likely, turn into ordinary iron.

“...Too bad it’s easier to turn things into iron than gold.”

“Ta-da... Ugh. It feels so empty pulling off tricks with no audience.”

I sighed and peeled the transformed card from the wall. Behind it was yet another Eight of Spades.

Peeling it away revealed another... and another. Thin, metallic cards rained down like leaves until I finally scraped at empty space.

Looking down, I saw a heap of cards piled up as thick as the door itself.

“Why does it feel like my abilities are becoming more specialized for theft? Convenient, but still.”

I reached into the opening, unlatched the lock, and pushed the door.

The resistance that had felt absolute vanished, and the door swung open with surprising ease.

“Knock, knock. I’m coming in~.”

Beyond the door was a short, dark corridor. At the far end stood another door, which looked easier to open than the first.

Before proceeding, I tossed one of the metal cards down the hall—just in case.

Crackle!

Sparks of electricity arced as the card bounced and stuck to the floor unnaturally.

“Figures. Lightning’s running through here. Can’t let my guard down.”

If it had been a person, I could have read their thoughts and prepared. But dealing with hazards like this made things tricky. Grumbling, I pulled out the Ten of Spades, inserted it into my biological interface like a card packet, and stepped forward.

A slight tingling sensation passed through me before fading away. Lightning might flicker like a spark against the earth, but it dissipated just as quickly.

Electric currents flowed into the Ten of Spades embedded in my system, grounding themselves and vanishing.

I crossed the corridor and pushed open the second door. It was noticeably lighter than the first.

When the door swung open, the hidden sight Claudia had been guarding finally came into view.

Rows upon rows of beds stretched out, neatly lined up. Divided by partitions, they felt cramped and crowded. The beds were smaller than usual, and overhead devices hung above them, creating an oppressive atmosphere.

And then came the sound of crying—sharp, grating cries that pierced my ears.

Babies.

The room was filled with newborns.

The noise was chaos itself. The cries, devoid of clear language, flooded my mind through my psychic ability. Primitive thoughts—fear, hunger, discomfort—swirled like static. I could read them but not understand them. Even the babies themselves didn’t know what they were feeling. They hadn’t yet learned.

Damn. This might actually drive me insane. I felt like I was regressing into infancy myself.

“Uh, uh? You’re not supposed to be here!”

A panicked voice snapped me out of it.

‘Right now, all the other Thunder trainees are outside...!’

At that moment, the child I had seen atop the Lightning Tower before came running toward me. A Thunder trainee, was it?

Still too young to be a guardian, but the oldest present in this place.

“Hey there. Your name was Jerry, right?”

“Yes, hello... But how did you get here? You can’t access this area without the ability to handle lightning!”

“Oh? So that tingling sensation earlier must’ve been the lightning?”

“W-Wait, did you force your way in? Does that mean you’re an intruder?”

Jerry raised his arms defensively, faint traces of lightning flickering around them.

I might have been an ordinary human, but I was still a fully grown adult male. Subduing a child would have been as easy as bending a twig. Of course, I wasn’t going to use force against a kid.

“You know who I am. I’m the Thunder Overseer’s guest. I just got lost.”

“...You got lost, but somehow ended up here?”

“If I hadn’t gotten lost, I wouldn’t have wandered in, would I?”

“...I guess that makes sense?”

Hook, line, and sinker.

Taking advantage of the slight drop in Jerry’s suspicion, I looked around and asked,

“By the way, isn’t this inside the Lightning Tower? They said they were hunting the Thunder God up there—shouldn’t you be evacuating?”

“It’s fine. It’s safe inside the tower.”

“Oh, so that’s why the babies are here instead of at home? To stay safe from the lightning?”

“These babies are...”

Jerry hesitated, unsure whether to explain. It wasn’t exactly classified information, but it also wasn’t something openly discussed.

After a moment of deliberation, Jerry seemed to decide that explaining was better than being misunderstood.

“They’re abandoned.”

“By who? The Thunder Overseer?”

“No! Of course not! The Thunder Overseer is the one who took them in!”

Got it. A model student type. In situations like this, it was better to feign ignorance and prod them into spilling the details themselves rather than asking directly.

Reading minds would have been easier, but with all the noise from the babies, my thoughts were already scrambled.

“The Thunder Overseer makes sure every child born in the Allied Nations can live in Claudia! But some bad wolves exploit that rule—they just have kids to gain residency rights here and then abandon them like they’re objects!”

“Ah, because having a child lets them stay in Claudia?”

“Yeah. After that, they leave the kids behind and live their own lives. Sometimes they even throw them out without a second thought.”

Jerry’s emotions were flaring now—no more need for prompting.

“...Especially if the baby has a disability.”

I see. So the underlying emotion I’d sensed in the cries was pain.

No wonder my head felt so dizzy.

In the Allied Nations, one in three babies was either stillborn, disabled, or barely healthy enough to survive. The imbalance was caused by mixing ordinary crops with those produced by the Golden Mirror.

These infants, gathered here, were all the ones born with disabilities.

Whether their parents abandoned them out of fear or desperation didn’t matter anymore.

“We feed them and take care of them here. The ones who survive and overcome their disabilities grow up to become Thunder trainees. Once they overcome their conditions, they develop some resistance to the power of lightning.”

Right. Bodies enhanced with the Golden Mirror’s crops conducted electricity more easily.

I offered Jerry a sympathetic expression.

“So... a lot of them die, don’t they?”

“...We can’t do anything about it. It’s harsh, but we can only pray that God takes them to a better place....”

Jerry closed his eyes and clasped his hands together, seemingly forgetting that he had called the divine wicked just the day before.

Faced with unavoidable tragedy, humans had no choice but to cling to hope. Faith was born from such moments—the desire for one’s prayers not to vanish but to find meaning somewhere.

Faith inevitably took root in tragedy.

It sprouted and bloomed from the broken remains of good intentions shattered by harsh reality.

“You’re wrong.”

“...Huh?”

But sometimes—perhaps even often—faith creates tragedy just to sustain itself.

It’s a case of humanity’s invention turning around and ruling its creator.

“God won’t take these children to a better place. Never.”

“H-Huh?”

“They were brought here, weren’t they? To this place that’s already far from good. What do you expect God to do after letting them suffer and die miserably?”

Humans could be dominated. At their core, humans were animals, and when something stronger appeared, they would put on collars and become livestock.

But faith couldn’t be the thing to dominate them. Faith was a tool—and a tool couldn’t wield or control humans.

“Jerry. Where did these children come from?”

“Wh-Where? From the Allied Nations...”

“Why are they suffering?”

“Because of the crops from the Golden Mirror. They were born with disabilities.”

“Who brought them here?”

“The Thunder Overseer did...”

Jerry suddenly realized he was being led and stopped mid-sentence. Then he yelled,

“Y-You’re trying to slander the Thunder Overseer, aren’t you? Aren’t you?!”

“No. She probably doesn’t even realize it herself. She’s upholding this system without ever questioning it—either unintentionally or simply without thinking about it.”

I had read her thoughts. The Thunder Overseer acted purely out of duty—or perhaps even out of good intentions.

Those same good intentions had been ingrained in Jerry, who had grown up in this place.

Eating crops produced by the Golden Mirror made the body stronger, but also more vulnerable to external interference—almost like a homunculus. Without mastering martial arts or developing unique magical techniques, those affected could become materials for the Golden Mirror just by brushing against it.

People who ate Claudia’s crops weren’t much different from ordinary humans, but being too close to the Golden Mirror always carried risks. The Mirror’s rampage posed a danger to everyone.

Yet as long as both sides existed, as long as they balanced each other and wandered the Allied Nations, the tragedy would continue—until one side was completely destroyed.

“It’s all a carefully manipulated chain of cause and effect. This is just one part of it.”

“Ugh... Ugh...”

Jerry covered his ears, groaning as if trying to block out my words.

But while Jerry momentarily faltered, the babies—discomforted and restless—cried even louder.

Their cries spread like an infection, reaching other infants and setting off a chain reaction.

For creatures driven to continue their lineage, the cries of the next generation had a way of calling out to the previous one.

The noise—this unbearable cacophony—pulled everyone in, making it impossible to ignore.

Who needs some abstract hell? This place is hell.

“Well, then... where was it?”

Normally, someone would stop here. They’d mourn the tragedy of the Allied Nations, shed tears, and move on.

But not me.

I walked straight through the screaming infants and reached the opposite wall.

It looked blank, as if there was nothing there.

But I had already read the Thunder Overseer’s memories.

I knew about the secret chamber hidden beyond this point—left behind by the first Thunder Overseer.

Drawing the Eight of Spades, I dragged it along the groove in the wall.

Light flickered briefly, and then the wall transformed.

Hundreds of cards scattered like startled butterflies, fluttering to the ground and revealing an empty space behind them.

This was it—the secret chamber of the first Thunder Overseer, as revealed by her memories.