Madam Herta stood before the newly condensed doorway. A bone-chilling cold, far more intense than what she had felt near Cyrene, seeped through the crack, causing even her non-human body to feel a slight, icy sluggishness.
She frowned slightly and pushed the door open.
The scene behind the door made her gasp.
It was a massive ice cavern, entirely composed of omnipresent, deep blue solid ice that seemed to have remained unchanged since time immemorial.
Countless icicles hung from the dome, like inverted sharp swords.
And right in the center of this ice cavern, sealed within the largest block of transparent Profound Ice, was a figure—Phainon.
He was currently frozen deep within the ice layer.
His eyes were tightly shut, his face holding a solidified calm, yet his posture was not peaceful; it carried a sense of brokenness after a struggle, as if he had been trying to break free just before being sealed.
This was not a complete seal, but rather the instant a fierce struggle was solidified.
However, what was even more unsettling was below.
Black Herta's gaze moved downward. Beneath the transparent ice layer at her feet was not solid ground, but... mountains of more "Phainons."
Countless bodies, identical to him in appearance and clothing, were piled haphazardly beneath the deep ice abyss, like discarded, broken puppets.
Some had missing limbs, some had blurred faces, and some looked as if they had been scorched by fierce flames... They lay there silently, forming a silent yet incomparably tragic tableau.
The cold air itself seemed to carry the despair accumulated from these countless cycles of reincarnation and failure.
Black Herta silently clenched her fists, her knuckles turning slightly white from the effort.
She silently averted her gaze, refusing to look at the shocking "graveyard" any longer, and turned to leave this tragic finale that belonged only to Phainon, repeated countless times.
The next room was filled with a sharp, murderous aura.
There was no ice here, only a stretch of desolate scorched earth.
And in the center of the scorched earth, a tall, burly figure was impaled from back to front through the spine by a massive greatsword condensed from pure darkness, pinning him tightly to the ground.
Ominous dark red patterns flowed across the greatsword, pulsating like a living thing, continuously draining the host's life force.
The figure's head was bowed, their face obscured. Only the greatsword revealed the extreme pain and bondage they were enduring.
Black Herta's mood grew heavier; she quickly walked past, almost as if fleeing.
The third space was a boundless azure ocean.
The sea was calm and waveless, presenting an eerie beauty.
And in the center of the ocean, an elegantly poised woman—Keluida—was silently floating on the surface of the water.
Her eyes were closed, and her face was peaceful, as if she were asleep.
But an invisible sharp blade was plunged into her chest, and golden-yellow blood continuously seeped from the wound, like an inexhaustible spring.
The golden blood slowly spread out in the seawater around her, like a constantly expanding, tragically beautiful watercolor painting, staining a large area of the sea where she floated a brilliant yet sorrowful gold.
Tranquility and cruelty formed a horrifying contrast at this moment.
The corner of Black Herta's mouth twitched slightly, and a sense of impotent rage and sorrow surged in her heart.
She sighed helplessly and continued forward, having almost braced herself for the horrors she would see next.
However, the next room was beyond her expectations.
There were no terrifying seals, no bloody punishments.
It looked... more like... an excessively clean solitary confinement cell.
The four walls were made of smooth white material, completely unadorned, with only a cold white lamp overhead providing illumination.
A green-haired figure wearing... blue and white striped clothes was squatting in the corner of the room, back facing her, shoulders slightly twitching, doing something unknown.
"Anaxa?"
Black Herta's heart stirred. Recognizing the distinctive green hair, a strange sense of relief arose—at least this one seemed intact, not tormented beyond recognition like the previous figures.
She had previously used an abstract video about him to scare Cyrene, and now seeing his actual body seemingly unharmed, she felt a sort of "conscience-stricken" comfort.
It was just that... the style of the clothes he was wearing, the more she looked, the more... familiar it seemed?
Those blue and white stripes, the loose and uniform cut... a subtle sense of unease began to spread in her heart.
As if disturbed by her gaze, the squatting figure moved, and then... slowly, with an indescribable stiffness, began to turn its head.
Black Herta subconsciously held her breath, afraid that a broken face would turn toward her.
Thankfully, the face was normal.
It was the appearance of the wise Scholar Anaxa, with delicate features and even very calm eyes.
Just as Black Herta was about to breathe a sigh of relief—
But Anaxa had completely turned around, facing her, and slowly... stood up.
He was wearing a Mental Patient's Uniform!
It wasn't obvious when he was squatting, but now that he stood up, this attire, completely contrary to his scholarly demeanor, brought Black Herta's unease to a peak!
Then, the moment Anaxa stood completely still—
"Boom! Clack! Boom! Clack!"
A highly rhythmic electronic music blasted through the cell without warning!
The music was full of inappropriate cheerfulness and... abstractness!
Immediately afterward, flashing virtual images of several Earth Beasts appeared behind Anaxa, like a glitching projection!
And the green-haired Scholar, amidst the deafening, demonic music, still maintained that expressionless, calm look on his face, but his body abruptly began a frantic and twisted dance in a posture that completely defied the laws of physics and ergonomics!
His arms flailed as if broken, his waist spun like a top, and his legs crossed and stomped. Every movement was filled with an extreme sense of "performance art," "perfectly" matching the deafening music.
Black Herta's pupils suddenly contracted, and she froze in place as if struck by lightning.
This dance... this music... this was clearly the content from the abstract fan-made video she had used to trick Cyrene earlier!
But... that was just some fun she had casually dug up from her past life's Remembrance!
And nobody told her... that this thing was actually a documentary?!
Watching the Scholar, renowned for his rationality, dance a routine comparable to a source of mental pollution with an expressionless face, Black Herta felt her nerves and sanity cry out under the strain.
It was more difficult for her to accept than the horrors she had seen previously—it was a deep, bone-chilling impact that fundamentally subverted her understanding.
"..."
She opened her mouth but couldn't utter a sound.
Finally, Madam Herta turned around clumsily and stumbled, forcefully pushing open the door she had entered through, fleeing this place that made her feel worse than any torture chamber.
The demonic music and dance seemed etched into her mind, impossible to shake off.
Returning to the pure white System Space, Black Herta held her forehead, feeling physically and mentally exhausted.
Scenes of horror and the final, highly impactful abstract image played back alternately in her mind.
The system puppet stood quietly beside her, its inverted cross eyes flickering, seemingly analyzing her rapidly fluctuating emotions.
It timely handed her a cup of Energy Soothing Agent, and then, using its emotionless electronic voice, attempted to provide comfort:
"Madam, please do not worry too much. The presentation of data projections can sometimes appear... unusual due to the distortion of core concepts. Just as on the Astral Express, we never worry about being late."
Black Herta unconsciously replied, "Why?"
The system puppet: "Because we are 'Pio-neers' (Kāi-tuò zhě), not 'Pro-crastinators' (Kāi-tuō zhě)."
Black Herta's hand, holding the cup, froze mid-air.
She slowly turned her head, her purplish-black eyes staring intently at the system's unchanging face.
"...Did you just tell a dad joke?"
The system puppet tilted its head slightly, data flowing calmly in its inverted cross eyes: "Responding, Madam, this is merely an adaptive attempt at comfort based on the newly recorded 'Communication Assistance Database.' The data source is labeled: Common corpus from the Astral Express bar, used by the bartender known as 'shut up.' Analysis suggests that this language pattern has the potential efficacy of alleviating atmosphere in specific contexts."
Black Herta: "..."
She expressionlessly downed the liquid in the cup, then heavily placed the cup back into the system's hand.
"Next time," she said, her tone icy and filled with undeniable finality, "don't learn that."
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