The fake Lunas looked at Ron and laughed.
Naturally, he had no idea what was going through Ron's mind. All he could do was speculate.
"Something's helping you, isn't it?"
Ron remained silent.
But silence itself could be an answer.
And Ron knew it.
The impostor leaned against the broken wood and spoke mockingly.
"You've told me so much. Why?"
"Trying to make me reveal something?"
"Trying to provoke an emotional reaction?"
"Or were you simply verifying information?"
He chuckled.
"It's the year 2995, and there are still people who believe the Benjamin Franklin Effect works?"
Ron's eyes narrowed.
"...What?"
For a brief moment, a realization flashed through his mind.
Information from the old world.
Ron remembered the discussion about blood types.
In this world, blood type classifications were hardly common knowledge.
When someone suffered blood loss, they were usually treated through body-altering magic or faith-based restoration spells.
Knowledge of blood groups was mostly confined to researchers and scholars.
That was why Ron had deliberately used terminology from the old world—AB-positive, O-negative, Rh factors.
He had intended to test whether the impostor possessed genuine medical knowledge.
Or whether it was merely pretending.
When Ron explained blood types, the fake Lunas had paused to think.
At the time, that reaction had already felt strange.
From it, Ron had derived two possibilities.
Either the creature was guessing.
Or it had somehow overheard the medical terminology Ron had intentionally spoken while alone in the laboratory.
Yet that explanation had flaws.
This city contained countless doctors, nurses, professors, and academics.
Many were dead.
Many had become part of the ground.
If the earth truly gathered information from those it consumed, then creating a believable medical profile would not have been difficult.
After all, Ron had already proven one thing.
The ground observed everything.
It collected information.
It synthesized information.
It generalized information.
Yet—
The Benjamin Franklin Effect.
Ron had never mentioned it.
Not once.
So how did this thing know?
For the second time, doubt surfaced inside him.
Without realizing it, he had gone from interrogator to suspect.
From hunter to prey.
And that was dangerous.
"What's wrong?"
The fake Lunas grinned.
"Confused?"
"Out of tricks?"
Ron looked up calmly.
His thoughts were tangled beyond measure, yet not a trace of hesitation appeared on his face.
"Maybe."
"Maybe not."
Immediately, Ron revisited another possibility.
The one involving information synthesis.
What if the ground didn't need to consume an entire body to obtain information?
What if DNA alone was enough?
His thoughts drifted back to the battle against the long-haired, many-armed woman.
He had bled during that fight.
He remembered it clearly.
Before touching the ground, his blood had been O-negative.
After touching the ground, it became AB-positive.
If that was true—
Could memories be copied through that process?
No.
Ron instantly rejected the idea.
If the creature truly possessed access to his memories, it would never have made such an amateur mistake while impersonating Lunas.
His thoughts shifted again.
Toward the absurd explosion that the woman had suffered.
This place operated according to rules.
Definite rules.
Could the absence of large-scale destruction be part of those rules?
Could it be that this artificial reality only permitted murder through another person?
Not through tools.
Not through machines.
Not through explosives.
Ron remembered the bomb he had prepared.
It had never mattered.
Magic, however, seemed exempt.
After all, he had used magic to transform black nylon wire into a weapon and kill the many-armed woman.
No.
Something was wrong.
This line of reasoning felt wrong.
I'm drifting.
Ron pressed a hand against his forehead.
His thoughts were slipping beyond his control.
The logical chain was breaking apart.
What am I missing?
What can still be explored?
Then he remembered something.
A simple question.
Why was the fake Lunas here?
Didn't I call Lunas here myself?
Yes.
He had.
Janeus had gone to sleep somewhere nearby.
Surprisingly, she had remained relatively sane.
Ron originally wanted Lunas to investigate the reason for that.
After Janeus fell asleep, they were supposed to examine several other locations together.
But...
But...
Why do I even need this information?
Ron looked toward the creature.
Despite its shattered body and imminent death, it continued smiling.
Logically speaking, surviving such injuries with a functioning brain was already abnormal.
But another question bothered him even more.
Why wasn't it fighting back?
Ron lacked information.
Far too much information.
Was everything he had witnessed merely another layer of control imposed by the ground?
He continued thinking.
Then a single sentence snapped him out of it.
"Want to know more?"
Ron froze.
Whether he wanted the answer or not, he wasn't even sure anymore.
If I listen...
Will I just sink deeper?
After several seconds, he nodded.
At the same moment, he drove his knife straight into the creature's eye socket.
The blade sank deep into its skull.
No matter how strange its body was.
No matter how little pain it felt.
The brain remained the brain.
A fatal weakness.
"Then bark, dog."