Sol awoke abruptly.
Deafening shouts surged into his mind like a tidal wave, countless voices overlapping, tearing at his thoughts with no regard for order or meaning. Information—fragmented, chaotic, and excessive—poured into his consciousness, threatening to drown his sense of self.
Pain bloomed behind his eyes.
Before he could think, Sol clamped his hands over his ears, though he knew it was useless. His breathing turned ragged as he staggered, forcing himself to stay upright while the invisible assault raged on.
Seconds passed.
Or perhaps longer.
Gradually, the unbearable noise dulled, retreating just enough for him to regain a fragile hold on his awareness. Sol straightened slowly, resisting the instinct to panic, and lifted his gaze.
What he saw froze him in place.
'A desolate, boundless wilderness. It was a wilderness filled with countless decaying figures, wandering aimlessly and screaming fragments of information into the void.'
Their bodies were twisted and incomplete, their voices carrying half-formed concepts rather than words. Each scream seemed to scrape directly against his mind, leaving behind faint echoes of knowledge that felt wrong—contaminated.
Sol felt a dull pressure settle in his chest.
"Knowledge Moor… Sefirot"
The term surfaced within him with eerie clarity.
A cold unease spread through him.
Suppressing the instinct to look away, Sol scanned the endless wilderness. That was when he noticed the disturbance in the air—a faint buzzing, sharp and persistent.
He turned.
A white sphere, glowing softly and vibrating with unnatural energy, tore through the space toward him at an alarming speed. Its surface rippled subtly, as if layered with countless meanings compressed into a single form.
Sol's breath caught.
He shifted his footing and attempted to dodge, pushing his body to move before his thoughts could catch up.
He was too slow.
The sphere struck him squarely.
There was no pain—only a violent jolt, as though something had been forcibly pressed into his existence.
And then—his thoughts shattered.
Information poured into him violently—forgotten memories , forgotten names, half-formed theories, broken prophecies. His mind stretched, strained, and threatened to tear apart under the weight. He fell to his knees, clutching his head as whispers clawed at his consciousness.
*Do not resist.*
The thought did not feel external. It rose from within him.
The sphere dissolved into his body, its light seeping into his veins, burrowing deep into his mind. For a brief moment, Sol saw everything—the wandering figures, the endless land, the invisible currents of knowledge flowing beneath the surface of the Moor.
Then it stopped.
The noise faded. The whispers died down.
Sol gasped for air, his chest heaving. The decaying figures around him continued their endless wandering, but their voices no longer pierced his mind. It was as if a barrier now stood between him and the chaos.
Slowly, Sol realized something was different.
When he focused on a distant figure, fragments of information surfaced—clearer, sharper, controlled. Not shouted. 'Selected.'
The sphere had not attacked him.
It had anchored him.
Soon Sol was back .
Sweat drenched Sol's body as he jolted awake.
He was back in the inn room.
The familiar ceiling loomed above him, dimly lit by weak morning light filtering through the curtains. His breathing was heavy, uneven, and his heart pounded violently against his ribs. For a moment, he remained frozen.
Slowly, Sol sat up.
Cold sweat clung to his skin.
"…That was terrifying," he muttered hoarsely.
The lingering pressure in his head made that much clear.
After steadying himself, Sol closed his eyes and activated his Spirit Vision.
The world shifted.
This time, the transformation felt smoother—controlled. The chaotic overlap he had experienced before was gone, replaced by a sharper, more refined perception. It felt as though his Spirit Vision had evolved, becoming a more complete version of its former state.
Under his Spirit Vision, Sol observed himself carefully.
His physical body radiated steady, vibrant colors. His astral body was intact and stable, its outline clear and healthy. There were no fractures, no signs of imminent collapse.
Just as he was processing this, a sudden influx of information surged through his mind.
Not violently—but forcefully.
Sol's vision blurred, and he nearly lost his balance as the knowledge pressed against his consciousness. He clenched his fists and endured it, teeth grinding as he forced himself to remain awake.
When the pressure finally subsided, realization dawned on him.
"…I can use abilities from multiple sequences," Sol murmured.
Sequence 9.
And even fragments of Sequence 8 of the savant pathway .
Not fully—but enough.
The effects were unmistakable. His memory felt sharper, more precise. His physique carried subtle improvements—better coordination, heightened endurance. More importantly, concepts that once felt distant now came naturally to him.
Machinery.
Chemicals.
Structures and reactions that previously required effort now aligned themselves effortlessly in his mind, as though invisible connections had been filled in.
Sol exhaled slowly.
"Whoa… wow," he muttered under his breath.
"what a boon."
Yet the faint throbbing in his temples reminded him that it had not come without cost.
The headache was dull but persistent—a warning rather than a threat.
Deciding not to push himself further, Sol cleaned up and left the room. He rented another inn—this one slightly more expensive, quieter, and located in a safer district. There, he rested properly, letting his mind stabilize.
The rest of the day passed quietly.
Sol explored the city at a measured pace, observing its streets, its people, and its hidden undercurrents—watching, learning, memorizing.
All the while, one thought lingered at the back of his mind.
The sphere had not merely granted him power.
It had marked him.
And whatever lay beyond the Knowledge Moor had now acknowledged his existence.