Chapter 214 : Chapter 214

“As long as I cut it open... yes, cut it open and try it on myself...”

Logaris raised his right hand. A gray-black blade of light, so dangerous that it made the skin crawl, condensed at his fingertips and slowly moved toward the center of his brow.

He intended to personally verify the mysteries of Soul Severance and Reconstruction.

Sylvia let out a soft sigh.

Without wasting a single extra word, she swept to his side like the wind and seized the wrist holding the light blade with firm, unquestionable force.

“You are too tired.”

With that helpless murmur, she raised her other hand, fingers together like a knife, and struck lightly at the back of his neck with perfect control. It was precise enough to cut off his consciousness, yet gentle enough that he felt no pain at all.

Logaris felt his vision go black, and his body went limp as he toppled backward.

Sylvia stepped forward smoothly and caught him in her arms, then carefully helped him down into a seated position and let him lean against a pillar beside the stone steps.

Ten minutes later.

Logaris’s eyes snapped open. He sucked in great, ragged breaths, cold sweat soaking through his back. The lingering terror of having nearly had his soul torn apart made his heart pound like thunder.

“You are awake?”

A familiar voice came from beside him. Sylvia was sitting on the steps at his side, holding a clean white handkerchief in one hand. It seemed she had been about to wipe the cold sweat from his brow, but when she saw him awaken, she naturally withdrew her hand.

Logaris instinctively rubbed the back of his sore neck, then touched the center of his brow. A trace of phantom pain still lingered there, yet unexpectedly, the rest of his body felt perfectly fine.

“Thanks.”

Logaris pushed up his glasses, his voice a little hoarse. He glanced at the golden runes still swirling overhead. The frenzy in his eyes had already faded, replaced by deep wariness.

So this was Mad King Maxim’s legacy.

There were no traps, no guardians, no monsters lying in wait. The knowledge itself was the deadliest poison of all—enough to corrode the soul of any seeker of truth.

“You cannot bite off more than you can chew.” Sylvia stood and held out a hand to him. “The way you looked just now was very much like my third uncle after he ruined himself chasing power. I do not want you to become like that too.”

Logaris looked at the fair, slender hand before him and froze for a moment. Then he took it and rose with her help, still too stubborn to soften his tone. “Do not compare me to that sort of person.”

He brushed the dust from his clothes. His mouth remained as sharp as ever, but that brief moment of warmth had eased his taut nerves considerably. “Let us go. There will be plenty of chances to take these things later. Right now, the most important part is the next stage.”

He pulled out a Recording Crystal from his robes and made a backup copy of the key formulas he had just deciphered. Then, without looking back once, he headed toward the passage in the depths of the hall.

The decisiveness in that posture was like a former chain-smoker who had finally quit passing by a cigarette stall. His heart itched like madness, but his steps moved all the faster.

Beyond the hall lay a deep corridor.

The air there had turned heavy and viscous. Every step cost three times more strength than usual. There were no torches on either wall—only patches of moss giving off a ghostly glow, casting a sickly green light over their faces.

After walking for roughly five hundred meters, they found a gate of light ahead.

The gate was strange. It had no frame, only a mass of white luminous mist suspended in midair, with nothing visible within.

The space before it was completely empty. There was no glowing red line of text, no theatrically ominous mechanical voice.

Everything was unknown.

“No hint?” Logaris pushed up his glasses and circled the cloud of light once, a slight furrow appearing between his brows. “The first stage was bloodline verification. The second was an intellectual filter. If I had to guess...”

He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “This third stage will most likely be a trial aimed at the mind. Willpower, desire, or fear.”

“A mental trial?” Sylvia gave a faint scoff, one hand resting on the hilt of her sword, her gaze sharp as a blade. “Only the weak drown themselves in illusion. Whether it is money, power, or beauty, none of it means anything to me.”

“Well, of course. You are already a rich woman, and a rich woman with an army in her hands at that.” Logaris shrugged and made a joke, trying to lighten the mood.

“Spare me.” Sylvia shot him a look, then drew in a deep breath. “Together?”

“Mm.”

Standing shoulder to shoulder, the two stepped into the white mist at the same time.

...

The world spun.

The sensation of weightlessness lasted only an instant.

When solid ground touched his feet again, Logaris instinctively reached out for the person beside him.

He grabbed nothing but empty air.

“Sylvia?”

No one answered.

All around him was a dead silence broken only by the patter of rain outside the window.

Logaris’s eyes flew open, his pupils shrinking to pinpoints in that instant.

He was not inside a towering structure.

Nor was he in some laboratory full of futuristic machinery.

He was standing in a shabby, cramped wooden hut with drafts leaking through its walls.

The air was thick with the smell of mildew and damp timber, mixed with the bitter odor of cheap herbs being boiled. A dim oil lamp hung on the wall, its flame flickering uncertainly and stretching the shadows in the room long and twisted, like a crowd of demons baring their claws and fangs.

The scene was far too familiar.

Familiar enough to make him want to vomit.

This was the place where he had lived before the age of six.

“This is... my memory?”

Logaris lowered his head and looked at his hands.

Long fingers. Pale skin. The casting glove set with three gemstones was still on his hand.

Good. His body was still that of an adult, and his power had not vanished.

“So it is only a reconstructed setting.” Logaris let out a breath of relief and pushed up his glasses, trying to analyze the situation with reason. “A typical psychological projection illusion. As long as I do not believe in it, this thing cannot hurt me.”

“You do not believe?”

A voice suddenly sounded behind him.

It was light, tinged with mockery, and eerily familiar in a way that made the hair rise on the back of his neck.

It was like... listening to a recording of his own voice.

“Who is there?!”

Logaris whirled around. Lightning crackled in his palm as he snatched up his custom-made Magitech Gun.

Someone was sitting beside the broken old table behind him.

The man wore the exact same black coat as Logaris. Even the fold of the silk handkerchief at the collar was identical down to the smallest detail.

But he was not wearing glasses.

On that face—identical to Logaris’s—hung a smile Logaris himself would never show, one full of wickedness and arrogant menace.

Most striking of all were the eyes.

They were the color of fresh blood.

“Hello, Logaris.”

That other “Logaris” sat with one leg crossed over the other, idly toying with a rusted scalpel.

His voice dripped with vicious mockery.

Logaris’s grip on the gun tightened, and his expression darkened so much it seemed ready to drip water.

“Who are you? Some watchdog left behind by that mad king?”

“A watchdog?”

The red-eyed Logaris burst into laughter, laughing so hard that he nearly bent double and tears almost came to his eyes.

“Stop pretending. You know who I am.”

His laughter stopped abruptly. He leaned forward, that face drawing so close it was almost pressed against Logaris’s own.

“I am you.”

“...The real you.”