The mist was not just air. It was heavy, like walking underwater. It clung to the wool of the stolen robe and dampened my skin.
I walked through the graveyard. The soil beneath my bare feet was soft and uneven. I stepped over sunken graves and avoided the gnarly roots of black trees that looked like grasping hands.
My shoulder throbbed in rhythm with my heartbeat. The pain was a constant, dull background noise. I filed it away: manageable.
What was less manageable was the noise in my head.
The "whispers" I had read about in the novel were getting louder. They sounded like a radio tuned between stations—static mixed with voices speaking too fast to understand.
Suddenly, my vision flickered.
It wasn't a hallucination of a monster. It was text.
Jagged, bleeding letters burned themselves into the air in front of me, overlaying the purple moon. It didn't look like a clean blue video game window. It looked like someone had carved the words into my retinas with a knife.
[ SYSTEM AWAKENING ]
[ SCANNING VESSEL... ]
I didn't stop walking. I observed the text. In the novel, the protagonist panicked when this happened. He thought he was going mad.
I knew better. This was the User Interface. This was my leverage.
The text shifted, dripping downward like wet paint.
[ IDENTITY CONFIRMED: EXTRA #47 ]
[ RECALCULATING... ERROR. ]
[ SOUL DOES NOT MATCH VESSEL. ]
[ ANOMALY DETECTED. ]
The static in my ears spiked, then vanished. The text stabilized.
[ WELCOME, KEEPER. ]
[ STATUS ]
Name: Luian
Rank: Unawakened (Mortal)
State: Injured (Left Shoulder), Malnourished.
Insight: 1% (Awakening)
Then, the most important numbers appeared. The numbers that dictated life and death in this world.
SANITY: [ ERROR ]
CORRUPTION: 0%
I paused.
In the book, Sanity was a numerical value from 1 to 100. If it dropped to zero, you became a monster. If you saw a horror, it dropped. If you used magic, it dropped.
Mine said [ ERROR ].
I focused on that line. A description expanded.
[ TRAIT DETECTED: HOLLOW MIND ]
Description: The vessel lacks the capacity for emotional resonance. Fear, love, and guilt are absent.
Effect: Immunity to psychological erosion. Sanity is fixed.
Warning: You cannot generate "Hope." You cannot heal Sanity, because you have none to heal.
I closed the window with a thought.
A faint smile touched my lips. It was the first time I had smiled since waking up.
"Fixed Sanity," I whispered.
It was a broken mechanic.
The magic system of this world demanded a trade: Power for Sanity. Normal people had to be careful. They had to ration their power to avoid going crazy.
But if my Sanity couldn't drop...
The cost of magic for me was effectively zero.
I looked down at my hands. They were covered in dried blood and dirt. The cultist's robe was filthy. I felt a wave of distaste. I preferred order. I preferred cleanliness. This chaotic, messy appearance was unprofessional.
I needed to reach civilization. I needed resources. And I needed a suit.
I pushed forward. The graveyard ended, giving way to a muddy road.
In the distance, I saw lights. Warm, orange torches flickering against the purple darkness.
Oakhaven Village. The starting town.
I stopped. I couldn't walk in there looking like this. A man in a black cultist robe, covered in blood, walking out of the forbidden graveyard? The guards would shoot me on sight.
I needed a narrative.
I looked at the black robe I was wearing. I took it off and bundled it up. I hid it inside a hollow tree stump near the road.
Now I was just a boy in a torn, bloody tunic. I looked like a victim.
I reached down and grabbed a handful of mud. I smeared it over my face, hiding my clean features, making myself look pathetic.
Calculated vulnerability.
I adjusted my posture. I slumped my shoulders. I dragged my left leg as if it were broken, adding to the illusion of helplessness.
I began to limp toward the village gates.
I let my face relax into a mask of terror—an expression I had practiced in the mirror many times in my previous life to blend in with normal people.
"Help!" I rasped out, my voice dry and weak. "Please... help me!"
The guards on the wooden wall turned. I saw their crossbows level at me.
"Halt!" one shouted. "Identify yourself!"
"I escaped!" I screamed, falling to my knees in the mud, clutching my injured shoulder. "They... they tried to sacrifice me! The cultists!"
The guards exchanged looks. The mention of cultists lowered their guard just enough.
"Open the gate!" the guard shouted down. "It's a survivor!"
I kept my head down, hiding the lack of fear in my eyes.
The heavy wooden gates creaked open.
I wasn't entering as a hero. I was entering as a refugee. It was the perfect position to start my takeover.