The woman was following Thales.
Just as planned.
If the going gets tough, she'll be bait.
He kept walking.
"Why are you following me?" Thales said. "I don't trust you."
"Very good," she replied, lightly amused. "I am your opponent, after all. And I just saved you. It makes perfect logical sense not to trust me. I might have ulterior motives. Manipulative ones, even. But I assure you—I'm innocent."
"I'm not assured," he said dryly. "You're a Weaver-rank cultivator, right?"
"Yes," she smiled. "That's an impressive deduction."
Thales glanced around.
Yeah... the Labyrinth is normal now.
Unfortunate. She's not a walking cheat anymore.
"Were those fractals alive, by any chance?" he asked.
"I'm not going to tell you my entire kit's mechanisms. We just met," she replied, aloof.
Then, unprovoked, she murmured to herself:
"I just want to see a beautiful world."
"Maybe we can team up—for the Trial, I mean?"
"I don't have any particular ambition. But you seem like the leadership type."
Thales wasn't fully listening. He was processing her words, but he didn't care. What mattered more was analysis. He observed her now with clarity.
Right now, I'm aligning with you because you seem to have good solutions to the pressing matters, he thought.
I'll tell you why I'm in these provinces later... maybe.
She was tall for a woman. Slender. Long, dexterous fingers.
There was a faint glow to her hands—remnants of her cultivation?
Her skin: pale, but not like his. More luminescent.
Her robes: plain at first glance, but laced with geometric runes that hinted at her origins.
Even Weaver-level cultivation, he recalled, allowed one to manifest their ideal attire for a while—conjured expression.
Her hair: platinum threaded with pale gold. Rigid, like fine wire.
Her face: angular jaw, striking cheekbones—near-perfect symmetry.
Eyes: heterochromia—one radiant silver, the other deep violet.
They pulled at him—toward the unknown.
Objectively beautiful.
Maybe... sellable, he thought cruelly. If she's vulnerable enough.
Then she met his gaze, suddenly intense.
"Show me your ability," she said flatly. "Or I'll likely dispose of you."
"You can't," he replied. "Not until Natural Selection."
"Accidents do happen," she answered without blinking.
"This world is far from perfect," she added, her voice laced with mild derision.
They walked in silence.
Eventually, they reached it:
The heart of the Labyrinth.
Thales stopped.
He saw something leave his body—not just his body.
It left his Hegemonic Elysium.
It was the dragon. The invisible one.
No—it was him.
The one he used to be.
"Your deepest craving is a name," it said, echoing through mirrored halls.
"We both know Thales Miray doesn't belong to you."
"Then who does it belong to!?" Thales shouted.
"Are you okay?" Hypatia asked, instinctively stepping back, her guard up.
"We don't know," Thales whispered. "But we know it's not ours."
He looked ahead. In the reflection on the mirrored walls, a water-horse floated—its body shifting.
"You crave a name," the dragon echoed. "But to what end?"
"Doesn't matter," Thales replied.
"You seek The Mystery. But what is The Mystery without meaning?"
"I'd stomp on you," Thales snapped. "You're just a singular organism. I'd blow you out like a straw house."
"I'm not empty."
"It isn't pointless."
"If you only move forward," the dragon said coldly, "it leads to eternal recurrence."
"Then what... I move back?"
"You're trying to become something?"
"Yes. The entelechy beyond all."
"Greedy fool," it snarled. "It is fine to be greedy... but I don't want to see that thing again."
"If history repeats itself... can we try becoming something?"
"Can we just try to change?"
Thales stopped walking.
Right.
Maybe I'm inherently meaningless.
Maybe my pursuit is fueled by nihilism.
Maybe I can't even be a hero, Thales Miray.
What can I be?
The invisible dragon faded away.
As if he would never learn.
But Thales did question himself.
For once.
It was progress.
To doubt is to begin.
To seek is to live.
The hero is not the answer, but the question made flesh.
I live through you, eternally now...
Words scrawled silently across the mirrored surface.
And then—
Thales arrived at the Labyrinth's end.
Mr. Gibbon was waiting.
"Well done, Thales Miray," the old man said, arms folded. "Glad you're alive. And it seems you have a friend. Good job on completing the Labyrinth. Shall I guide you further—?"
Thales punched him.
Square in the face. Sent him sprawling into the ground. Calm fury laced every motion.
"Thanks for the push," Thales said. "But if you try that shit again...
I'll show you the other side."