By the fourth day, insomnia and physical fatigue overlapped, causing his face to turn dark and gaunt.
Now even the other workers were reluctant to approach Daemon.
The supervisor deliberately placed Daemon in a corner of the parts room where he was hard to see and completely stopped paying attention to him.
It seemed his intention was to prevent a body that could die at any moment from collapsing and disrupting work time.
For Daemon, who had been planning to deliberately cause a commotion to slip away, this was actually a good opportunity.
He casually fidgeted with parts, then quietly got up from his position and moved toward the corridor.
In the process, his eyes met with a worker laboring with a haggard face, but the worker just turned his head as if he'd seen something he shouldn't have and said nothing.
While the supervisor swung his fists with a face burning red, Daemon quickly slipped out of the parts room.
As the stuffy air opened up and a cool breeze blew in, he felt it become much easier to breathe.
If he stayed stopped in place like this, it would only be a matter of time before he was discovered.
Daemon moved his staggering body, pressed against the corridor wall, and walked stealthily.
Old frames hanging sporadically in the corridor and broken window frames. A dirty floor and a ventilation fan running noisily on one side... There seemed to be no particular features, but that made it all the more strange.
The game Otherverse that Daemon had played was a typical medieval fantasy worldview up until 2.0.
If this world was different from the Otherverse that Daemon knew, the situation would become even more complicated.
If it became impossible to utilize his game knowledge, it would be no different from losing one of the hopes Daemon had.
Just thinking about it disturbed his mind, but there was no particular solution even if he thought about it now.
Forcibly shaking his head to clear it, Daemon continued walking along the dirty corridor, trying to memorize the way.
Fortunately, Daemon's memory was far beyond an ordinary level, so retracing his steps wasn't difficult.
Beyond simply remembering, accurately gauging the moment the corridor turned and adjusting the distance to construct it as a three-dimensional space in his head was easily accomplished.
Just by looking at how the corridor branched, he could predict direction and space and estimate the scale of the factory.
Daemon hadn't walked long, but just by leaving the parts room and walking through the corridor, a map of the factory was being completed in his head.
As he continued walking through the corridor, at some point an acrid smell stung his nose.
Unlike a simple foul odor, it was a smell that strongly stimulated the olfactory sense and brain just by smelling it.
The scent of highly addictive cigarettes, or an appropriate luxury item.
As Daemon quieted his footsteps and moved a bit more, the space opened up widely at the end of the corridor and a small side door leading outside the factory began to appear.
Through the slightly open door gap, acrid smoke and small voices were flowing out.
Daemon found an ambiguous viewing angle where he wouldn't be immediately visible even if the door swung open, positioned himself there, and listened carefully to the voices.
"The guys who came in this time are way too slow. I don't know if we can deliver on time like this."
"We're locking up guys abandoned from the city and using them, what can we do? We have to beat them to make them faster. If we can't meet the deadline, the chief supervisor might press a cigarette burn into your forehead."
"Fuck... I absolutely can't stand that. Last time when it happened, it hurt so much I shed a tear."
At the man's crude curse, boisterous laughter burst out.
Listening to the conversation, those chattering beyond the door seemed to be supervisors similar to the hairy giant.
"Why are the union members so picky about time? Every time those bastards come and throw a fit, the number of times the chief supervisor throws a fit at us increases."
"Haven't you heard yet? The things made here, the union takes them and sells them to black mages."
"What? Why would guys who are mages need crushers?"
So they were making crushers. Daemon, who had been stuck in the parts room all day, didn't even know well what he was making.
'Oh, it seems magic exists in this world too. That's fortunate.'
It was already an unfamiliar world, and if magic didn't even exist, Daemon's talent would have held no meaning whatsoever.
Daemon let out a sigh of relief and listened to the supervisors' conversation again.
To the man's absurd voice, another voice answered with a greatly lowered tone.
"If a black mage is purchasing a crusher, isn't it obvious? That... they're using it on corpses."
"Shit... I suddenly feel like puking. I need to smoke another one."
"Put it in your mouth. I'll light it for you."
Through the door gap, a thick hand holding a lighter appeared.
"Nice lighter, how much was it?"
"I bought it recently from Calvin & Cups. It's one that actually runs on magic power."
Along with his words, he flicked his thumb, and a blue flame rose from the tip of the lighter.
And watching that series of processes, a tremendous upheaval occurred within Daemon.
A shock like someone pulling a trigger in his head. It was a phenomenon that occurred as a new sensation he had never known before stimulated his body and mind in the blink of an eye.
It was a sixth sense beyond the five senses, a third eye, and a second self.
The moment Daemon realized it, he recognized that this was both a fundamental force that made up this world and the driving force that defined existence.
That it had always been flowing throughout the world, and he simply hadn't been aware of it until now.
The previous Daemon hadn't even thought that he might have such a talent, and his mind, crushed by despair and pain from the long time spent in the factory, had been suppressing his awakening.
But the current Daemon was a completely different person, and was in a state of fully recognizing the magic power and mental talents contained in that body.
What was needed was just a very small trigger, like the flame of that lighter.
At the shock of opening his eyes to magic power, Daemon stopped all thought and blankly savored that moment of awakening.
The power flowing through this fragile body was the most important asset and weapon for him, and it was hope.
Daemon, gathering his thumb and index finger, whispered softly.
"Light."
The magic power that gained an incantation overlapped with the image that rose in Daemon's mind, breaking through the realm of ideals and concepts and revealing itself in reality.
It was magic.
Whoosh!
Seeing the blue flame rising in his hand, Daemon trembled faintly.
A flame identical to the lighter's flame visible through that door gap was dancing on his fingertips.
Everything surrounding him had changed, but the magic of Otherverse that he knew had not changed.
For some reason, just that fact alone seemed to give Daemon a small comfort.