What kind of origins could a soft, rosy little child have?
As Ruger wondered, the spell successfully anchored, and he entered the state of the Divine Object Art.
A void enveloped him.
Ruger felt a stir of anticipation. His luck seemed good: he had picked up traces on his very first contact. This void was different from the state he experienced when there were no traces to read.
Thump!
Somewhere in the void, something distorted.
It was like a flawless, smooth sheet of paper being crumpled in an instant, then smoothed flat just as quickly.
Ruger quietly took it in.
Suddenly, he felt that it could also be called a different kind of heartbeat.
Thump!
It happened again.
It repeated like that, as though an invisible hand reached out at intervals to knead the void, disturbing its smooth, unmarked expanse and making one spot within it leap as though alive.
Thump!
Gradually, the beating became more regular, steadier and stronger.
With each contraction and expansion, the entire void trembled, and a strange form of vitality began to develop within it, almost imperceptibly.
Ruger silently sensed it, delighted inwardly and also relieved.
Before, while immersed in that void, he had felt as though he might become lost within it. Only when this strange beating appeared did he sense time passing and regain a sense of time.
But then, as each beat became perfectly regular, he began to feel lost again. This void seemed deeply hostile to him-or rather, it was not targeting an accidental observer like him. Anyone who could see it and dared immerse their mental power within it to observe would feel lost.
Ruger vaguely sensed that once he became lost here, even forcibly interrupting the spell from outside would still leave him suffering some harmful effects.
He would