Life was a lie. A beautifully crafted delusion sold to humanity like snake oil wrapped in silk. Pharaohs built pyramids not because they were gods but because they wanted others to believe they were. Kings wore crowns not as symbols of divinity but as shackles binding them to the illusion of supremacy. And Atlas? Atlas had been living inside that same dream—a gilded cage where death was just a plot twist and pain was optional.
But now?
Now he understood.
The camp lay in ruins around him, battered by an unrelenting barrage of demon-thrown stones. The air smelled of blood and ash, thick enough to choke on. Regal's body sprawled nearby, tattered beyond recognition, his last breath stolen before it could even form into regret. A man who once dreamed of simple joys—his son's laughter, his wife's warmth, his parents' health—was gone. Reduced to nothing more than a memory whispered through clenched teeth.
"Ruunn!!!"
"Hide!!! Take cover!"
"Your Highness!!"
"HAHAHAHAHA!!!"
He could hear his laughter as everything around him crumbled. This was it. This was reality. This was not a game. That demon was truly a demon, and people around him were dying. Dying because he hadn't done enough. Dying because he hadn't understood enough. Dying because he still hadn't fully grasped this reality.
Sansa had helped him anchor the reality of this life to his body by giving her own. But now he realized how distant he still was, even after that.
"HAHAHAHA... One of you just lost his balls to even move," the shadow sneered, tossing another dull stone toward Atlas. This time, it landed inches away from his feet, sending up a puff of dirt that clung to his boots like guilt. But he wasnt feeling the guilt, but something else, something more clear, fulling.
Clarity!
[Notification]
[Errors from Memory Removal Failure .....Fixed]
[Perk Activated]
[Skill 'World Understanding' Acquired.]
Atlas froze, his golden eyes wide with sudden clarity. The fog lifted so abruptly it felt like being dunked into ice-cold water. He saw everything—the cracks in their armor, both literal and metaphorical. The way fear paralyzed some while fueling others. Most importantly, he saw himself. Not as a prince, not as a player, but as a flawed, fragile human clinging desperately to the edges of survival. His feet shaking in fear.
The captain shoved him hard, knocking him off balance just as a wooden spike whistled past his ear, embedding itself deep into the ground behind him. Her voice tore through the chaos like shattering glass.
"Snap the FUCK out of it!" she screamed, her face twisted with rage and desperation. She didn't wait for a response, already turning back to fend off another projectile aimed at the group.
Atlas stumbled backward, landing heavily on the damp earth. His gaze locked onto Regal's corpse again, unable to look away. For the first time in his life, someone had died right in front of him. Someone real. Someone whose existence mattered far beyond the confines of any game.
He should feel guilty. Maybe he did maybe he didn't. But the emotion was raw, untamed, clawing its way out of the depths of his soul. Guilt mixed with shame, anger simmering beneath layers of helplessness. All this time, he'd thought he understood the stakes. Believed himself prepared for whatever horrors awaited him in this world. But reality wasn't something you could prepare for—it hit you when you least expected it, leaving scars no amount of skill points could heal.
Regal had thanked him earlier, clutching the book Atlas handed over like it was a lifeline. "Pretty good for a man living in the Bronze Era," he'd said, smiling despite the weariness etched into his features.
But even with such loss and death of a living breathing man. Atlas felt calm. Free even. The chaos around him didn't disappear—it never truly would—but for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he wasn't drowning in it. His mind stretched further than before, reaching deeper into memories that weren't his own yet somehow belonged to him completely. Arnold, his past self from another life, and Atlas, the man he'd become here—both blended seamlessly now. But neither identity fit perfectly anymore. Something had shifted within him, something raw and unformed but undeniably powerful.
He placed his hand on the ground, fingers splayed wide as if trying to anchor himself to reality. Mana surged through his veins, igniting nerve endings he hadn't known existed until this moment. He remembered playing the game once, guiding Lara's avatar through a battle where she used 'Earth Spear'. And then, more vividly, he recalled watching her perform the same skill years ago when they were children when he was Atlas—a memory so sharp it could cut glass.
[Notification]
[Skill 'World Understanding' Activated.]
[Skill 'Earth Spear' Acquired.]
With a breath that seemed to pull oxygen straight from the stars themselves, Atlas channeled his mana into the earth beneath him. It responded eagerly, almost hungrily, fusing with his intentions until the two became inseparable. The ground trembled faintly at first, then violently as energy coursed through its veins like blood pumping through muscle.
Splash!
"…huh?" The demon muttered, confusion flickering across its grotesque features just before pain registered. Looking down, it watched in stunned disbelief as the earth below erupted upward, forming a jagged spike that pierced cleanly through its chest.
"…How?" the captain whispered, her voice barely audible over the cacophony of battle sounds still lingering in the air. Her gaze darted between Atlas and the impaled shadow, shock etched deeply into every line of her face.
"Haha ha… didn't see that coming," the demon rasped, dark liquid bubbling out of its hollow chest and spilling over its lips like ink bleeding onto parchment.
'…he was not a mage before,' the creature thought frantically, clutching at the wound futilely. '…he just became a mage.... on the spot.'
"Interesting... scary talent right there," it croaked, its glowing eyes fixed intently on Atlas despite the obvious agony coursing through its form. Everyone else stared too—all save for Atlas, who remained focused, grounded in the moment.
Silence fell heavy and suffocating, broken only by the wet gurgle of the demon's fading laughter. Then, slowly, inexorably, the shadow began to dissolve, its form unraveling like smoke caught in a strong wind. But even as it faded, its gaze lingered on Atlas, sharp and calculating.
"Let's make a deal…" it wheezed, voice growing weaker with each passing second. "My real body will come soon enough. Just… just give me that boy." Its claw-like finger pointed directly at Atlas, trembling slightly. "And I'll leave all of you alone. To sweeten the offer…" A cruel smile twisted its ruined lips. "…whoever hands him over gets the power to use an epic-tier skill."
The words hung suspended in the air, dripping malice. "Make it quick. I'll arrive within days…" And with that, the shadow vanished entirely, leaving behind nothing but silence and unease.
Atlas rose to his feet, brushing dirt off his palms absentmindedly. He extended a hand toward the captain, helping her up without hesitation. She accepted it, though her grip lingered longer than necessary, her wide eyes filled with awe—and fear.
Awe because what she'd witnessed defied logic. Fear because witnessing such power often came with consequences far worse than ignorance.
"You're staring," Atlas said dryly, breaking the spell. His tone carried none of the arrogance one might expect; instead, it held a quiet exhaustion, as if performing miracles drained him more than he cared to admit.
"I…" The captain faltered, shaking her head sharply as if clearing cobwebs. "Everyone! Move it!" she barked suddenly, snapping everyone—including herself—out of their collective stupor. Orders flew like arrows, piercing through the haze of shock and forcing action.
Atlas moved away from the group, stepping cautiously toward a splattered corpse lying nearby. The body was beyond recognition—lungs flayed open, brains and bones scattered grotesquely across the ground. Yet Atlas knew exactly who it was. One of his guards. A man who'd sworn loyalty to him mere hours ago, only to die protecting someone unworthy of such devotion.
"Captain," he called softly, crouching beside the remains. "We need to bury them properly—or burn them respectfully, at least."
The request hung in the air, weighted with respect and finality. Time was against them, and everyone knew it. Dread clawed at their heels, urging them to flee while they still could. But deep down, they also understood: running wouldn't erase the horrors they'd witnessed tonight. Respect for the dead was all they had left—a fragile thread holding them together amidst the unraveling fabric of their world.
"Agreed," the captain said finally, nodding firmly. "We do this quickly but properly."