If this space truly has a "purpose" or a "design philosophy," then the existence of the labyrinth must carry meaning.

  I know full well that "purpose" and "design philosophy" are two different things. People can use a rock to smash things, but that doesn't mean the rock was designed for it—nature doesn't produce designed objects. Yet nature also doesn't produce corridors. Corridors are clearly man-made.

  Of course, in supernatural incidents, the appearance of something man-made doesn't necessarily mean a human designer exists. Because the supernatural defies reason, it's possible for "naturally occurring artificial constructs" to emerge without logic. That's precisely why detective stories ban supernatural elements—once they're allowed, literally anything goes.

  I can only treat this as one possible direction: since this space features corridors, has a purpose, and involves a consumable item capable of pulling outsiders in (at least according to Zhu Shi), it wouldn't be surprising if a designer lurks behind it. Whether that designer is the "monster creator" the monster mentioned is another question entirely.

  For now, I'll assume this corridor-style labyrinth has meaning. So how do you uncover that meaning?

  Simple: destroy it.

  Many things are hard to notice while they exist, but once they're gone, their irreplaceable value becomes painfully clear. Right now, I was going to wreck the corridor in front of me.

  I raised my right hand again and conjured a fireball in my palm. It started the size of a soccer ball, then rapidly swelled into a colossal sphere more than five meters across.

  Clearly, something that massive couldn't fit inside this corridor. The ceiling and floor melted away, exposing the levels above and below. Deciding this size was about right for now, I aimed it at the wall beside me. The enormous fireball shot forward at high speed.

  To avoid creating a shockwave that might hurt Zhu Shi, I launched it at first with only car-like velocity. But as it traveled farther, it accelerated effortlessly past the speed of sound.

  The commotion drew Zhu Shi's attention. She glanced at me, then at the giant fireball vanishing into the distance, seemingly thinking the inescapable situation had pushed me over the edge. She spoke in a soothing tone: "Don't worry, don't worry, Senior Zhuang. Breaking alternate spaces isn't my specialty, but I've already figured some things out. I'll definitely get you out of here."

  I was about to say—again—that she didn't need to worry about me… but her next words caught my interest. "What did you figure out?" I asked curiously.

  "Although this alternate space isn't part of reality, it's extremely close to the real world," she said with conviction. "In other words, if we destroy the space itself, we'll automatically return to reality."

  "You have a way to destroy the alternate space?"

  "As long as I find the flaw…"

  As she spoke, she focused on the air right in front of her, seemingly observing the space itself. From time to time she raised her sharp sword, as if measuring where to strike.

  She couldn't possibly have some hidden "shatter the void" skill… could she? I couldn't tell exactly what she was planning, so I shifted my attention to sensing the giant fireball I'd launched.

  The moment I did, I immediately spotted something abnormal.

  And then I realized: the monster's earlier boast—that no matter how many centuries we wandered, we'd never escape, that the space was infinitely vast—might not have been an exaggeration at all.

  Along the tunnel carved by the rampaging giant fireball, I could see that details hundreds of meters ahead were becoming strangely ambiguous.

  Normally, I couldn't make out such distant details with the naked eye, but now I was perceiving through the fireball as an extended sensory organ. Even my tiny "fireflies" let me eavesdrop on phone conversations from afar; this giant fireball acted like an external eye, granting perception far beyond my normal state.

  The scenery immediately around the fireball looked normal, but farther away, the "resolution" dropped sharply. Even more distant scenes simply vanished.

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  What appeared in my perception reminded me of open-world single-player games on computers. To save processing power, those games reduce image quality or stop rendering entirely for areas far from the player character. When you're indoors, the outdoors might not load at all, or only partially.

  This alternate space obviously wasn't a virtual world, yet it followed the same rules. If we walked forward, corridors far behind would disappear while new ones ahead were generated. The total number of corridors remained constant—we were always at the "center" of the labyrinth.

  If we obediently walked, we'd never reach the end. That was a disguised form of "infinity."

  Leaving aside the monster fused with the labyrinth space, there were now roughly twenty "centers" inside it: two were Zhu Shi and me, plus the giant fireball, the wall-hugging one, and the dozen or so "fireflies" I'd released earlier.

  Why were those flames also treated as "centers"? Because I could sense through them? Because they were extensions of my mind? Those questions didn't matter right now. What mattered was that this revealed the way to break it.

  If the space had to conserve "processing resources," that meant there was a hard limit to those resources.

  No wonder this "infinite" space was filled with so many twisting corridors. If anyone saw too far ahead, the illusion would collapse instantly. The labyrinth's purpose was to hide that fact.

  If I created an overwhelming number of "centers" and spread them in every direction, the space's "processing resources" would run dry—at least, that was my theory. The proof would be in the attempt.

  Earlier, I might have worried about what would happen if the space glitched and collapsed. But since Zhu Shi said destroying it would automatically return us to reality, I decided to trust her on this one.

  Another fireball formed in my palm.

  "I've got a way."

  As I said it, Zhu Shi looked away from the air in front of her and said the exact same thing.

  She immediately realized and looked stunned. "Wait—what? So this isn't my moment to shine?!"

  Too late. I was already moving.

  I really wanted to test the "clear condition" I'd just figured out.

  The moment the words left my mouth, I slapped the fireball against my own chest, igniting my entire body and entering fire-element form. To control enough "fireflies" at once, this form was essential. At the same time, the giant five-meter fireball in the distance shattered on the spot, breaking into thousands upon thousands of "fireflies." Under my simultaneous control, they shot outward in every direction at high speed.

  A mere dozen or so "centers" weren't enough to overload the labyrinth's capacity—but what about thousands?

  Each "firefly" acted as a "center" inside the labyrinth space, generating massive amounts of corridor every moment. As the fireflies spread out, the ground began shaking violently, and the scenery around us rapidly turned illusory and unstable.

  "What did you do!?" The monster's voice rang out again, laced with panic. "The labyrinth… the labyrinth is collapsing! Impossible… unless the 'conditions' set by the monster creator are met, this labyrinth can't be broken!"

  Specified "conditions"? So this labyrinth space had a "complete the designated task to escape" mechanic?

  If this monster was the "game designer," then he'd clearly never intended for us to solve it legitimately. In that case, using a somewhat underhanded method to crack it was perfectly fair.

  The shaking intensified until standing became nearly impossible. Cracks and fractures spread across the corridors in every direction. Finally, the corridors themselves shattered completely. Almost simultaneously, my vision plunged into darkness.

  The darkness lasted only a second—just like when we'd first entered the labyrinth—before everything returned to normal. I found myself standing on a soccer field. Ahead lay the grass I'd blasted full of craters with repeated fireballs earlier, and the sheep-headed demon-like monster stood there in stunned confusion.

  I'd successfully conquered the labyrinth from the inside. A sense of accomplishment and relief filled me.

  The monster's gaze landed on me.

  His expression changed drastically in an instant. He spun around and bolted. As he ran, he summoned nearby shadows to wrap around him—clearly trying to slip into the shadow world and escape somewhere else.

  But as long as I was here, escape was impossible for him.

  I first glanced at the writhing shadows and ignited them with my gaze. I still didn't fully understand why heat could destroy shadows, but under the flames, they burned away like paper turned to ash.

  Then I raised my right hand. Still in fire-element form, my body could reshape freely—meaning I could stretch and enlarge my arm at will.

  In the blink of an eye, my right arm extended nearly twenty meters, my palm swelling to enormous size. I snatched the monster—who hadn't gotten far—right out of the air, gripping him like a frantic escaping rat. Flames erupted from my palm, instantly vaporizing everything below his head.

  His severed head dropped from between my giant flaming fingers, quickly regenerating to perfect condition. Then he let out an utterly undignified scream and fled desperately in the opposite direction.

  At that moment, a figure in a straw raincoat and wide-brimmed hat, sword in hand, emerged from the night and blocked his path.

  Eyes glowing with that cold, piercing lake-blue light slowly opened in the darkness.

  The monster barely seemed to register who it was before reflexively shouting, "Who!?"

  "Luoshan Impermanent, Zhu Shi."

  Zhu Shi spoke calmly, then stepped forward and swung her sword toward him.

  Four sword beams struck almost simultaneously, severing all four of his limbs and sending him crashing to the ground in a heap.

  "I told you it's useless! I still have plenty of clones elsewhere—this level of injury…" The fallen monster raved madly.

  Then, as if something had clamped his throat, his words cut off.

  This time—unlike any before—his body did not regenerate.