The Fairy Lotus Serum vanishes into his inventory, but his mind lingers elsewhere. He finds himself staring at his hands, flexing them, feeling the power surging through his thick, sinewy fingers—and yet, none of it feels familiar.
He crouches near the river again, leaning forward, looking down at his reflection. The water is calm, undisturbed, perfectly mirroring his face.
It is not his.
The realization should have shaken him earlier, but the chaos of survival, the relentless need to move forward, had forced him to push it aside. But now, with silence surrounding him and time to think, he truly sees it.
A jawline sharper than a blade, a nose that is straighter and more defined than the one he remembered. His eyes, once dull and sunken, now gleam with an almost feral intensity—the eyes of a predator.
His hands tremble slightly as he touches his own face, tracing the sharp angles.
"Yes, this isn't me."
He moves his lips. The reflection mimics him. He blinks, tilts his head, watches as the stranger in the water does the same.
There is no mistake.
He isn't in his own body.
A sharp breath escapes him.
"Then whose body is this?"
His hands tighten into fists as his mind spirals into a series of terrifying questions.
"Where is the real owner? Are they dead? Or are they still in here… somewhere, trapped?"
The thought unsettles him deeply.
"Did I take over someone else's life? Was it by force? Was it fate?"
No answer comes.
The weight of it all suddenly presses down on him, like unseen hands trying to shove him beneath the water's surface.
He clenches his jaw, forcing himself to analyze rather than panic.
"No matter what, I have no choice but to live in this body now."
But the words ring hollow. Somewhere, buried beneath the logic, something resists—something desperate to hold on to his past self.
This isn't you.
The whisper in his mind lingers for only a moment.
He takes a closer look at the stranger he has become.
He stands up, taking in his entire form.
The cheekbones are more pronounced than his past self.
His skin is rougher, as though hardened from battle.
His shoulders are broader, his arms thicker, his chest heavily muscled.
Left Arm – Missing.
The severed stump remains. The wound is clean—no signs of infection.
It aches, but not unbearably. He has adjusted quickly—too quickly.
The only scars on the body are his own—the ones he received since waking up here.
No old wounds, no past injuries—which is unnatural for someone with a body like this.
"A warrior's body should have history. Why does this one have none?"
It is pristine, like a blank slate—except for the damage he has done to it.
His legs are powerful, built for running, jumping, endurance.
His core is solid, tight, capable of withstanding heavy blows.
The more he examines himself, the stranger it feels.
"This body… this person… how did they end up in that hellhole?"
His fingers press into his solid abdomen, feeling the strength beneath.
"If I had arrived here in my old, weak body, I'd be dead within minutes."
That much is clear.
Whatever mystery surrounds his new form, it had saved him. And for that, he can only feel reluctant gratitude.
Still, it doesn't make the unnerving reality of the situation any easier.
The weight of the old him—the person who had struggled through life, scraping by with nothing—feels like a ghost standing just behind his shoulder. Watching. Waiting.
But ghosts don't belong here.
He exhales sharply.
"I'll figure it out later. Right now, I need to focus on escaping this place."
He exhales slowly, willing himself to move on.
He brings out the three empty bottles resting in his inventory—ones he had emptied in the cavern earlier. He kneels, uncaps them, and submerges them into the river.
He doesn't feel an immediate need for water, but that's just for the present. It was better to store as much as possible for future crises.
As he watches the clear liquid fill the containers, he notices his reflection once more—and this time, he does not flinch.
This is him now.
Even if it isn't his body, it is his reality.
He caps the bottles, stands, and presses forward.
The further he walks, the darker it becomes.
The air shifts. The once calm, silent cavern now feels dense, as though watching him.
His vision adjusts surprisingly well—another gift of this new body.
"I can see better in the dark now… interesting."
Yet, despite his enhanced sight, something feels off.
A strange sensation crawls up his spine, an unnatural chill brushing against his skin.
Then—
A faint tickle against his neck.
Too light to be the wind. Too deliberate to ignore.
Instinct kicks in, a silent warning screaming through his nerves—
And then—
A sudden, sharp sting.
"Tch—!"
His hand whips up instantly, slamming against the spot where he was bitten. His fingers curl, crushing something small.
A faint crack. A brief squirm. Then stillness.
Slowly, he lifts his hand.
A crushed spider.
Its legs twitch slightly before going still.
"A spider?"