Mark woke up. He opened his eyes, so to speak, though it made no difference—the world remained the same impenetrable void. He had no idea how long he had slept or what time it was. It was difficult to determine, and frankly, it didn't matter. Gathering his thoughts, he first checked his left arm; it still throbbed, but the pain had subsided significantly. He felt the bandage—it was secure, with no fresh blood seeping through. He ran a System appraisal on the injury: nothing serious, just a recommendation to change the dressing periodically.
Before getting up, he began to dissect the previous day's events. Some things were relatively clear: the area near the Gate on the first floor was quiet; the danger only escalated as he moved further away. But he reminded himself that there were always exceptions. As for the fight with the goblin... Mark felt neither joy nor depression. Perhaps that was a good thing. It meant he wasn't a sociopath who enjoyed killing, nor was he too soft to do what was necessary.
One thing was truly remarkable. He had been practicing Mana Sense relentlessly in the Safe Zone, but his progress had plateaued. The only constant source of mana here was the Gate. He would practice by sensing it from a distance, but he could never maintain the connection for more than 20 minutes; any external distraction would break his focus. Yet, on the first floor, he had held it for what felt like 40 to 60 minutes. Keeping his Mana Sense active throughout the battle and its aftermath was a massive leap forward. He could now feel his radius had expanded to about 7 or 8 meters.
A single life-and-death struggle had granted him more growth than weeks of stagnant practice. He realized that Mana Sense alone wasn't enough to replace his sight. Hearing, smell, and most importantly, Appraisal, were vital. He had identified three ways to trigger an appraisal:
Physical Contact: He could appraise anything he touched directly with his hands or body. Analyzing through taste or smell was something he still needed to test fully.
Through Mana Sense: He could appraise anything within his mana radius, like the goblin he sensed earlier. This had the most potential for growth as his radius expanded.
Through the Blind Staff: This was a true breakthrough. The staff had become an extension of his body, allowing him to "feel" and appraise objects at a distance, making navigation significantly easier.
These discoveries ignited a new desire within him: the urge to ensure that whenever he finally left this dungeon, he would keep the System and these newfound powers with him.
As these thoughts swirled in Mark's mind, his stomach growled, demanding fuel. He stood up, cleaned himself in the bathroom, and headed back to the familiar dining table. The bowl he had pushed away in disgust last time, along with its contents, had already vanished. In its place stood a fresh bowl of steaming hot porridge.
The Safe Zone had its own peculiar logic: if the food was touched, it would reset every four hours, regardless of how much was consumed. If left untouched, it remained hot and fresh indefinitely. Cursing his habit of getting lost in thought, Mark began to eat. The porridge was as tasteless as ever... but perhaps it was the lingering memory of that apple or the sheer exhaustion from battle, but this time he finished the entire meal without complaint.
With his hunger satiated, he drifted back into analysis. Had he been doing something wrong during his earlier training? His rapid post-battle growth proved he had potential, meaning even basic exercises should have yielded results. The only logical explanation was a flaw in his methodology. After a moment of reflection, he hit upon the truth: when studying magic, he had chased the flashy, powerful results. Even though those techniques were second nature to Thaddeus, Mark had neglected the fundamentals.
He was like a man trying to master an electrical appliance without having the slightest understanding of electricity itself. It was a sound theory, but there was another lingering doubt—a question he had been avoiding, one that sat at the back of his mind and hindered his progress. Mark took a deep breath and finally posed it to the System:
"Why was I—Mark Miller—transferred into the body of Thaddeus Von Lightborn? And is this fusion complete?"
The question had haunted him for a long time. He couldn't shake the suspicion that a glitch or incompleteness in the fusion process was hindering his growth. As the thought crossed his mind, a familiar ding echoed in his ears, and a semi-transparent panel flickered to life before him:
[Reason: Thaddeus Von Lightborn and Mark Miller are fundamentally identical in spirit. The fusion is complete; however, you possess the choice of whether or not to fully accept the essence of Thaddeus.]
Mark fell into a heavy silence. Part of him wanted to scream at the System for its perceived stupidity, to deny any resemblance to a failure like Thaddeus. But deep within the recesses of his mind, he knew the System was right. Who was Thaddeus? A man who only worked when pushed to the brink, who withered into self-destruction the moment he tasted true freedom.
Mark looked back at his own life. He had never been a genius, but he wasn't a fool either. Among his peers, he had always seemed slightly ahead. In his childhood, he had been diligent, working harder than anyone. But the moment he encountered true geniuses, his pride shattered. From then on, he began to "perform"—pretending to study, pretending to strive. His career followed the same pattern: he played the part of a hard worker, but he never truly gave it his all.
Both Mark and Thaddeus had been handed potential. Both had squandered it. And for that, there was no one to blame but themselves.
A storm of thoughts surged through Mark's mind once more. The haunting memories of past inertia and the crushing weight of self-blame clawed at him. To steady himself, he tried to pivot his focus.
"Fine. If I must accept Thaddeus, then I will," he mused. To be fair, Thaddeus hadn't truly harmed anyone. He had spent his life training until age twelve, then squandered the rest on the empty, harmless opulence of the nobility. He had never forced himself on the women he shared his bed with; he gave them exactly what they sought, be it gold or status. His primary "victim" was his fiancé, Anastasia. But with Thaddeus "dead," wasn't she finally free to find true love and happiness? By that logic, Thaddeus had only ever been his own enemy.
A grim smile played on Mark's lips. "And what about me? Didn't I also ruin only myself with my laziness and hesitation?"
The System had struck the bullseye. They were different in form, but their core essence was identical. But how does one actually "accept" Thaddeus? Mark had already inherited the body and the memories—wasn't that acceptance enough? He even tried a foolish idea that popped into his head: sitting in a lotus position as if meditating, he spoke inwardly to his own soul. "Hey, Thaddeus. I know you're in there. Please, unite with me."
Predictably, nothing happened. It felt as vague and hollow as a psychologist telling someone to "find themselves." I am right here. I live with myself every second. Why should I have to search for what was never lost?
After much deliberation, Mark decided on a more pragmatic approach: he would truly start from the beginning. He would dedicate his days to dissecting Thaddeus's childhood training memories and studying the absolute fundamentals of magic in the library.
Once the decision was made, a sudden realization hit him: the goblin corpse! What about the Monster Core? Was he supposed to extract it? Recalling the goblin's putrid stench and its mangled remains—crushed by the heavy strikes of his staff—Mark decided to postpone the task. The Inventory would keep the body preserved; it could wait a little longer.