The worry that it might not have been applied properly disappeared as soon as the original light faded.
[You have acquired a new trait.]
“Did it show up?!”
A system window appeared, clearly confirming that it had been activated.
What did I get? While I was curious about the result, the first thing to do was figure out the location of the mark.
‘It would be a bit troublesome if it’s engraved in a really visible spot.’
The location of the mark was random… and if you were really unlucky, it could appear on your nose.
In the game, it didn’t matter much where the mark was engraved aside from messing up the character’s customization, but in reality, the location of the mark was critically important.
Anxiously, I looked over my body, and fortunately, the placement was ideal: just below the left collarbone.
It wasn’t a spot that stood out unless I took off my clothes.
But that wasn’t the most important thing right now. I needed to check what kind of mark it was.
Let’s see… this shape, this color…
[Healthy and Tasty]
[Are you eating snakes because there’s nothing else?]
[The Stealth of the Snake is applied.]
A snake.
Oh, come on. This can’t be serious.
I would have preferred it engraved on my nose if it were something else—wait, no, maybe not.
If it were a wolf or a butterfly on my nose, that would have been problematic in its own way.
But this is just absurd!
“A snake? Me, a snake?!”
This ability had a single function.
From the moment it’s learned, some of the character’s sound effects are deleted.
Walking, running—those kinds of sounds?
They disappear.
And that’s it.
It’s as if the developers themselves knew how ridiculous this ability was, given the joke in the name and description.
I lightly stomped my foot, and sure enough, no sound was made.
You’d think this would be a good thing, but no—it only silences sound, not your presence.
Since it doesn’t erase your presence, anyone can notice if you approach, making it essentially useless.
No matter how much I lamented, nothing was going to change.
“Sigh. Well, what can I do about it now that it’s here?”
In the end, I could only accept the situation as it was.
Who knows? In the game, it only erased sound effects, but maybe it would be more helpful in this real-world context.
Thinking too much about a skill already drawn would only stress me out, so I decided to let it go.
I’d continue exploring this place instead.
Having made up my mind, I began rummaging through the piles of treasure again.
Although I couldn’t take these outside, there was no problem using them here.
It’s like a trial run.
If only I had an inventory, I’d try them all, but since I had to carry everything by hand, I could only try one or two things at most. What a shame.
One item was already decided. There was something here I could make good use of.
As for the rest… I was going to choose a sword, but then I remembered my injured arm.
Just in case, I decided on a shield instead.
I thought about taking more items but decided against it to avoid further injury while testing them out.
The injured arm was bothersome enough as it was.
Having roughly chosen what I’d try, I tore my gaze away from the pile of treasure.
Originally, looting the treasure came first, and stopping the bell—if it existed—was secondary. But in this reality, the treasure could only be considered a secondary priority.
Beyond the treasure stood three doors, ordinary ones that could be opened by turning their handles.
However, two of them were traps, and only one was correct.
It was a devilishly unfair random chance, and even I didn’t know which was the correct one.
But I did know a trick that could help make a better choice.
‘What was it again? The Monty Hall paradox?’
Imagine there are three doors, and behind one of them is the prize.
Behind the prize door is a car, while the other two conceal goats.
When the participant picks one of the doors, the host opens another door, revealing a goat behind it.
With two doors remaining, should the participant change their choice?
The Monty Hall paradox demonstrates that switching increases the odds of winning.
This principle applies here.
So, if I approach any door and knock…
Click.
One of the unchosen doors, which is a trap, locks.
From here, it’s purely luck.
All that’s left is to open one of the two remaining doors.
Statistically, following the paradox increases the chances of winning.
So logically, switching my choice would be the better decision.
But… didn’t I just draw a snake with a 1/3 probability earlier?
Maybe I have better odds of getting it right this time without switching?
With that thought, I decided not to change my choice and opened the door.
At the same moment, the other door locked with a click.
There was no turning back now. All I could do was accept the consequences of my decision.
And the result…
“Kaooooooo!”
“Ah, crap.”
Utter disaster.
I came face-to-face with a horde of undead gargoyles, proving once again that probabilities are independent events.
What rotten luck today.
As expected, the Stealth of the Snake was useless.
The moment I was spotted, our eyes met. What good is silence if they can still see you?
Fortunately, I’d prepared for a situation like this.
I pulled out one of the items I had taken earlier: a pendant.
[Talisman of Divine Light]
[The revival of the dead is an abomination.]
[Activates a Supreme Purification on 1 undead in front (Cooldown: 30 seconds)]
If the system displayed an item description, it would’ve looked like this.
Yes, I had brought along a cheat item specifically for undead monsters: the Talisman of Divine Light, or Divine Light Talisman (DLT) for short.
This item was insanely overpowered against undead. Without any conditions or costs, it could unleash Supreme Purification every time the cooldown reset.
As long as the enemy was undead, this one item alone could completely turn the tide.
You might wonder why such a broken item exists, but this place was designed as a playground for hardcore veterans.
The balance here was a joke—filled with overpowered toys for players who had beaten everything else.
But while balance was tossed out the window, practicality was also neglected.
Undead monsters barely appeared in the game, and when they did, they were usually weaklings that showed up in hordes.
A single-target purification like this was virtually useless under normal circumstances.
Honestly, it felt like the developers threw this item together out of laziness.
Still, I was grateful it existed, now that I had a use for it.
“Kaooooo!”
“Kaooooooo!”
“Kao! Kaooooo!”
Of course, these weren’t individual enemies but a group of them. Dealing with them one at a time would take some effort… but it wasn’t a problem.
Flash!
“Kyaaaaaa!!!”
Eventually, I figured I’d catch them all if I just kept at it. Grinding is a fundamental skill for gamers, isn’t it?
Dodging the gargoyles’ attacks while stalling for time, I waited for the cooldown of the Talisman of Divine Light. Each time it reset, I used it to take down one undead at a time.
When activated, the light would fade, then reignite after 30 seconds, making it easy to track the timing without doing it manually.
At some point, I decided to test whether the Resentment of the Recluse Witch—ugh, that name is too long; I’ll just call it Savings Account—was properly stacking its grudge mechanic. I noticed that even dodging attacks narrowly seemed to count as “taking an attack,” which slightly filled the gauge.
But it was so minimal that I shuddered to think how much time it would take to fill it completely. It didn’t seem practical for real combat use.
Well, it was just a backup plan in case of emergencies, so I wasn’t too disappointed.
After what felt like an eternity of repetitive work, there wasn’t a single undead left in sight.
The shield I’d brought along ended up unused, which was a relief since it was a one-time-use item. It’s better this way.
Still, quite a bit of time had passed. Maybe it was time to head back.
The night was long, but I couldn’t stay here until morning. I needed sleep.
With that thought, I retraced my steps, tossing the talisman and shield back into the treasure pile, and left the area.
And then, I ran into her.
“Where did you just come from?”
Sitting squarely in the middle of the guest room was Seria.
She looked like she had a mountain of questions to ask.
Caught off guard by this unexpected encounter, I hesitated awkwardly. That’s when her gaze landed on my left arm.
Crap.
I tried to hide it, but that only made me look more suspicious.
“…What happened to your arm?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Let me see.”
It was too late to hide it, and refusing now might lead to worse consequences. Reluctantly, I offered her my arm.
Seria carefully unwrapped the makeshift bandage I’d tied around it. As she did, a sharp sting shot up, exposing the wound.
The bleeding had stopped, but the gash was still raw and unpleasant to look at.
Seria’s expression instantly grew serious.
“…How did this happen?”
“It’s nothing.”
“I’ll rephrase. Where exactly did you go just now?”
Her firm tone made it clear that deflecting wouldn’t work.
Still, I gave it a shot.
“Why are you here, anyway?”
To be honest, I was genuinely curious. Hadn’t she gone back after lending me a book?
It was late, so I assumed she’d gone home to sleep. Why was she here, seemingly waiting for me?
My question was born of that confusion, but her response was brazen and unexpected.
“Because the tracking spell I placed on you suddenly vanished. I came to check what happened.”
“…What?”
“…Ah.”
Tracking… spell? Did I just hear something I wasn’t supposed to?
“P-pretend you didn’t hear that!”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“Don’t lie!”
What am I supposed to do here?
I didn’t know how to respond to her erratic behavior, but one thing was clear.
“Seria… you’ve crossed the line into crime. Your family will be so disappointed.”
“No, it’s not like that…”
She had become a stalker.
Are you seeing this, members of the royal family?
Your beloved Seria has turned into a terrifying stalker.
“It’s not like that!”
Whack! Whack!
She even started resorting to violence, but thankfully her feeble strength made it more laughable than painful.