Constantine did not leave the Mirror Realm when he woke.
Even after the synchronization was complete.
Even after the system informed him that the real world was accessible again.
He stayed.
Not for hours.
Not for days.
But for one more year.
The Mirror Realm did not mind.
Time flowed strangely there. Calmly. Quietly.
The endless field of mirrors simply waited.
And Constantine stood among them.
Watching.
Learning.
Absorbing.
There was a reason he did not leave.
It had nothing to do with comfort.
The Mirror Realm was not comforting.
It was silent.
Empty.
Cold.
But it was safe.
And safety was something his mind now valued greatly.
Because buried deep inside the preserved core memories—
There was a single, unshakable imprint.
Veyrath.
The moment his neck snapped.
The feeling of helplessness.
The crushing strength.
The dismantling of his body piece by piece.
Those memories had been preserved as combat data.
But even stripped of emotion, the conclusion remained.
Veyrath was stronger.
Far stronger.
And Constantine did not like unsolved disadvantages.
So he stayed.
Not because he was afraid.
But because leaving while weaker than Veyrath was… inefficient.
He would not repeat the same mistake.
There was another memory.
Small.
But important.
A name.
Harun.
The memory of the old man remained intact.
Not the warmth of their time together.
Not the affection.
Those emotional fragments had been erased during stabilization.
But the fact remained.
Harun was important.
Someone Constantine had to return to.
Someone he had to protect.
The logic was simple.
If Constantine appeared in the real world while still vulnerable—
Enemies like Veyrath could return.
That would place Harun in danger.
Unacceptable.
Therefore the solution was obvious.
Become stronger first.
Then return.
The system assisted him.
At Constantine's request, every mirror in the realm began to activate.
One by one.
Thousands of them.
Then hundreds of thousands.
Each mirror contained fragments.
Memories.
Skills.
Knowledge.
Echoes of people who had once existed.
Warriors.
Scholars.
Kings.
Murderers.
Farmers.
Mages.
Hunters.
Some skills were powerful.
Legendary sword techniques.
Ancient spell formulas.
Forbidden combat arts.
Others were small.
Trivial things.
Lock picking.
Cooking.
Tracking animals.
Breathing techniques.
Meditation.
Even useless things.
Games.
Musical fragments.
Random scraps of knowledge.
Constantine absorbed everything.
He did not discriminate.
A weak skill could evolve.
A useless skill could combine with another.
Knowledge was never truly worthless.
So he took it all.
Every mirror he touched dissolved into streams of light.
And flowed into his body.
Swordsmanship.
Magic theory.
Body reinforcement.
Mana compression.
Strategic warfare.
Alchemy.
Rune analysis.
Stealth.
Assassination.
Trap construction.
He learned skills from people who had lived centuries apart.
Skills from cultures long erased.
Languages no longer spoken.
Ancient techniques forbidden by modern kingdoms.
All of it flowed into him.
The system processed the information continuously.
Optimizing.
Organizing.
Compressing.
Constantine never stopped.
He did not sleep.
He did not eat.
He did not grow tired.
The Mirror Realm had no need for such things.
So for an entire year—
He walked.
Mirror after mirror.
Absorbing.
Refining.
Strengthening.
The quiet silver world slowly dimmed as more and more mirrors emptied.
But power was not the only thing he searched for.
There was another question.
One he asked the system repeatedly.
"Who is the Ugly God?"
The name appeared multiple times within preserved knowledge fragments.
In demon records.
In ruined mythologies.
In broken cult scriptures.
Each description differed.
But the theme was always the same.
An entity.
Ancient.
Malicious.
Mocking.
One that enjoyed interfering with other gods.
Destroying their temples.
Breaking their worshippers.
Turning divine systems into… toys.
The system itself had no confirmed identity for the entity.
But Constantine continued searching.
He opened mirrors containing the memories of ancient scholars.
Old priests.
Even heretics burned for forbidden knowledge.
Every scrap of information was recorded.
Analyzed.
Stored.
His mind had changed now.
Without emotional barriers, there was nothing preventing him from studying disturbing knowledge.
Nothing that made him hesitate.
Nothing that made him turn away from uncomfortable truths.
So he kept digging.
Through histories.
Through forbidden magic.
Through fragments of Lee Eunwoo's erased world.
Every grave of knowledge was opened.
And every bone was examined.
Meanwhile—
His body continued changing.
The regeneration process slowly completed its final stages.
The golden tree in the Mirror Realm nourished him continuously.
His silver hair remained the same.
His body remained the same.
But his eyes—
Gradually changed.
The pale silver color slowly faded.
Returning to their original hue.
A clear.
Sharp.
Crystal blue.
The system displayed the final message one day.
[Vessel Regeneration: 100%]
[Physical Stability: Confirmed]
[Neural Processing Capacity: Expanded]
Constantine stood quietly in the silent Mirror Realm.
The remaining mirrors around him reflected countless worlds.
He looked at them for a long moment.
Then he spoke.
"…Open exit."
The system obeyed.
A nearby mirror rippled.
Its surface turned fluid.
Like water waiting to be stepped through.
Constantine walked toward it calmly.
For a moment he paused.
Not out of hesitation.
But calculation.
The memory of Harun surfaced again.
The old cottage.
The quiet brook.
The wooden hall.
That was where the mirror connected.
Constantine stepped forward.
And passed through the surface.
The real world greeted him with silence.
Cool night air touched his skin.
He stood inside a familiar room.
The hall of the cottage.
The mirror Harun had hung on the wall shimmered briefly behind him.
Then returned to normal.
The room was dim.
Only faint moonlight entered through the windows.
The wooden floor creaked softly under his feet.
Outside—
The gentle sound of the brook flowed through the quiet night.
Constantine looked around slowly.
Everything felt… smaller.
More fragile than he remembered.
Ten years had passed.
But the cottage remained.
Unchanged.
Still waiting.
Still quiet.
Still home.
Constantine stood there in the dark hall.
His crystal blue eyes calmly observing the silent house.