The first thing that needed to be understood was the twenty-second protocol.
It was a standing agreement between Ron and Lunas, much like the Apollo XX verification code used between Ron and Quân.
This wasn't merely a protocol for phone calls.
It was a behavioral agreement established long beforehand.
Yet the fake Lunas had ignored it completely.
He called out to Ron.
Even though Ron was deliberately maintaining the twenty-second waiting period, the impostor broke it immediately.
Once could be excused.
Perhaps he was exhausted after staying awake all night.
Ron wasn't overly concerned about that.
But then came the coffee.
Coffee might not have been Lunas's favorite drink, but after staying awake through an entire night, most people would instinctively associate a cup of coffee with rest, relief, or at least a brief pause.
Lunas did not.
He charged straight into the problem.
That was strange.
The next anomaly was Lunas's thought process itself.
He was thinking.
Not about combat.
Not about avoiding work.
Not about anything Lunas would normally care about.
Instead, he was actively helping Ron analyze the situation.
That was even stranger.
Then came the joke about blood filtration.
At first glance, it sounded harmless.
Yet it exposed something important.
The impostor did not truly understand Ron's blood.
But somehow, he knew enough to comment on it.
To continue testing him, Ron deliberately began using medical terminology.
Terms that the real Lunas would almost never pay attention to.
If the impostor possessed genuine medical knowledge, he should have become suspicious the moment Ron presented a bright red sample and claimed it was his own blood.
In other words, Ron had successfully narrowed down the possibilities.
The fake Lunas possessed limited information.
He lacked awareness of the surrounding context.
And most importantly—
He could not truly play the role of Lunas.
It was important to remember another detail.
When Ron fought the many-armed woman, it was nighttime.
Under darkness, red blood could easily appear black.
The only way to notice the difference in Ron's blood would have been inside the hospital.
The same hospital where Ron had deployed countless traps and alarms.
As a result, Ron arrived at four possible explanations.
The creature before him could copy appearances and hide itself with extraordinary skill.
Ron might have forgotten a portion of his memories.
The train incident may have exposed more information than he realized.
Or—
The fake Lunas had originated from the ground itself.
Or at least from the information contained within it.
A possible explanation emerged.
The ground consumed both ordinary corpses and corpses possessing Gifts.
It gathered fragments of consciousness from them.
Those fragments merged together, gradually forming a genuine identity.
That identity then influenced Gift users still standing upon the earth, compelling them to obey.
And somewhere along the process, one of those entities had recreated Lunas using information gathered through observation.
Of course, speculation remained speculation.
There were too many flaws in the theory to ignore.
For example—
Were there truly that many Gifts capable of influencing the mind?
Why couldn't Mental Magic stabilize consciousness when Gifts apparently could?
The ratio of Gift users was roughly one in a hundred.
Even rarer than Paths.
So why were there suddenly so many Gift holders appearing here?
And where were the Paths?
Among all those Gift users, surely some retained enough awareness to act independently.
If so, why had nobody launched a massive self-destructive attack against the city's central security systems?
Ron thought until his head hurt.
The information simply wasn't enough.
Yet when he looked at the creature before him—
A thing capable only of copying Lunas's voice and behavior—
There was little he could do besides adapt to the circumstances.
"...To think someone actually managed to see through the veil bestowed by Mother Earth."
Ron frowned.
Unlike before, the creature wasn't being threatened.
Threats were meaningless against something already dying.
"Mother Earth?"
"The veil?"
Immediately, Ron recalled his strange impatience during the previous battle.
His actions had been unusually reckless.
He had abandoned Quân in an unsafe location.
He had lost a hand.
It was as though something had locked away a portion of his mind.
"...I see."
A realization suddenly struck him.
He had never truly overcome this place through his own strength.
Instead, he relied on deduction.
On repetition.
On forcing knowledge into his memory.
On constantly warning himself.
Those methods increased his awareness.
They helped him monitor his own thoughts.
But unconsciously—
He had also been relying on someone else.
Someone he had already killed.
A Level 10 Core.
The one who had imprisoned him within the Fractal Labyrinth.
The one who had attempted and failed to seize this body.
The one who had constructed a mental maze and trapped Ron inside a prison of consciousness.
Perhaps—
The very thing preventing the veil from sinking deeper into his mind.
Lusk.