NOVEL NEXT WORLD Chapter 279: Assimilation
The commotion didn't reach the southwest district, which remained immersed in the Christmas spirit. Two hurrying figures merged into the crowd, quickly disappearing from sight.
"We're safe for now."
Only when they were certain they weren't being followed did they stop. The southwest district wasn't entirely safe, but based on Ren's observations over the past ten days, enemy activity here was minimal.
Ren put away his dagger, intending to find a place to rest.
However, as they paused, the faint scent of blood reached his nose. Ren frowned. The wounds on his back were mostly from glass shards, not serious.
"Wait, are you injured?" He looked at Kiana and saw blood flowing from her shoulder.
He instantly recalled that during their escape, when the enemy had opened fire, Kiana had pushed him out of the way. He had assumed he had dodged the bullet, but Kiana had taken it for him.
And she hadn't made a sound, not wanting to distract him.
Faced with Ren's question, Kiana offered a weak smile, her face pale. "Don't worry, it's just a scratch…"
"Are you some kind of reckless idiot? That's a gunshot wound!" Ren was both worried and angry. This wasn't the Valkyrie who could jump out of a plane unscathed; she was just an ordinary girl. If the bullet had been a few inches to the left, she could have died.
If she died, I…
The moment the thought crossed his mind, a sharp pain erupted in his head.
"Damn it, not again." Ren clutched his forehead, forcing himself to focus.
He bit his tongue, fighting to stay conscious.
"I'll remove the bullet. Bite down on my shirt if it hurts." He took out his two daggers, his forehead slick with cold sweat, his gaze focused intently.
"Mm." The dagger sliced through her skin, and Kiana instinctively gasped, but her will was stronger than he had imagined. She gritted her teeth, watching as Ren worked.
Under pressure, Ren became even calmer, his hands steady as he skillfully extracted the bullet from Kiana's shoulder.
However, after tearing a strip of clean cloth to staunch the bleeding, his head throbbed, as if a drill were boring into his skull.
"Wait here. I'll get some medicine." Ren's voice trembled, but he didn't want Kiana to notice, pretending to fetch some antiseptic as he stumbled away.
Once out of Kiana's sight, Ren leaned against the cold wall, gasping for breath.
The deeper he sank into the illusion, the more his memories of reality faded. The failsafe he had implemented could only jolt him awake with increasing pain.
His plan wasn't flawed. Even if he was influenced by the 300,000 wills, he could maintain his awareness. The only problem was that Kiana wasn't supposed to be here.
Without Kiana, Ren could remain completely rational.
But the girl had appeared as a phantom, and he had mistakenly assumed that it was safe to lower his guard. However, the peaceful days had become a slow-acting poison, and his consciousness was gradually merging with this world.
Worse, this assimilation wasn't caused by the Herrscher core but seemed to be his own subconscious choice.
He was actively immersing himself in the illusion.
Because a single thought persisted in his mind: Kiana is just a phantom. Once the dream ends, she'll disappear.
Like a dream you know you'll eventually wake up from, people instinctively cling to the pleasant aspects, wanting it to last.
But this deepening immersion was dangerous. If the plan failed, Ren risked permanent psychological damage. If he became Kiana's enemy, these memories would haunt him, clouding his judgment.
Unless Kiana stayed by his side forever… But in Ren's mind, the Herrscher of Flamescion and the Herrscher of a Thousand were natural enemies, not lovers. Such a possibility was negligible.
Of course, there were two simple solutions.
The first was to break the illusion.
The second was to kill Kiana. Eliminating the source of his attachment would solve the problem without affecting his plan. It was the most efficient solution.
So, should I kill her?
…
Kiana, left alone, watched Ren's retreating figure, a feeling of unease washing over her. Although Ren hadn't shown any outward signs, she sensed he was hiding something.
"Did I do something wrong?" she whispered, hugging her bandaged arm.
"It's not your fault. He's being assimilated by the illusion."
A man's voice suddenly echoed through the empty street.
Kiana looked up, her eyes flashing, a spear of Void energy materializing, aimed at the newcomer. However, it wasn't a person who stood before her but a blue phantom.
"Welt Joyce."
If Ren were here, he would recognize Joyce's form as almost identical to Istvan's. He stood before Kiana like a ghost.
"Did you do this?"
"No, I'm just a shadow. I can't interfere with this illusion." Joyce shook his head. "His current state is largely because of you."
Kiana didn't immediately believe him. Joyce was Ren's enemy; there was no reason for her to trust him. However, his words made her uneasy. "Assimilation?"
"To be precise, his consciousness is merging with the 300,000 wills within the Herrscher core. His perception of this illusion is deepening."
As if afraid Kiana wouldn't understand, Joyce elaborated, "If the fusion completes, he will become the new Herrscher of Reason."
"But what's wrong with becoming the Herrscher of Reason? If I remember correctly, your goal is to find a new successor for the core. If Ren becomes the Herrscher, you should be happy."
Joyce sighed, placing a hand on his forehead. "It would be ideal if he inherited the will completely, but he's too dangerous. I can't sense his thoughts. I'm worried that if he becomes the Herrscher, the first thing he'll do is erase the remaining consciousnesses within the core."
"Ren is just an ordinary person…"
"Do you believe that?" Joyce countered.
To his surprise, Kiana nodded without hesitation. "I do!"
"Alright, alright, I know you two have unwavering faith in each other, but being trapped in this illusion is dangerous. If his will is lost, he might be trapped here permanently, becoming one of us… Can you accept such an outcome?"
Crack.
A spear of Void energy slammed into the ground, shattering the tiles at Joyce's feet.