Frick Sierra Leone, who was sitting in his chair, woke up. Pen @ fun @ pavilion wWw. ｂｉｑUｇE。 ｉｎｆｏ

At first, he felt as if he was blind, he couldn't see anything in his eyes, and the battle he had experienced a long time ago seemed to be still in front of his eyes, but the colorful brilliance of the two spells and magic of the battle was gone, and even the monotonous wilderness manor no longer existed.

Not only that, but he felt deaf during his coma, for he could not hear anything—the roar of battle and the shouts of the people were almost still in his ears, but it was so dead silent that he could not hear even the faintest breathing.

It shouldn't be like this-

It was as if in an instant I had gone from daylight to absolute darkness in the middle of the night, from the hustle and bustle of color to the empty realm of nothingness. Even more incredible than being introduced into the spirit world by William Kurt was to fall from a battlefield full of dangers to a prison where there was nothing.

He felt dizzy for a moment, and he jerked to his feet, moving like a madman, his left and right hands groping for what he could discern. It seems that he wants to be able to make some sound for himself to hear with such a movement, which proves that his senses have not lost their normal function.

Boom!

As if to reward his efforts, in the midst of his frenzied rampage, his head suddenly hit something hard, and a dull metallic echo followed. Pulled back to reality by the sound, he looked up his face and found that his head was covered with a technical cage that looked like a torture instrument - he hadn't forgotten where he saw the iconic costume.

"What kind of joke are you kidding, you guys have such a bad taste, why do you put the same birdcage on my head?" The sudden sound not only broke the silence around him, but also slowly calmed his panicked nerves.

However, it also proves that his previous suspicions about his abnormal perception were only self-inflicted, presumably due to the impact of the coma that had not brought him back to reality. That being the case, he certainly didn't care about making jokes about his enemies, but they weren't drawn to the sound of tearing silence.

What a pity...... Apparently his attempt to make unusual noises in the prison had failed—no one heard him, and no one would have arrived. Those magicians didn't know what their reasons were, so they chose a space that was almost absolutely insulated from outside interference to imprison him, and as a result, no matter what he was doing here, it wouldn't reach the outside world.

And this means that even if he makes a screeching technical sound when he keeps banging on the "birdcage" on his head, it will not attract the prison guards. Otherwise, if he was allowed to fight the enemy with such a big burden on his head, he really couldn't say how likely he would win.

Fortunately, although this "birdcage" looks like a torture instrument, it is not as difficult to deal with as it feels, and it may even be designed as a convenient tool for loading and unloading. It only takes a few tightly held screws to adjust it with some effort, and it can be removed from the head intact.

It didn't take long for the birdcage that had been hanging from his head to be carried in Frick's hand, and he tried to wave it lightly, while the heavy texture of metal that was transmitted back to his hand was reassuring - he couldn't wait to take this thing and make the heads of several enemies bloom.

"I think so, but this thing probably won't open the door......

If the door of the prison could be smashed open from the inside with just a metal frame, it would only mean that they didn't need to lock the cell at all. Either there is something in this "prison" that is more effective in preventing the prisoner from escaping, or there is something else waiting for him outside the gate.

The syllables that came out of his mouth flowed into the distance, tapping lightly at the boundaries of the space, and then the echo of slightly vibrating air could be heard from the other side. As the air fluctuated slightly, he gradually saw a ripple in the darkness, and the things around him were painted in a dull color.

Soon after, he was no longer blind - although that didn't mean his eyes could see in a space without a light source. It's just that the ability that lurks in his brain doesn't know what stimulation it has received, and once again it has slightly modified what exists here and sent it into his brain.

Behind Frick is a towering wall, with no gaps in the smooth and icy rock wall, not even the holes left to allow air to circulate. As he looked around, he found that the entire space seemed to be unbelievably high, and even with his sensory ability that expanded to the limit under the influence of his ability, he could only see a dark "wall" blocking him, and he couldn't see anything further away.

The cell was not large, and it was an almost completely confined space, with the exception of a pitch black top, which could be reached by walking a dozen steps along the wall from one end. Other than that, the room was unusually clean by the men, as there was nothing left except the chair he was sitting on, and it seemed that the tools used to use him for experiments were only brought in when they were about to be used.

The problem was that there was not a single crack in the four walls of the chamber - five if you count the floor, and there was nothing on the rock mass that looked like a gate. What bothered him even more was that the wall was not only smooth but also watery, making it difficult to climb even with spells.

And the clothes he was wearing now were no longer the usual scholar's clothes he wore when he was captured, but had been replaced by a simple casual dress that somewhat resembled a hospital gown. There wasn't even a pocket on the garment, and naturally there wouldn't have been the pen or paper that the scribe needed to carry out the technique.

Without these two things, he probably wouldn't have even a tenth of his original combat ability - after all, he wasn't Curt, and he couldn't have fought a mage in hand-to-hand combat alone. And the sorcerers must have expected this, so they didn't shackle him to his chair.

When you think about it, the most suspicious direction is the darkness above, where there seems to be something worth investigating. It's a matter of course to think about it, after all, Frick is not a bird, and it is impossible to fly out of thin air and escape from above, so the upper part is undoubtedly the most difficult direction to escape.

Just as Flick looked into the darkness above and pondered how to find a way out of prison, another wave of vertigo hit his mind. The scenery in front of him began to flicker in and out of shape, and the ability to project the scenery into consciousness began to extend uncontrollably outwards once more.

"Damn, is it getting worse again?"

In an instant, the scene in front of him was painted with a layer of dark red that would only be brought by rotting meat, and the tip of his nose even smelled a stench that he didn't know how to describe. The vision in front of him was distorted, and Frick felt like he had never seen it so clearly, and although the outline of the scene was entirely based on reality, the flesh-colored border that was about to move was definitely not something that should exist in reality.

Frick was sure that this "ability" was even stronger than it had been at first, as he noticed that not only his surroundings, but also his own body had been stained with the color of corruption. Pink flesh sprouted from the end of his body, wriggling slightly in front of his eyes.

Seeing that Flick had unconsciously undergone some kind of "change", he felt nauseous, and almost wanted to vomit out all the contents of his stomach, but the empty stomach pouch was really empty, and he could only let out a trembling and could not perform its due function.

It's just some hallucination, a side effect of using this ability—Flick convinces himself—at least as if to be able to discern what exactly is in this space and really shouldn't be complaining, even if in times of trouble, looking at this mixture of hallucination and not knowing what it is can only be said to be a disguised incentive...... And reason told him that he could only escape by relying on this ability now.

With sticky black mud and wriggling tentacles, these images are almost on the verge of changing from "disgusting things" to "familiar friends", and this change is really not optimistic. Perhaps the capture of the enemy here did not cause him much physical damage, but the mental damage was obviously more serious.

Pulsating fleshy parts bulged out on the smooth walls at some point, and when I put my hand on it, I could even feel the warm touch of something that wasn't supposed to exist. Frick felt a chill run through his body, and if he allowed this "ability" to erode his spirit like this, he would soon be unable to distinguish the line between reality and illusion.

Originally, his spirit remained stable only because the visions could only be seen, and there was no other way to confirm whether they existed. And now that he could touch them and smell them, he knew it wouldn't be long before he reached a tipping point.

If he crosses that line, he will never be able to return to his "normal" life, and all the experience and common sense he has accumulated in the past will fall apart - in other words, everything that once made Frick what made Frick Frick will be dismantled and reconstructed.

Frick couldn't help but think of what he had thought about on the train before he set foot on the Gate to the North, and it seemed that his bad luck had once again come into play, he had fallen into an abyss that no one had set foot on before, and his struggle had only made him sink deeper and deeper into the mud.