He lay there in silence, staring at the ceiling, while his mind finally started moving again.
His body was exhausted, but his thoughts were not willing to rest.
'Alright,' he thought, 'Calm down, panicking later will not make this make sense now.'
He forced himself to recall everything the spider-masked woman had said.
Soul beasts. Integration. Killing. Eating. Transfer. Law of the world. The words replayed again and again in his head, like pieces of a puzzle that refused to lock neatly into place.
'If what she said is true,' he thought, 'then the soul is not some abstract thing. It behaves like a resource. Something that can move, attach, and be consumed.'
That alone was disturbing.
'And mortals are vessels,' he continued. 'Meaning we are containers first? That explains why they keep calling us materials instead of humans.'
He frowned slightly.
'But then… if killing and eating a soul beast lets you absorb its soul, doesn't that mean anyone can become stronger just by doing that?'
The thought felt obvious, almost too obvious.
'That sounds broken,' he thought. 'Like a badly designed game system.'
He paused, then corrected himself.
'No. If it were that simple, they would not need experiments. And half the kids would not be dead.'
His eyes shifted slightly as another idea surfaced.
'Compatibility,' he thought. 'She kept saying that word. Compatible with mortals. Compatible with experiments.'
That meant there were limits.
'Maybe most people's souls collapse when they try to absorb another one. Or maybe the beast soul overwhelms them. Like pouring boiling water into a paper cup.'
He swallowed.
'Or maybe the soul fights back.'
The memory of the centipede moving with intent made his stomach twist.
'If eating was enough,' he thought, 'then hunters would rule the world. Kings would be chefs. The strongest would be the ones with the biggest stomachs.'
That image almost made him laugh, and the fact that it nearly worked scared him more than the experiment.
'So there has to be a cost,' he reasoned.
He exhaled slowly.
'And maybe… you don't just gain traits,' he thought.
'Maybe the beast leaves something behind?'
His jaw tightened.
'If that is true, then getting stronger is not free. It means becoming less human.'
Then another, quieter thought slipped in.
'And if I already survived once… does that mean my soul is unusually stable?'
He did not like that idea either.
After a moment, he finally spoke out loud, his voice dry but steady.
"Doesn't that mean anyone can become stronger just by eating soul beasts?"
The spider-masked woman tilted her head slightly, as if his question amused her more than it surprised her.
"Of course not," she said lightly, waving one hand as though brushing away a childish misunderstanding.
"If it were that easy, this world would already be overflowing with immortals."
She stepped a little to the side, her footsteps soft against the floor.
"Right now, you are no longer a pure mortal," she continued.
"But you are also far inferior to a true immortal. There are orders of existence. As far as I know, there are three major ones at present."
She raised one finger. "The first is what we call Anointed beings. That will be you soon. It is the lowest rank of an immortal existence."
She paused, then added, "Each rank has nine layers. And do not misunderstand—the difference between realms is like heaven and earth. Numbers alone do not describe it."
Zhao Zhiyu listened without interrupting, his face pale but attentive.
"Once a mortal consumes a soul directly like you did," she went on, "they cannot repeat the process. The vessel stabilizes, and that path closes. The same applies to us immortals. We do not eat souls."
She tapped the side of her mask. "We use cores instead. Soul crystals. They are the physical manifestation of a soul after death."
She glanced at him again. "You might not know this, but you also consumed one."
His eyes widened slightly.
"It was inside the centipede," she said casually. "Very small. You did not notice. If you had missed it, this would have all been pointless."
She clasped her hands behind her back and took a few slow steps around the table.
"And let me clarify something important. Not everyone can ascend the way you did. In fact, most cannot. Your survival was not just luck."
Her voice grew a little more serious.
"We belong to an assassin sect that specializes in soul integration. Other factions cannot replicate this method. Even if they tried, they would only produce corpses."
She stopped and lightly stomped the floor. "You cannot see it, but this room is covered in formations. Very complicated ones. They stabilize the soul, suppress rejection, and force compatibility."
She looked down at him and smiled again, cheerful as ever. "Without them, you would have died screaming on the first bite."
She straightened. "So no. Eating soul beasts does not make anyone stronger. It only makes you dead—unless you are prepared, compatible, and standing exactly where you are now."
Zhiyu blinked slowly, still processing everything she had just said.
The spider-masked woman spoke again, her voice lighter this time.
"Also," she added, "that centipede was already old and weak. Most mortals would have had no chance against it. You were lucky in more ways than you realize."
Her words lingered in his mind.
Luck.
Always luck.
He swallowed, still weak, but slowly he felt his body responding again.
"Now," she said, almost impatiently, "stand up already. Your comrades are waiting."
Zhiyu froze for a moment. 'Comrades?' he thought.
He had been alone this entire time, struggling for survival. Could there really be others he hadn't met yet?
He shook his head slightly, trying to clear it, and forced his legs to move. It was slow at first; muscles stiff, joints aching from weeks of restraint and poison.
But step by step, he managed to stand. His balance wobbled, but he gritted his teeth and held himself upright.
She led the way through the tunnels, her steps quiet, controlled, almost gliding over the stone.
Zhiyu followed closely behind, every movement careful. The tunnels twisted and turned, dark and narrow in some places, wider in others, but always cold and damp.
Water dripped from the ceiling in a slow, constant rhythm, and the faint echo of footsteps from other sections made the air feel alive.
He noticed the walls were rough and uneven, sometimes sharp enough to scrape a hand if he brushed too close.
The torchlight from distant corridors cast dim, flickering shadows, making it hard to judge distances.
His senses sharpened automatically... every sound, every draft, every subtle vibration traveled straight to his brain.
'Damn, how long do I have to walk?,' he thought, forcing himself to remain calm.
They walked in silence for a long stretch, the only sounds being their footsteps and the occasional drip of water.
Zhiyu tried to guess where the tunnels led.
'Maybe another holding area… or training space… or something worse,' he thought.
The corridors twisted again, then widened slightly, and he caught faint light ahead.
Shadows of figures moved there, but he couldn't tell who they were yet.
'Comrades,' he repeated in his mind. 'I guess… that's what we're calling them now. If they're alive, they're probably like me.'
He shivered, not from cold this time, but from anticipation.
Every step forward was slow, cautious, and deliberate.
And so, he followed the spider-masked woman deeper into the tunnels.
...
As they continued walking, the spider-masked woman spoke again, almost casually, as if commenting on the weather.
"There's something off about you," she said. "Your body and soul feel… separated."
Zhiyu felt a chill run down his spine. His steps faltered for a fraction of a second before he forced himself to keep moving.
'So she noticed,' he thought. 'Is that because of transmigration?' He had no proof, but it felt like the most reasonable explanation. Nothing about his situation was normal to begin with.
She did not stop walking as she continued. "It's not that rare," she added. "There are people like you. Souls that don't fully settle into their vessels."
That explanation did not comfort him at all.
Then her tone shifted slightly, sounding amused.
"But there's no way you're some old monster, right? The kind that steals bodies and hides their age."
Zhiyu swallowed. He did not answer. His silence seemed to be answer enough.
She let out a soft laugh. "Relax. If you were, you'd be much harder to deal with."
They turned another corner, and the tunnel sloped gently downward. The air felt heavier here, colder, pressing against his skin. Then she continued, this time sounding more… instructional.
"If I were you," she said, "I'd try mastering puppetry and poison."
That caught his attention immediately.
"Because your soul is not tightly bound to your body," she explained, "you're more vulnerable to soul-based attacks. If someone targets your soul directly, you'll suffer more than others."
Zhiyu felt his stomach sink.
'Damn. Another weakness,' he thought grimly.
"But," she continued, her voice lifting again, "there's a trade-off. Since your soul is already somewhat detached, techniques that involve separated souls or indirect control will come more naturally to you."
He frowned slightly as he listened.
"Puppetry," she said, "especially the kind that uses soul threads or divided soul fragments, relies on maintaining distance between soul and body. For most people, that's difficult and dangerous. For you, it's already your natural state."
Zhiyu's mind started working immediately.
'So… my weakness can be turned into a specialty?' he thought. 'That sounds like a bad deal that somehow comes with a coupon.'
She glanced back at him briefly. "If you survive long enough, you could control multiple puppets with less strain than others. Poison arts would also suit you. Subtle, indirect, patient. You don't need brute strength for that."
He nodded slowly, even though she wasn't looking at him anymore.
'Vulnerable to soul attacks, but good at controlling things from a distance,' he summarized in his head. 'That's… actually kind of fair. Annoying, but fair.'
The tunnels ahead began to widen, and faint voices echoed from somewhere beyond.
Zhao Zhiyu straightened his posture slightly, forcing his tired body to cooperate.