After the initial wave of fear faded, Michael's thoughts began to move beyond panic and caution. He could think more clearly now.
"Putting aside whatever other abilities that monster might have, there are two I'm certain of," he muttered, his tone low and oddly calm. "And both are terrifyingly powerful."
The first was its ability to control the dead.
At first glance, it resembled necromancy—but it was fundamentally different. The creature didn't reanimate corpses. It manipulated the lingering consciousness of the dead.
The second ability was even more terrifying: it could kill by targeting and destroying the consciousness directly.
"In fact… maybe they're not two abilities at all," Michael murmured, brows furrowed. "It might just be one—just applied in different ways."
The idea felt increasingly plausible the more he considered it.
Days of quiet pondering had also given him another suspicion—one that explained how the monster could actually kill him.
Michael was an Awakener.
And the thing that brought Awakeners into the Land of Origin—or at least the part of them that crossed into it—was their consciousness.
It wasn't split. There was no backup.
So if the monster destroyed that consciousness… didn't that mean true, irreversible death?
But even this theory wasn't perfect. There were still gaps. Loopholes. Parts that didn't quite make sense.
For one, it felt like far too terrible a weakness.
So maybe it wasn't the consciousness being killed after all.
Could it be the soul?
That was another theory Michael had considered.
The soul was a miraculous existence—mysterious, intangible, and vital.
In Michael's opinion, it was also the reason why strength could sync between both worlds. After all, there was only one soul.
The soul was an inseparable part of a person's identity.
But if that were true… did it mean the monster had the ability to touch the soul itself?
That thought always gave Michael a headache.
And now, as he tried to revisit it again, the dull throb returned.
With a sigh, he let the thought go—for now.
However, turning that monster into an undead was an undeniably attractive idea.
After all, no matter how special the creature was, if it became his undead, then everything it had would belong to him.
But of course, that was easier said than done.
Even if, by some miracle, the corpse ended up in his possession, the monster was surely far too powerful for him to use Undead Revival on immediately.
And if he failed to even turn it into an undead, then he wouldn't need to worry about the complications of summoning it afterward.
Michael shook his head and pushed the thought to the back of his mind.
There were too many unknowns, too many variables.
For now, speculation was wasted energy.
He crossed his legs on the cold floor, closed his eyes, and slipped into meditation.
Michael centered his thoughts, focusing on the energy flow within his body, listening to the quiet thrum of mana echoing within him.
He didn't know how long he remained that way, only that the world outside his mind had faded into a soft blur.
A knock at the door pulled him out of it.
Michael opened his eyes.
The knock came again, more insistently this time. He rose, brushing off imaginary dust from his sleeves, and moved to open it.
A knight stood outside—young, clean-shaven, and alert in gleaming silver armor. He saluted sharply.
"Sir," the knight said respectfully, "we've arrived at our destination. Grand Mage Lian asked if you would accompany him to the observation deck. He'd like a word."
He was surprised, but not suspicious.
"I see," he said, then nodded. "Lead the way."
He had been given the option to refuse, of course. But there was no reason to. Mage Lian was still a powerful figure—an asset, and more importantly, an ally.
Strength aside, having the favor of someone like him was simply too useful to pass up.
The hallway was dimly lit with flickering crystals embedded in the walls.
Michael followed the knight through several turns until they reached a wide staircase that led up to the top of the flying ship.
The deck was spacious, open to the sky.
A brisk wind greeted them, the chill biting through Michael's clothes.
Michael was soon led to stand beside Mage Lian who greeted him with a kind smile.
They were no longer in motion.
The massive ship had landed atop a wide platform carved into the Everlong Forest—a lush sea of green that stretched far beyond the horizon.
Trees rose like towers, their trunks thick as walls, their canopies forming a dense maze.
Six other ships were in a loose perimeter, forming a protective ring.
From their decks, knights and soldiers began disembarking, their armor catching the light as they moved in disciplined lines.
It was a well-organized effort.
Michael stood in silence for a few minutes, watching the orchestrated chaos below.
Mage Lian stood beside him, hands clasped behind his back, his long white robes fluttering gently in the breeze. For a while, he didn't speak—just watched the soldiers move around.
Then, finally, he broke the silence.
"I didn't call you up here for anything urgent," he said, his voice casual. "Just thought it'd be nice to have a chat."
Michael raised an eyebrow.
This was giving him the same feeling as when the Grand Mage had once invited him to share a meal "for no particular reason."
So he didn't respond immediately. He just stared at Lian, eyes narrowed slightly.
The Grand Mage chuckled, a faint sound that didn't quite match the lines of age and wisdom etched into his face.
"You don't trust me, I see."
"I don't distrust you," Michael said slowly. "But I've noticed that when you say you 'just want to talk,' it usually ends with something important."
Lian laughed this time—an amused, warm sound that echoed in the open air. "Blunt as always. Alright, I suppose there's no point dancing around it."
"I figured it was time someone told you about the… particular figure traveling with us," Lian said, tilting his head slightly toward one of the ships in the distance. "You've likely noticed her by now."