Conquering OtherWorld Starts With a Game

Chapter 103.1: Hal Seems Human?

In Exile Town's Town Hall, Hal was seated in a high-back chair, one arm propped up and supporting his cheek. His head was slightly tilted down as he stared fixedly at his shadow.

Through the faint shadow, he could see two overlapping but distinctly clear scenes.

Just like last night, the undead in the scene were locked in combat with his inner demons.

But, somewhat different from the night before, these undead fought with more order, unlike the chaotic brawl of the previous night.

The undead with shields knew how to restrict "Jim's" movements, while those with swords, daggers, and machetes focused on striking "Jim's" lower limbs. Even the ones with crude wooden staves used rudimentary dark magic to slow down "Jim's" movements.

How Yang managed to teach these fragile undead combat skills and even basic dark magic didn't bother Hal. He, Tuttle, and Finley had long concluded that these dubious Taranthan undead were no ordinary undead. Rather, it was likely that these were certain great demons summoned by Yang from some unknown dimension, for there was no way to explain how these undead possessed intelligence close to or even surpassing ordinary people.

What puzzled Hal was that these undead of mysterious origins were still enthusiastically going about this futile task when they ought to know that these monsters in the distorted mental domain were merely the twisted projections of his mind, and killing them had no meaning.

If they had the dedication and reason to absolutely eliminate those monsters in the altered mental domain, then wouldn't it make more sense to attack him in person instead of struggling with these projections?

It couldn't be that these undead were so dedicated to coming in and out of his altered mental domain just to humiliate him, right?

At this thought, Hal suddenly felt that this might be the truth.

But recalling how miserably these undead perished in his altered mental domain made him reckon it didn't quite add up.

These death-defying undead that didn't fear death would still try to avoid it. Whenever Hal swung a blade at them, they would always make a full effort to flee.

Forget it… It was no use trying to understand these things.

Hal shut his eyes and took a little break. After a while, he opened his bloodshot eyes and gazed wearily at the overlapping shadows.

He had already become numb to it.

In any case, the most embarrassing side of him had already been seen by so many undead, not to mention that fella Yang… Just like someone put on the spot and made to do something embarrassing, there might be all sorts of initial resistance and shame, but once it was gotten used to, it would no longer be a big deal.

Hal even had the mood to comment on the undead's assault strategy. When an undead with a shield tried to obstruct "Jim" with its body, Hal couldn't help but quip, "How foolish are you, idiot! What can that little body accomplish?!"

Before Hal finished his roast, that charging undead was crushed by "Jim's" heavy triple body and disappeared in a flash of white light.

"Maintaining distance is key—not done?!"

Yet another shield undead charged forward to pick up the fallen items of its comrade, only to be slapped into nothingness by "Uncle Harlington."

Hal clicked his tongue.

With two shield-wielding undead down, the remaining undead quickly realized they couldn't continue resisting head-on. They quickly dispersed and took advantage of the slowing effects of dark magic to maneuver around and encircle "Jim."

Hal couldn't help but shake his head.

The undead persisted in attacking "Jim," though their strategy was utterly foolish.

This distorted monster born from the dark depths of Hal's mind had "Jim" as the core, with "Uncle Harlington" and "Olive" as extensions.

When two sides clashed, would anyone aim for the toughest spot? Of course, it should be breaking through the weakest point first. If the undead truly wanted to defeat this projected monster, they ought to prioritize attacking "Olive" and "Uncle Harlington."

Around three to four minutes later, this undead team was routed and wiped. The overlapping scene of this instance vanished.

The undead in the other overlapping scene, after persistently attacking "Jim" for over ten minutes, seemed to finally realize the flaw in their strategy and turned their focus onto "Olive."

Unfortunately, they had altered their strategy a little too late. The undead with crude wooden staves were exhausted and could no longer cast dark magic to slow "Jim's" movements. Eventually, this team was wiped as well.

These undead had stubbornly persisted with their seemingly futile attacks until the very last moment before turning into a flash of white light. Hal felt inexplicable complex sentiments witnessing this unfold.

He truly couldn't understand why these undead engaged in such meaningless actions—even if they succeeded in killing the monster, as long as Void Realm was active and his "true self" remained, the monster could resurrect endlessly.

"…How foolish," Hal muttered to himself. "Indeed a bunch of brainless fellows."

Slightly over an hour later, as Hal was feeling drowsy, these undead returned once more.

Yet another hour later, they reappeared in Hal's altered mental domain again.

This marked the fourth time Hal had seen these two undead teams in the overlapping projections. Tuttle and Rex had both fallen asleep, leaving him as the only one awake in the building.

It was just these two teams of undead that kept coming and no others.

Hal could hear their bickering, arguments, discussions, and mutual encouragement. He even remembered the names of some of these undead.

Some of these peculiar "names" seemed somewhat familiar to Hal as if he had heard them a couple of times before. However, he hadn't cared much about these undead before and wholeheartedly wished to get rid of them and Yang as soon as possible, so he hadn't paid them much heed.

Hal's perception of these undead had always been one-sided and shallow—they were mad, chaotic, and irrational.

But now, Hal seemed to suddenly realize that these undead also experienced joy and sorrow.

They weren't all uniform in their skeletal appearance. Each of them had their own unique personality.

Some undead were timid and weak with a tendency to retreat, while others were optimistic, proactive, and enjoyed brute force. There were also undead that were calm, composed, intelligent, and grounded.

Each of these undead, with their own distinctive personality, collaborated wholeheartedly under the command of the wooden staff-wielding skeletons in battling the inner demons in Hal's mind. Not a single one questioned whether their actions had any meaning, nor were there any that tried to desert.

Thoughts swirled in Hal's mind as he stared fixedly at them.

Yes, they were just doing something futile. Defeating the distorted mental projections within Void Realm was inherently meaningless.

But… to win. Wasn't that meaningful in itself?

In a person's life, how many sacrifices were truly meaningful?

Hadn't Hal himself done many meaningless things?

Desiring victory and making sacrifices to fuel that desire… Wasn't that a form of meaning in itself?

Hal, exhausted to his limits, felt his mind subtly relaxed as a sense of release coursed throughout his entire body.

Hal was stunned.

It seemed like a long-standing heavy burden clutching his heart had been lifted, and he felt lighter all over.

Hal slowly sat up straight, unable to conceal his astonishment as he looked at his own body.

The exhaustion from two consecutive nights of poor rest was rapidly dissipating. He could feel strength swiftly return to his body.

Not only did he feel physically light and agile, but mentally, he also experienced an unprecedented clarity.

It was like waking up naturally after a restful sleep, full of vitality and energy, ready to take on anything.

The room wasn't particularly bright as the wall-mounted lamp wasn't strong enough to illuminate the entire room, leaving the farther corners shrouded in darkness and hard to discern.

Yet, at this moment, Hal felt as if his vision had suddenly sharpened. Even the spiders hiding in the shadows of the wardrobe were visible to him with crystal clarity.

Hal was taken aback and realized something had happened when he returned to his senses.

His spiritual sense… had increased!

His mental strength was also improved!

Only high-level spellcasters with formidable mental prowess could achieve true enhancement of the body, gaining transcendent physical abilities. Spellcasters that hadn't achieved such an advanced level, or professionals like Hal, could only briefly experience physical benefits when their spiritual sense and mental strength increased.

While feeling inexplicable joy, Hal also felt a subtle ache in his heart.

So that's it… It had always been like this.

It turned out that Hal had always known what the problem with himself was.

It wasn't that he was inherently inferior to others in certain aspects. The hardships he endured had long been enough to compensate for any gaps in talent. He shouldn't have struggled to even find the "threshold," nor should a youngster like Rex, more than ten years his junior, surpass him…

Everything was all because—Hal himself gave up.

Being the smartass that he was, he split all things into the categories of whether they were valuable or worthless.

Anything unattainable when he gave his all, or anything that, even if successful, offered no visible benefits, he deemed worthless.

He concealed his incompetent, weak, and cowardly side entirely beneath the facade of a "smartass" by not doing anything "stupid."

He could actually have saved Jim—back then, when Jim was trying to get the others to walk the right path and work as laborers, the dissatisfaction of the senior gang members was clear, and it was obvious that it would bring danger to Jim. If the other youths could see the underlying signs, how could Hal have been oblivious to it?!

He had let Uncle Harlington down, but there was a way to remedy the situation back then—all he had to do was turn around, take responsibility for his aunt and little cousin, and spend the next decade or two atoning for his youthful arrogance.

But he didn't do that.

He used his lofty ideals, his desire to stand out, and the notion that he couldn't be burdened by women and children as excuses to deceive himself. Truth be told, he simply didn't dare to face too heavy a burden.

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He could have pulled her back, even if not from a lover's perspective.

Hal stared blankly at his overlapping shadows, but he wasn't looking at those undead. What was repeatedly flashing across his mind was no longer the painful and unbearable past but… his own ugliness.

It wasn't that he was forced to become a scoundrel or a villain; he wasn't that pitiable. No one had forced him. It was him who thought it was easier to be a scum.

"This must be… facing one's true self, huh?"

Hal relaxed his tense body, once again rested his elbow on the armrest, and supported his chin with his palm.

His body felt perfectly fine, with an unprecedented lightness.

Just that, there was an ache in his heart. A pain so intense that he couldn't express the emotion of suffering in any form.

What Yang said hadn't been wrong; Hal, who couldn't even face himself, had no right to call himself… strong.

The monster battles within the recurring scenes of the overlapping shadows went on. After several rounds of repeated defeats, their attack rhythm became more coordinated… Finally, the remains of "Olive" were eliminated.

The undead were excited. They cheered each other loudly, and the attacks intensified.

Hal's gaze fell on the remains of "Olive" slowly disintegrating in the scene.

"I'm sorry… I actually have no right to admire you.

"And even less right… to keep you in my heart."