As I journeyed southward toward the bandits' hideout, using the map to avoid areas they frequented or where magical beasts had established territories, I began to ponder my recent actions—and the dissonance I felt as a result.
I knew what I was doing. Every choice I made was calculated—logical, even. But now that it's over, now that the blood has already sunk into the dirt... I can't shake this gnawing feeling. Even as I skim over the map in my hands—stained with drops of blood from my first kill— as it continues to guide me to my destination.
I didn't flinch when the guards died. Not when the merchants screamed. I let it happen. Watched it unfold like I was some director behind the curtain. I told myself the distraction was necessary. That grabbing the bandit was the priority. That I didn't need to care.
But I should have, right?
Back when I fought Revchi, it was clear—he was evil. A threat. There was no hesitation, no doubt. But this... those guards weren't bad people. They were just doing their jobs—protecting lives. And I stood there, calculating numbers as if it were a game. Ten bandits, ten guards, distraction, extraction. Bloodless on my end, but only because I wasn't the one bleeding.
And when I got the bandit alone... I didn't hesitate to hurt him. No negotiation. No mercy. Just force. Twisted his leg like it meant nothing.
Watched him scream like it was just background noise.
Why didn't I ask nicely first? Why did I go straight to pain?
I tell myself it's the system. That maybe being a reincarnator changed something in my head—cut out the part that hesitates. But what if that's just an excuse? What if this is who I really am now?
I killed him. Not because I had to, but because I could. Because it was easier than dragging him around or risking him escaping. Efficient. Cold. Clean.
And yet... not clean at all. I can still feel the blood on my boots. I can still hear the snap of his leg echoing in my head.
Something has changed about me—fundamentally. And I'm not sure I like where it's taking me.
I just hope I haven't passed the point of no return...
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
Seeking an escape from the chaos of my thoughts, I decided to rest in the small clearing where I found myself after regaining awareness.
Even now, I'm still impressed by my ability to enter a state of autopilot—where I can narrate and illustrate my thoughts and feelings within the realm of daydreams in my mind, while my body continues to follow the last set of instructions related to whatever task is at hand. It's one of the few "skills" from my previous life that still proves useful.
In fact, due to my integration with the original Asta and my swordsmanship training—using my bastardized version of Image Training from DBZ and DBS—this "skill" of mine has probably grown even stronger. It might also be the reason I find it so easy to visualize and simulate opponents to fight.
I named this "skill" of mine Automatic Dissociative Absorption due to its nature as a double-edged sword—evidenced by my desire to escape the endless spiraling of my thoughts (the "dissociative" aspect of it). While I'm at it, I'll also name my version of Image Training Cognitive Visualization.
As I once again pulled my awareness back from my errant trains of thought to focus on reorienting myself, I realized I was only 5 km away from the bandits' hideout—making this small clearing essentially the halfway point. I double-checked the map to confirm this assumption while assessing the relative safety of the area, which I found to be adequate due to its apparent distance from any potential sources of danger.
Now that I had judged the area to be safe, I allowed myself a moment to relax—though "relax" might not have been the right word. It was more like loosening the strings of a bow just enough so they wouldn't snap. I sat down beside a fallen log, drew a slow breath, and leaned back against the bark. The forest was quiet, save for the wind threading through the leaves and the occasional chirp of unseen birds. But even in that stillness, my thoughts refused to calm.
I should have felt accomplished. I'd managed to reconnoiter the area, eliminate one of the bandits, and get close to infiltrating their hideout. All of that should've felt like progress. But the more I moved forward, the more it felt like I was dragging parts of myself behind—pieces cracking off and getting lost in the sea of my consciousness.
I grasped the hilt of Demon Slayer and stared at its edge, the dull reflection of my face warped in the seemingly dingy metal. There was no blood on it now. When it reentered my grimoire—back into my inventory—it cleaned itself thoroughly. But that didn't matter. I could still see it in my mind—crimson, hot, and steaming in the cold night air. The way the bandit's eyes widened just before the end, not in fear… but in recognition. Like he saw something in me. Something familiar.
Was that guilt? Or just a projection?
I sighed and pushed the sword back into my grimoire, forcing the image away. Focus. I need to focus.
I mindlessly searched through my system, as if expecting answers to suddenly appear on the translucent red-black screens. No voice came. No message. No indication of a system VI popup.
Does Liebe count as my system VI? I tried to direct my thoughts into the system windows before me…
Nothing immediately registered—which meant they were either absent, unable to communicate, or clever enough not to respond. None of those possibilities were comforting.
I sat cross-legged and closed my eyes. If I couldn't rest my body, maybe I could at least organize my mind. I initiated my Cognitive Visualization "skill", summoning a mental simulation of the hideout based on terrain data, the intel I'd pulled from the captured bandit before I silenced him, and my own intuition. I populated it with likely patrol routes, fallback zones, and escape tunnels.
I watched the bandits walk their imagined routes like pieces on a chessboard. I ran dozens of scenarios, including best-case entry points, worst-case reactions, and ambush possibilities. My Automatic Dissociative Absorption "skill" allowed me to process it all at a speed that felt almost unnatural. It was like playing god over a miniature war, all in my head—a detached strategist, safe behind layers of abstraction.
But no simulation could prepare me for what might happen if I lost control again.
I opened my eyes.
I stood and brushed the dirt from my Combat Suit. My next move was clear: reach the outskirts of the hideout by nightfall, scout any unseen obstacles, and prep for a silent breach. This quest required mental clarity.
But the weight in my chest remained.
Maybe after this is over… I'll find somewhere quiet. Somewhere, I can put away the sword, even if just for a little while. Somewhere, I can try to figure out what's left of the person I used to be—and whether there's anything worth saving in the one I've become.
For now, though, I kept moving. One step closer to the bandits.
One step further from the person I was...
...Wait a damn minute, why did I want to be the person I once was? What exactly was the underlying issue that had resulted in my recently developing psychopathic nature? Neither of us were—
'Us?'
...Then it all clicked into place.
There was more than just me and Asta in here. The integration wasn't perfect—it never could be. I had wrongly assumed that Asta and I had fully merged, our memories and personalities fused into a single mind and soul. I thought the flaws inherent in both of us had either canceled each other out or transformed into strengths that enhanced the more beneficial aspects of our psyche.
But that's not what happens when two souls are forced to fuse—when they're given no choice but to accommodate one another. What I had been calling "integration" might've actually been "segregation."
The merge didn't just change me. He changed, too. We were bleeding into each other, like two inks spilling into the same glass. What exactly marked the conclusion—or the beginning—of this merger is beyond me.
No... no, that wasn't quite it either, at least not entirely.
But I was—no, we were—about to grasp the concept behind it all.
I believe it was as if there were a shadow of a third presence—something born between us, but not of either of us. It existed in the gaps, untethered to any moral compass, personal history, or goal of ours. Not truly me, not truly Asta—but a distorted echo of both: ruthless, pragmatic, silent. It acted up when neither of us suspected.
No questions.
No doubts.
No thoughts of its own.
It felt incomplete.
...But now I knew how to complete it!
It was simple—elementary, even!
We all just had to merge into one single individual. All of us!
It was made of all the leftover fragments—both Asta's and mine—that we subconsciously considered each other's, or even our own, "flaws" and "impurities" of one kind or another.
And those fragments had been left to fester in the back of our minds and deep within our hearts. Until it started to shape itself into not just a shadow, but a reflection of all the things we and the system felt were hindrances.
The only way to fix it?
Willingly merge with not just the two of us, but all three of us.
...And that's exactly what we were about to do!
I took a breath—long, deliberate, steady.
The decision wasn't born from panic or madness, but from a cold, methodical clarity. The same clarity I had used to map the patrol routes, to extract information with no more empathy than a blade has for flesh. The clarity that my "skill", Automatic Dissociative Absorption, granted me, but this time, it wasn't being used against someone else.
It was for us.
All of us.
I closed my eyes again—deeper this time—not just shutting out the forest around me, but descending inward, peeling back the layers of thought like I was diving into the core of a labyrinth. The echo of the third—our third—waited for me there. Not hiding. Not resisting. Just waiting.
It stood like a mirror in the void shown by my Cognitive Visualization "skill." It showed me, featureless at first—but the closer I got, the more familiar its form became. It wasn't a monster. It wasn't' evil. It was just… broken. Patchwork. Pieces of both Asta and I—fused without purpose, without structure. Fear, aggression, ambition, trauma, instinct—all swirling into a shapeless center.
But it didn't lash out.
It wanted to be part of us. Needed to.
Not as a shadow whispering from behind the curtain—but as an equal. As the final piece of a fractured trinity.
"I see you now," I whispered in the simulation, reaching out my hand toward the formless thing.
Its fingers mirrored mine, hovering inches apart.
"You were never the enemy... You were just left...unfinished."
And as I spoke, something deep and ancient stirred—some fundamental mechanism of the soul, some process neither the magic of this world nor science of our old one could fully articulate. The divide between thought and instinct, between control and compulsion… it all began to collapse.
There was no great flash. No dramatic surge of energy.
Just… silence.
Stillness.
And then oneness.
I opened my eyes.
My body didn't feel any different—but I did. It's as if I had been wearing gloves my whole life and only just now taken them off. Everything felt sharper. More grounded. The guilt remained—but it no longer gnawed at me. The calculations persisted—but now tempered with weight. With meaning.
The third had not been an intruder.
It had been a cry for balance.
Now, standing alone in that forest, five kilometers from a hideout filled with bloodstained blades and warped loyalties, I finally felt… centered.
Not righteous.
Not clean.
But whole.
I took another breath and whispered aloud, "Let's finish this."
The wind picked up, threading through the leaves with a sound like whispered agreement.
And I walked.
Toward the hideout. Toward the fight.
Toward whoever I was becoming.
But this time, all of me walked forward.
{
!!! QUEST COMPLETE !!!
Rewards: ...
}
' ...Huh??? '