"Kuhh..Kuhh, sh...shit"
"Ugh…"
Wiping the drool off my mouth, I got up and took a good look around.
The disgusting mess that had been beneath my feet was gone—like it had never existed.
"Alright, calm down. Same as always. Trouble comes fast, leaves fast… hopefully." I muttered to myself.
The corridor flickered with dim light from ceiling lamps. A red carpet stretched out beneath my feet, but it wasn't exactly clean anymore—patches of grass and flowers had started sprouting right out of it.
On both sides were familiar doors. Last time, they leaked gray smoke and writhing worms. This time? Soft footsteps echoed from behind them instead.
"…Was this in the original novel?"
I couldn't remember this part at all. The main characters never dealt with mental magic here—certainly not this kind of illusionary space nonsense.
"Maybe it's because I'm not technically a 'person'? Or maybe I'm just weak enough to bully? No, they should treat me like a guest of honor, damn it."
Whoever ruled this place supposedly valued life above all else—it was his key to ascending.
Even the higher minions, like those ghostly guards, wouldn't dare to attack me recklessly. So this couldn't be a straightforward assault.
But then another thought crept in… Why did this place feel familiar? Weren't the Overseers supposed to seal my memories?
"Or maybe this place was made from my subconscious… a reflection of my pain? Huh. If that's true, then it's beyond the Overseers' control. Not that I ever trusted them anyway."
I took a few more steps forward.
"Is this place still the same as before? If so… Wait, what did happen before?"
My memories blurred into fog. I couldn't recall what happened after walking down the hallway during that test. Just mist, confusion—static where memory should be.
I walked like a puppet, not afraid, not trembling, just… empty. My mind was running, my body wasn't.
"A ritual? Some weird anomaly? Something that shows up right in front of me like this—hah, jackpot odds are better. Maybe a memory-illusion hybrid? But how could that get past the guards?"
Questions piled up in my head, one after another, all of them equally absurd. None felt possible.
"I've been too arrogant…"
I stopped walking.
Letting the sounds of those tiny footsteps fade from my mind, I started thinking—really thinking—for once.
"I've relied too much on the original novel… on the knowledge I had, my teammates, my plans. Now that I've lost all of it, I'm just… lost."
It was true. Ever since transmigrating into this world, I'd survived and risen using the very words I'd once written. Every move, every scheme—if not from the novel, then from reliable intel.
But I'd leaned on them too much.
An eagle that grows dependent on hand-fed meals will never have the courage to leap from the cliff. And if you can't leap, you'll never fly.
Me? I couldn't leap anymore. Not right now, anyway.
I was stuck—caught in between choices, unable to break the illusion, unsure what was happening, not knowing if moving forward would kill me.
Was danger waiting behind the doors? Along the walls?
The more I thought, the more a creeping dread crawled up my spine.
It wasn't fear of death. It was fear of helplessness.
Every option seemed too risky. Every path looked like a dead end.
That's when I noticed something else—my body didn't hurt anymore.
In fact… it was numb. Completely numb.
"Wait—what the hell!? Why didn't I notice earlier!?"
I grabbed my arm and tried to reach for the painkillers in my pocket—but there was nothing. No potions, no mana, no smokes.
Only one thing remained.
A single coin. My coin.
Before I could even think, a chill crept up my spine.
A tall, dark shadow loomed behind me, swallowing my figure whole.
Instantly, every sound—every step behind the doors—ceased.
The doors began shaking violently, as if someone—or something—was pounding from within.
The grass beneath my feet withered in an instant, leaving behind piles of dead roots and ashes.
BANG! BANG!
"Haha…"
My body trembled as I slowly turned around.
White.
A pristine white suit, completely opposite to my black one.
A man's pale figure stood there, looking at me with the eyes of the dead.
My vision blurred from sweat and tears. A migraine began drilling into my skull.
The golden glow in my eyes faded into dull gray as my pupils dilated toward the figure behind me.
The man in white stood tall and polite, posture perfect, his face hazy and indistinct.
His lips parted, whispering softly—like wind through a graveyard—yet I heard him clear as day.
"This is your responsibility. Yours alone. Your karma, yours to bear. Do you hear me?"
Voices echoed from behind every door, calm yet unnervingly serene.
"You took my life—why won't you take responsibility?"
"Killing comes easy for you, doesn't it? But looking at the corpses? Not so much."
"Such a grand life you have… oh mighty thief of souls."
The mocking voices poured in like rain, pounding against my skull.
My vision dulled. My knees wanted to give out. I stared up at the ceiling—except there wasn't one anymore.
The corridor was now open to the sky—an endless blue, smothered by a colossal black hand with thirteen fingers.
"Mother… f*cker."
The hand descended slowly.
I could barely see it, only sense its immensity—devouring everything.
Run? Pointless. Breathe? Maybe. Pray? Too late.
The "thirteen-fingered" hand clutched the corridor—no, the space itself—then pressed its palm down, blotting out everything.
BOOM!
…
My vision turned to haze. Everything became shadow. Only I remained.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
A sound rang beside me.
I turned—and froze.
Even through the blur, I recognized it.
A knight on horseback, charging through a red mist glowing faintly with cinders.
Then, the world twisted again.
Now I stood watching a knight in a burning house—ashes swirling, faint silhouettes facing him from across the flames.
"Every truth in a dream can be explained."
A voice echoed in my head—not mine, not anyone's. But it didn't matter.
Nothing here made sense anyway.
"Heh… haha."
A dry, hopeless laugh escaped my lips. I turned around—and instantly regretted it.
"Holy sht… I'm actually gonna die this time. Fck this."
Even knowing I shouldn't say it, I couldn't help it. Nothing here was normal.
Before me rose thirteen mountains—thirteen peaks stacked atop each other.
At their bases sprawled thousands of corpses—blood, bones, twisted flesh.
"I don't remember writing a horror novel!"
I screamed that into the void—
—and blacked out.