The wind brushed by, carrying with it the scent of green grass. Yggdrasil stood in the center of the vast grassland, the sunlight spilling over his stout and sturdy frame. His chest heaved with his breath, and his round, full belly glinted with a fine layer of sweat. He planted his feet firmly on the earth, spread his arms slightly, and took a deep breath.

  "...Now, it is time to test my abilities in this world."

  This was his first morning after being reborn. As the Apostle of the God, he did not intend to rely on the arrangements of fate; instead, he chose to take the first step proactively. He remembered Zareon’s words: "The magic of this world originates from imagination; the will is the medium, and emotion guides the power."

  He first closed his eyes, recalling the forms of magic he had imagined in games during his previous life. He sketched the image of "fire" in his mind—the burning heat, the blazing red light, the exploding roar.

  When he opened his eyes, a small fireball actually manifested out of thin air within his right palm. The fireball pulsed slightly with his breathing, carrying a realistic flow of heat and a shimmering glow.

  "...It really worked." He looked at the magic in his hand with surprise. "Just by relying on imagination, I can summon fire... this is even more intuitive than I expected."

  He tried to increase his concentration, and the fireball instantly expanded several times in size. Then, with a gentle toss, the fireball glided dozens of meters through the air before hitting the ground, triggering a booming explosion that scorched a patch of the grassland black.

  Yggdrasil raised his left hand and tried to summon the water element. He imagined the clarity, softness, and surging flow of water. Before long, a small, rotating pillar of water condensed at his fingertips, crystal clear and carrying a slight pressure of wind.

  Next came thunder, wind, earth, and ice. He discovered that as long as he focused his imagination, he could call forth almost every elemental magic of this world.

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  "So I truly possess talent in multiple attributes... this is far too powerful."

  He calmed his mind once more and directed his will toward "Light"—a power that was warm, holy, and like a prayer. A sphere of pure white light condensed in his right palm, surging and divine—Holy Magic.

  With another attempt, he transformed the sphere of light into needle-like shapes and pointed them at the scratch on his calf, which had just been cut by the grass. The light needles melted into the wound, and after a few seconds, the small cut was completely healed; even the trace of blood had vanished without a trace.

  "This is... Recovery Magic."

  He couldn't help but laugh toward the sky, his rounded belly shaking violently along with his laughter, feeling an unprecedented joy. He knew deeply that all of this was the manifestation of Zareon’s trust in him.

  Then, he clasped his hands together and took a deep breath, attempting to activate the special ability he had sensed during his spiritual communion with Zareon—Unlimited Storage.

  He looked at the stones and broken branches on the ground, imagining "absorbing them into the void" in his heart. He formed a visual of a space in his mind and then issued a command to that space: "Store them."

  Buzz—

  A faint tremor rippled through the air, and the objects on the ground suddenly vanished into the air like feathers caught in the wind.

  "...Success. And there’s almost no sense of weight."

  He opened his palm, and a faint silver pattern flashed across it—it was the "Seal of Storage" within his body, resonating subtly with the Divine Mark bestowed by Zareon. He could clearly perceive it: it was a bottomless space that required no physical container and was not restricted by weight; he only needed his will to retrieve or return items.

  Finally, he began to test his physical capabilities.

  He threw a powerful punch, the force of it slicing through the air. He ran with all his might; though his legs were short and thick, they could burst forth with incredible sprinting power. He tried jumping and rolling; even though his body was stout and heavy, he could turn nimbly and strike with heavy blows. Beneath every inch of fat lay a hidden, startling explosive power.

  "This body... really is made by a God." He looked down at his round, large belly, his thick arms, and his rock-steady legs, as well as his dense white beard and brown hair. Once again, his heart overflowed with joy and pride.

  "Thank you... Lord Zareon."

  He clasped his hands in prayer again toward the horizon. This was not a ritual, but a daily habit—his vow as the Apostle of the God.

  "I will use this body, and these powers, to live well and complete my mission in this world."

  In the distant sky, the wind was blowing in a certain direction. His journey was about to begin.