5: Who I am (3)
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Zu Feng's face had gone pale, his complexion drained of all color. Even though he had once been the strongest being on his planet, a man whose mere presence could make warriors tremble, right now his heart wavered under the weight of things he did not understand. The words hurled at him were foreign, alien, almost incomprehensible to the way his mind worked. He clenched his fists unconsciously, the memory of countless battles and victories doing little to help him here. This was not an opponent he could strike down with a blade or overpower with brute strength. This was something else.
He looked at Gandolah, and the way that strange man stared at him made his consciousness flicker, as if his very soul was unraveling under the pressure of those eyes. It was like drowning without water, like falling endlessly without a bottom. His throat was dry, his chest heavy, and yet he forced himself to remain upright, floating in this dark, endless void.
"What do you mean that I fucked that up?" Zu Feng's voice cracked with the weight of confusion, still floating in the darkness. His words carried more anger than he truly felt—anger was his last defense against the terror clawing at the back of his mind.
Gandolah sighed, long and drawn out, the sound echoing unnaturally in the hollow emptiness around them. His shoulders slumped slightly, almost tired. "Hah… feeling like a teacher, am I?" he muttered to himself, half amused, half burdened by the role he had unwillingly taken on.
Zu Feng's brows furrowed, his pride bristling. But before he could retort, Gandolah stood, or at least gave the impression of standing in this formless void. His hand stretched out lazily, and with one casual motion he adjusted Zu Feng's body into a more natural, upright position. Zu Feng didn't even resist—it was as if reality itself bent to Gandolah's whims, rearranging him without effort.
Then Gandolah sat down. There was no chair, no throne, nothing beneath him, and yet he lowered himself as if there was, his posture relaxed and almost arrogant, as though he was sitting on something more real than the void itself. His presence demanded that this nothingness conform to his comfort.
"Hm… so where should I start from…" Gandolah muttered, his voice thoughtful, like a lecturer preparing to deliver something unpleasant but inevitable.
Zu Feng narrowed his eyes, every ounce of his focus locked on the man. Even in his confusion, even in this fragile state, his instincts screamed at him not to miss a single word.
"So," Gandolah began, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade, "you know that you—Doughlas Vierra Varkierd the Third—have been transferred into Guye Zu Feng's body, right?" His tone was matter-of-fact, sharp, and his face now bore a strange detail: glasses, thin-rimmed, appearing out of thin air as though they had always belonged there.
Zu Feng's heart sank as the name was spoken. Doughlas Vierra Varkierd III. His name. His true self. The words rang in his ears like a death knell. He swallowed hard, forced himself to nod, and finally answered in a low tone, "I concluded that."
"Good," Gandolah replied simply, flipping open a thick book that materialized in his hands at the same instant. The void illuminated faintly by the pale glow of the pages. He adjusted his glasses, his eyes scanning the book with casual ease, the way a teacher reviews a report card of a particularly troublesome student.
Zu Feng remained silent, tense, waiting for more. His knuckles were white as he clenched his fists tighter, nails biting into skin.
Then, just as abruptly as they appeared, Gandolah flicked his fingers. The glasses dissolved into sparks of nothingness, the book snapping shut and disappearing into the void like it had never been.
"You remembered everything when you saw that, right?" Gandolah asked, his tone no longer detached but sharp, cutting, his eyes pinning Zu Feng like a predator watching prey.
Zu Feng's chest tightened. His jaw clenched. His fist trembled slightly as he tried to suppress the shudder running through his body. He gritted his teeth, every muscle straining against the tidal wave of memory threatening to crush him. Sweat trickled down his forehead, cold against his already chilled skin, and fear seeped out of his pores no matter how hard he tried to bury it.
Gandolah clicked his tongue, his disappointment clear. "Tsk. That was even tough for a Swordmaster, huh?" His words dripped with a mixture of pity and mockery, his voice like a hammer breaking down Zu Feng's already fragile defenses.
Zu Feng gulped, the motion visible in the bob of his Adam's apple as it rose and fell, each swallow feeling like he was forcing down stones. His breath was shallow, uneven. The air felt heavy, too thick to breathe properly.
"That thing you saw…" Gandolah began, his voice suddenly calmer, almost gentle, though the weight of his words carried far more dread than comfort, "…was known as the Graveyard of Memories."
Zu Feng's pupils widened slightly at the phrase.
"The place where one can achieve Nirvana," Gandolah continued, pausing, his gaze never leaving Zu Feng's face, "…or…" His voice deepened, deliberate, as if each word carried the force of a verdict.
"One can achieve Transcendental Opulence. Also known as Transcendence."
The words echoed through the void, reverberating in Zu Feng's skull until they burned themselves into him.
Gandolah opened his palm lazily. Out of nowhere, an apple appeared, vibrant and impossibly red, its skin glistening as though it had been plucked fresh from the tree of paradise. The sight of it was strangely grounding, absurdly mundane in this abyss. Yet it was far too perfect—too beautiful. Even Zu Feng's battle-hardened instincts told him this was not a normal apple.
Gandolah held the apple in his palm, studying it briefly before flicking his gaze back to Zu Feng. "But in the case of reincarnation or transmigration, this thing might be… different."
Then, without ceremony, Gandolah raised his middle finger and pointed it at Zu Feng. The apple blinked out of existence instantly, dissolving like a lie exposed.
"The red magma you saw, Zu Feng," Gandolah said, his tone shifting into something heavier, more absolute, "was your original essence of memory. Happy and fiery memories. The essence of Doughlas Vierra Varkierd III."
The name slammed into Zu Feng again like a hammer to the skull. His chest tightened, his breath ragged.
"And the black, void-like space you saw," Gandolah continued, his voice like a cruel reminder, "that was this body's original essence of memory. Guye Zu Feng's memories. Sad. Depressed. Melancholic."
Each word was like a blade. The image replayed in Zu Feng's mind—the endless void, swallowing, suffocating, its weight heavier than any battlefield. He clenched his jaw, veins bulging at his temple, forcing himself not to break.
Gandolah leaned back on his nonexistent seat, posture relaxed, expression like a king explaining to a servant. He had finished his explanation, yet his aura still pressed down on Zu Feng like a throne's shadow.
Zu Feng—or Doughlas, or both—stood frozen, his mind reeling. He had grasped perhaps seventy percent of what was dumped onto him, and even that was enough to leave him barely standing. His breaths came short, shallow. But he did not collapse. He could not collapse.
"And you saw that the black void was melting away, right?" Gandolah asked, his tone calm, almost conversational now.
Zu Feng forced himself to nod, slow and deliberate, as if each motion carried the weight of an entire planet.
And then—
Suddenly!
In the next second, Gandolah's nail was pressing into Zu Feng's forehead, sharp, unnatural, like a dagger piercing directly into the seat of his consciousness. Zu Feng's eyes went wide, his pupils dilated to the brink of madness. His face twisted in shock, every muscle in his body convulsing.
Gandolah's expression was monstrous. His eyes stretched unnaturally wide, his teeth bared like a beast, savage and feral, his face the mask of an animal barely restrained. His voice roared with venom.
"Yeah! That's the main problem you caused, motherfucker!"
The words tore into Zu Feng, louder than thunder, sharper than blades, a curse that resonated not just in his ears but in the marrow of his bones.
And in that instant, Zu Feng realized—this was no mere lecture. This was judgment.