Her pupils contracted sharply.
"Then let's continue."
"Until it stops moving."
"Until... I can't move anymore."
Madness.
Instinct etched onto the strong.
The gambler's mentality of repeatedly leaping between destruction and rebirth.
If one were to stretch their view longer.
Stretching back to the savage era before Gods descended, before civilization even emerged.
Taking history as a lesson.
When the first ape tremblingly picked up the still-burning branch.
Was it afraid?
Of course, it was afraid.
Fire burns fur, it brings intense pain; that is an alarm bell carved into the biological instinct for self-preservation.
But.
It still picked it up.
Why?
Was it for warmth?
Was it to drive away wild beasts?
Or was it simply because that flickering red light looked so captivating, so full of power?
Even if it meant scorching its palm, even if it meant setting itself on fire?
The history of humanity, put plainly.
Is a history of constantly probing the edge of the cliff.
Starting from the first person brave enough to eat the brightly colored, yet potentially poisonous, fruit.
From the first person who attempted to smelt two completely different metals together.
To lunatics like Kirukiru Amou, who would push their bodies to the brink of collapse just to chase a tiny increase in stats.
It is precisely these insane actions by humanity that are the fundamental reason they have managed to reach this day in this malicious world.
Only a madman dares to look directly into the abyss, or even dare to give the abyss the middle finger, seizing the key named "Evolution."
Kirukiru Amou.
Without a doubt, she was the cream of the crop among such madmen.
To catch a glimpse of the scenery atop the mountain, she would climb even if she had to run her legs off, even if she had to crawl with her hands.
It was precisely this extreme purity.
The resolve to cast aside everything—including the self—for the sake of becoming stronger.
Even in Orario, where gods gather, this was a rare talent.
...
As night deepened.
Even the chirping of insects outside the window had ceased.
However, the activity in the first-floor hall never stopped.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
"Bang!"
Kirukiru Amou was struck down.
The dull sound of flesh hitting wood.
Then, the sound of her struggling to get up.
Charging forward again.
Being knocked down again.
Getting up again.
This was not sparring.
This was a one-sided brutalization.
It was also a self-destructive form of training.
But every time she fell, Kirukiru Amou acted like an addict, gripping Heimdall's hand and demanding an immediate status update.
Even if it had only increased slightly.
Even if the string of numbers had changed infinitesimally.
Kirukiru Amou would reveal that chilling smile.
This was the trampling of her own limits.
Even Kirukiru Amou's consciousness had begun to blur.
The world before her eyes was shaking, and Heimdall in her sight was gradually becoming a double image.
Yet, Kirukiru Amou's body continued to move.
Moving purely on instinct.
The skill named [Delusion of Struggle] was roaring.
As long as the target before her, named "God," had not fallen, as long as that string of numbers had not reached its peak, her body would not stop.
"Again..."
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