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But now was not the time to simply shiver in fear.

The threat had manifested right before his eyes.

And it was crucial that this threat was staring directly at him.

The risk he wanted to avoid.

The presence of a Shaman was now, right in front of him.

‘What should I do?’

The man racked his brain crazily.

It felt like if he were a computer, he’d have crashed from overload by now, his mind spinning like a whirlwind.

However, having lived a life devoid of intellectual pursuits from long ago, it was unrealistic to expect a genius solution to magically appear now.

In despair, the man ground his teeth.

But at that moment…

[Crackle—crackle—I will support you.]

A voice came through the Walkie-Talkie.

The sound that promised help.

It was the voice of the Wizard participating in this operation with him.

‘Support.’

Hearing that voice, the man regained his composure.

‘Right. If that nerd says so, it must be reliable.’

He had often dismissed that Wizard.

With a body that screamed he was more focused on academics than athletics, showing a taste for baseball over football, and clinging to strange metrics and statistics instead of actually enjoying sports—everything about him radiated rejection.

But if there was one thing he could acknowledge, it was that the Wizard was smart.

That Wizard was one of the brightest individuals he’d ever encountered in his life.

In fact, he graduated from that famous MIT and even had a doctorate. One could almost imagine him working for a company raking in high salaries or teaching students as a professor. At least, that’s how he thought about it.

Given that kind of background, it seemed he could indeed devise an escape route in this situation.

Well… to be honest, he’d be reluctant to fully trust him since he wasn’t on the frontline.

However, considering how quickly he’d named the Shaman’s identity and name, he was definitely better than someone who couldn’t come up with any plan at all.

With that judgment, the man decided to follow the Walkie-Talkie’s instructions.

“What continuously makes existence exist? What proves the difference between the past and present? Even if there’s a vast beach, who can guarantee it’s the same as it was in the past? Every grain of sand changes, washes away, and accumulates with time. So if the sands that form the beach are not even remotely similar to those from some point in the past, if their shape and position differ, can they really be considered as having once existed? Is that a continuous existence? If it is, how can it be continuous, and if it isn’t, why is it not continuous?”

While the man pondered this…

The Shaman was drawing closer to him.

Relentlessly bombarding him with dizzying, bizarre words.

It was as if he had taken some sort of class somewhere.

Those damnably convoluted arguments firmly lodged themselves in his ears.

Even if he didn’t want to hear them, they were engrained in his mind.

“What allows existence to function as existence? What is the anchor that fixes me in this world? What is the element that makes me continuous? If there is something that pierces through constant change, what is it, and can it be recognized? Answer me. What completes the constantly shifting identity of a ship, and how can it be proved that a person has existed since ancient times?”

That damned question seemed to cloud his mind merely by listening to it.

The drivel from some mundane-looking Chinese from his hometown couldn’t have been this long-winded…

[ Crackle—Tango Golfer. Don’t focus on those words. And absolutely do not answer. That is also part of the magic. If you respond, you’ll be entranced. ]

‘Fuck! That was all part of the trick!’

The man ground his teeth at what he heard in the Walkie-Talkie.

Trickery.

Way too much trickery.

From the moment that Shaman appeared, they had only been trying to enchant him.

Not some evil spirit in human form.

Why were they so intent on ensnaring him?

Moreover, every single one of those enchantments was laced with poison.

‘Shamans are really a pain in the ass.’

How is it that every single Shaman always tries to trap people?

Fuck.

[ First, close your eyes. The mind control or mental manipulation is heavily influenced by vision. It’s safe to say that this floor is packed with traps laid by that Shaman. If you keep staring at the glowing lights, you’ll be entranced. ]

‘That makes sense. With all this trickery, I fell for it so easily.’

The man, hearing the Wizard’s voice over the Walkie-Talkie, immediately squeezed his eyes shut.

Of course, closing his eyes didn’t completely block out the light.

Flashes of light, still sparkling outside his eyelids, tried to pierce through as they flickered and danced around, making his eyes dizzy.

But it was definitely better than before.

Definitely, indeed.

He concentrated his efforts not on the sight he couldn’t see, but on his ears, focusing on the Walkie-Talkie rather than that damned Shaman’s voice.

[ Move towards where I say. I’ll provide support to help you escape. ]

The Walkie-Talkie spoke.

That it would be his eyes and guide.

[ Crackle—The current condition of the communication equipment is poor, so I can’t provide detailed support. Therefore, I’ll explain based on when you hit a wall. Think of your body as a pinball. Tango Golfer, you can think of your body as a billiard ball. ]

The Walkie-Talkie continued.

Since it was hard to explain how many steps he’d take before arriving without knowing his exact position… it would serve as the basis for guidance. But since the situation was dire, rather than trying to feel along the wall or going close to it, he would bounce off it quickly to get outside.

It wasn’t a bad idea.

For an average person, charging at the wall would definitely cause some impact—but he wasn’t an average person.

While a typical individual might dislocate joints, break bones, or suffer bruising, who was he?

He had machines implanted all over his body and had trained progressively unlike any common folk.

Hitting a wall wouldn’t phase him one bit.

Of course, it would be hard to completely avoid damage.

If it were an ordinary wall, there would be no problem—but looking at the mess made by that Lucas guy, it was clear the walls would be packed with rebar and alloys.

If the alloy’s strength exceeded what his machines could withstand, then he might sustain some injuries.

But…

‘Even so, it’s better than being entranced and burned to death.’

Bruises? Fractures? Machines getting wrecked or malfunctioning?

He could stomach that.

He didn’t want to quietly burn to death like one of those crazy zealots.

That would be a pathetic way to go.

[Tango Golfer. Did you see the bed?]

“…Yeah. There was a bed frame.”

[ Good. Charge towards where that bed frame was. ]

“Okay.”

Hearing the Walkie-Talkie’s commands, the man clenched his eyes tightly and filled himself with resolve.

And then, activating machines that seemed to heat up slowly within the heat, he sprinted.

Whoosh—!

His body sliced through the air, moving rapidly.

Like a football player charging into the fray.

He dashed forward as if he were a car accelerating, and he felt something cumbersome brush against his foot before it went bang—crashing to the floor. And soon—

Boom—!

With a tremendous sound, his body collided with the wall.

Just as the man had anticipated, the wall didn’t break.

Despite delivering a blow comparable to that of a car hitting it, the wall remained intact.

No, from the pressure felt on his shoulder, it might have cracked or broken.

But it didn’t pierce through the rebar or steel plates within.

[ Did you hit it? Then charge left immediately. ]

“Okay.”

The next instruction came in.

The man briefly responded and charged again.

To the left.

From where he had stopped, directly to the left.

Boom—!

A heavy sound resonated once more.

He felt something contact his shoulder, transmitting a small shock to his body.

It was an even more intense and deeper sensation than before.

It seemed this wall was made with sturdier metal.

[ Charge left. ]

Whoosh—!

The command rang out.

[ Charge right. ]

He moved with every directive.

Cutting through the air.

With all his might.

Activating the machines, ramping up speed.

[ Right. ]

He surged onwards, advancing and advancing.

[ Left. ]

[ Right. ]

With that, he ran, and ran some more.

Finally.

[Tango Golfer. Score. You’ve successfully escaped.]

Score.

He had reached his destination.

Escape.

Yes, he had succeeded in escaping.

He had fled the clutches of that damned Shaman who had continuously sought to enchant him!

Hah, the tension of this felt like shoving your head directly into the jaws of an alligator.

It was infuriatingly dreadful.

But still… he got away well.

Even if a Shaman acted bizarrely, in the end, they were still just a Shaman.

They couldn’t keep up with the bodily capabilities of a Warrior, especially not one with machines embedded and who rigorously trained.

Well, that’s just a given.

Don’t shamans generally have lower stamina compared to ordinary people?

Thinking about that…

Phew.

[ Congratulations. ]

Hah.

Well, that’s a good thing.

Not bad at all.

When he got back, he’d have to drink some beer.

Maybe alongside that damned nerd.

Instead of football, should they watch some baseball together?

It wouldn’t be too bad just once…

* * *

In the sea of flames.

The being in a suit said.

“Now, you can’t respond.”

 

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