After a while Piers stopped walking and looked around.
They were far enough from the house now. Deep enough into the woods that the trees blocked most of the moonlight.
Perfect.
He scanned the ground and found what he was looking for—a sharp stone, maybe two inches long, with a nice cutting edge.
"Young sir?" The ghost watched as Piers picked up the stone and examined it. "What precisely do you intend to—"
Piers sat down, pulled off his left shoe, and positioned the stone against his pinky toe.
"What are you DOING?!" the ghost shrieked.
"Testing something," Piers said calmly.
And cut.
Not deep. Just enough to draw blood. A clean slice across the top of his smallest toe.
He felt nothing. Seven years of torture had burned the ability to feel pain right out of him. His body no longer bothered to register it. He watched the blood well up, utterly indifferent.
The ghost made a sound like a dying cat. "YOUNG SIR! WHAT IN THE SPECTRAL REALM—"
Piers ignored him, watching his toe with clinical focus.
The cut was maybe half an inch long. Blood pooled, then...
The bleeding slowed.
Stopped.
The skin began knitting together—slowly, but visibly. He counted in his head.
One. Two. Three. Four...
At around ten seconds, the cut had sealed completely, leaving only a faint pink line that faded even as he watched.
"Huh, Slower than last life. But it works."
"LAST LIFE?!"
The ghost was practically vibrating with panic. "You DELIBERATELY INJURED YOURSELF to test—"
Piers picked up the stone again.
"Young M-master, stop. You must not act without explaining yourself—."
This time, Piers sliced his index finger. Same depth, clean cut.
The ghost wailed, his translucent hands reaching out uselessly—spectral fingers passing right through Piers' arm as he tried to stop him.
"STOP! DESIST! HALT YOUR ACTIONS!"
Piers watched the finger heal.
One. Two. Three...
Ten seconds again.
Consistent.
"Stop! I beg you! No more! Have you lost all sense of self-preservation?! What if—what if it doesn't heal next time?!
Piers rolled up his pant leg and positioned the stone against his calf.
"NO!" The ghost dove forward, trying physically to grab the stone and failing miserably. "NOT THE LEG! SPARE THE LEG! THINK OF YOUR MOTHER! YOUR POOR, DEAR MOTHER WHO—"
Cut.
The ghost collapsed mid-air, floating there like a deflated balloon, making small whimpering sounds.
Piers watched the calf wound seal.
This one was bigger. Deeper tissue. More surface area.
One. Two. Three...
He kept counting, ignoring the ghost's theatrical death scene beside him.
...Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.
The wound finally closed completely, pink skin knitting together smoothly.
Interesting. Healing time scales with wound size.
Small cuts: ten seconds. Larger wound: thirty seconds. Proportional response.
He pulled his pant leg back down.
The ghost peeked through his spectral fingers. "Madness! Absolute madness! What manner of lunacy—?! If your mother discovers this—"
"She won't." Piers was already pulling his shoe back on. "It healed. No evidence."
"But for what purpose?! What could possibly justify—?!"
"Because I needed to know." Piers stood and started walking again, deeper into the forest. "If we're going into a dangerous area, I need to understand my capabilities. Now I know—I can take damage and recover. Useful information."
"Useful—USEFUL?! You just—you cannot simply—" The ghost made several more incoherent sounds of distress before giving up and floating after him, muttering darkly.
Piers didn't respond.
That had been... satisfying.
The ghost's horrified reaction. The confirmation of his regeneration. The cold calculation of testing his own body like a scientific experiment.
His corruption had dropped during the test. Not much—maybe 0.2%—but measurable.
New experiences. Risk. Even self-harm counts as emotional stimulus when approached analytically.
Interesting.
[NULL SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
[CURRENT VOID CORRUPTION: 39.8%]
[HOST DEMONSTRATING INCREASED EMOTIONAL RANGE]
[WARNING: RECKLESS BEHAVIOR DETECTED]
[NOTE: CORRUPTION REDUCED BY CURIOSITY AND DISCOVERY, NOT SELF INJURY ITSELF]
[RECOMMENDATION: MODERATE RISK-TAKING TENDENCIES]
Piers dismissed the notification.
He was fine. Better than fine.
He was alive in a way he hadn't been in years.
They walked.
Or rather—Piers walked, the ghost floated alongside him in sulking silence.
The forest grew denser. Darker. The trees pressed closer together, their branches tangling overhead until barely any moonlight broke through.
After maybe fifteen minutes—long enough that Piers' short legs were starting to ache—the trees suddenly opened up.
A clearing.
And in the center...
A gate.
Piers stopped, staring.
It was wrong.
Not like a door or an archway—more like a wound in reality itself. Twisted roots and gnarled branches coiled together in something that vaguely resembled a circle, but the shape kept shifting at the edges. Like looking at something that couldn't decide what it wanted to be.
The air around it pulsed with visible corruption—thick, oily miasma that clung to everything, making his skin crawl even from twenty feet away.
His mana reacted before he consciously thought about it.
A faint shimmer wrapped around his body—instinctive protection against the toxic energy radiating from the gate.
"What..." Piers' voice came out quieter than intended. "What is this?"
The ghost was already diving toward the gate.
Piers hesitated for half a second, then ran after him.
The moment he crossed the threshold—
—everything shifted.
He stumbled, catching himself on instinct.
A cavern.
Massive. Hollow. Breathing.
The miasma was thinner here—still present, but manageable. The air was cold enough to see his breath, heavy with moisture and something else. Something old.
Dark stone curved up into shadows he couldn't see the end of. Faint bioluminescent fungi dotted the walls, glowing like dying stars. The ground crunched under his shoes—brittle roots, fragments of bone, things he didn't want to identify.
It was clearer here than outside the gate.
But not safe.
Not even close.
A snarl ripped through the silence.
Piers' head snapped toward the sound.
Something moved in the darkness.
Fast.
His body reacted before his mind caught up—stumbling sideways in a clumsy dodge. Claws raked through the air where his head had been a second ago.
He hit the ground hard, rolling, scrambling back to his feet.
The creature stepped into the fungal light.
Piers' breath caught.
What... is that?
Humanoid. Barely. Its body was twisted, corrupted—bone jutting through rotting flesh, limbs bent at angles that shouldn't exist. The lower half writhed with something that looked like living shadow, tendrils of corruption crawling across its skin.
Its eyes burned red.
Hungry.
"Young Master! Purify it — NOW!"
"What?, I don't—I can't—"
The creature lunged.