After he finished teaching, the villagers who had gathered around the well slowly began to disperse, offering their thanks to the Mystic before leaving. Once the last of them had gone, Sabris, the guard escorting Magnus and Seraline, approached the Mystic.
"Sabris," the Mystic greeted with a calm smile, his voice like the steady flow of a stream. "I see you've brought visitors."
"That's right. These are-" Sabris started, but the Mystic raised a gentle hand, shaking his head.
"No need for introductions. I am already aware of who they are. I have been waiting for them."
Sabris chuckled softly, nodding in understanding. The Mystic was the one who had first told the guards about Magnus and Seraline and to come find him when they arrived. How could he not know?
"Well then, I'll return to my post and leave you three to it," Sabris said, giving a brief wave before heading back.
Throughout the exchange, Seraline barely looked away from the Mystic. The strange sensation she'd been feeling all day had grown stronger as they approached this place, and now, standing before him, she was sure he was the source. Something radiated from him—something she couldn't quite define.
It doesn't feel threatening... If anything, it's calming. Could that be why there are no monsters here? Why this whole area feels so... peaceful?
The Mystic's presence seemed to wash over everything and everyone like a gentle wave, lulling the world around him into a state of quiet serenity. Seraline stole a glance at Magnus, curious to see his reaction. His expression, however, had turned unnervingly rigid, as though his mind was elsewhere entirely.
Shit!
Magnus's internal curse hit him like a sudden jolt. He'd been intrigued by this Mystic, but he hadn't expected him to be a glitch—or rather, as the Command Console was informing him, related to one. That wasn't the main issue, though. The real problem was that he had gotten too close, and now the Debugging Protocol had automatically kicked in and was trying to analyze exactly what kind of anomaly it had detected.
[Command Console]
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↑…
[WARNING]: A glitch has been detected!
Initiating Debugging Protocol…
Debugging Protocol Activated…
[Debugging Protocol]: Glitch has been designated as Codebreak-007-2.
[Debugging Protocol]: Beginning analysis of Codebreak-007-2…
[Debugging Protocol]: Progress[█--------------------] 1%
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Users:Magnus_Wright:\>
-------------------------------------------------------------/
This also meant that until the Command Console finished its debugging process, Magnus couldn't use any of his abilities. He was standing face-to-face with an unknown person—and a glitch—without any way to protect himself if something went wrong.
"Magnus, what's wrong?" Seraline whispered, her voice low and laced with concern. The sound of her voice seemed to snap him out of his daze, and he glanced over at her.
"It's... nothing. I'm fine," Magnus replied, taking a deep breath. But as he turned his attention back to the Command Console, something else caught his eye. The Mystic, who had been silently watching the two of them, had stopped. He was still facing them, but his gaze had shifted slightly downward. It almost seemed like he was looking at the Command Console. No, not looking—more like he was trying to sense if something was there. Like when you think you see something out of the corner of your eye, but when you focus, it's gone.
Noticing that Magnus had caught on to his gaze, the Mystic calmly refocused on the two of them.
"Forgive me," he said.
"I see I've yet to introduce myself. I tend to lose sight of formalities like names and titles. I am known as Monlam, a humble student of the One Beyond Return." With that, Monlam raised one hand in front of his chest, palm open, fingers pointing to the sky, and gave a respectful nod. It was in that moment that something clicked in Magnus's mind, and he realized why Monlam felt all too familiar to him.
"You... You're a-" Magnus started, but Monlam nodded before he could finish.
"Indeed. But this is not the place for such talk. Please, follow me," Monlam said, turning to lead the way. They glanced at each other before following him. Seraline leaned closer to Magnus as they walked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"What's going on? Is he dangerous?" Magnus hesitated to answer, his gaze lingering on Monlam's back.
"I… I'm not sure. But I don't think he has bad intentions. Not if he's what I think he is." Seraline raised an eyebrow at that.
"If he's what you think he is? What do you mean?" Magnus paused; he wasn't entirely certain himself. But then an idea struck him.
"Seraline, have you ever heard of a religion called Buddhism?"
She thought for a moment before shaking her head.
"No, I don't think so." That was the answer Magnus had expected, but it didn't make this any less strange.
From what I remember, there's only one major religion in this world: the Church of the Fourfold Light. And everything about this world follows the Western fantasy trope, just like the game advertised.
Which meant that Buddhism shouldn't exist here. But Magnus was almost certain that's exactly what Monlam was. The way he dressed, the way he spoke, even the way he moved—it all reminded him of a Buddhist monk. And that raised even more questions.
How did Buddhism appear in this world? It has to be related to the glitch, but what kind of glitch would create an entire religion out of thin air?
From what he understood, glitches were essentially mishaps—bugs in the world's source code that caused something to exist where it shouldn't, something that broke the rules of how things were normally supposed to be. He could picture the kind of coding bug that might make a brick accidentally knock out whatever it hits, or one that made background music play in real life, especially since he was certain this world was based on a game. Those kinds of glitches made sense in a chaotic, unintentional way. But a glitch that could create an entire religion from another world?
That seemed too deliberate. Too specific.
"I know you have many questions, Magnus," Monlam said suddenly, catching Magnus off guard. It almost felt like the man had read his mind, though Magnus knew that was impossible. The Command Console blocks anything that directly interferes with his mind, and Basker hadn't reported anything unusual.
As they walked, they arrived at what could only be described as a small wooden hut tucked into the corner of the village. It looked recently built, smaller than the other homes they had passed, but it didn't seem shabby. The builders had clearly taken their time, even adding a small porch and a well-crafted wooden fence around it. The area surrounding the hut stood out too—it was more vibrant than the rest of the village. A variety of plants flourished in the front yard, but not in a wild, overgrown way. It felt more like a naturally cultivated garden, peaceful and harmonious.
When they reached the front door, Monlam turned to Magnus and Seraline.
"Magnus, do you wish for your friend to join us in our conversation?" For a moment, Magnus was confused before realizing what Monlam was asking. They were about to talk about glitches, something sensitive. He glanced over at Seraline, conflicted. Seraline wasn't the type to spill secrets. During the Live Examination, she had kept Tascen's aura style hidden, even from Luden, to ensure he had a chance to use it as his trump card.
But this is different—glitches aren't some personal secret I can tell. If Seraline told her family, for any reason, and the information leaked out to the public, then it would be chaos.
Reading the hesitation on Magnus's face, Seraline spoke up.
"I'll head back into the village and look for horses and any supplies we might need," she said, saving him the decision. Magnus gave her a brief nod of gratitude and thanks for that.
"Alright, I'll meet you when I'm done here." With that, Seraline left, and Monlam opened the door to his hut, leading Magnus inside. The interior was simple: a bed in one corner and a low wooden table with pillows around it for seating. Aside from the basics—a pantry for food and a water barrel—the hut was bare, stripped down to essentials.
"Please, have a seat. Would you like a cup of water?" Monlam offered.
Magnus shook his head.
"No, I'm fine."
Monlam nodded, settling into a seat across from him.
"Very well. Let's start with your most pressing question then. No, the shift in the world didn't directly bring the dharma's presence here. The shift only affected one person. But that change created ripples."
"Are you saying a glitch affected one person, and that ripple somehow led to the creation of Buddhism in this world?" Magnus asked directly, setting aside his usual need to keep glitches a secret. But Monlam shook his head gently.
"Not exactly," Monlam replied.
"The 'glitch,' as you call it, only awakened a man's mind. It was he, my teacher, who later went on to found Buddhism here, based on the truths he discovered." Magnus frowned, still puzzled as he listened to him.
"But I don't get it. From what you've said, you weren't the one affected by the glitch. Yet Seraline can sense something strange from you—something that isn't magic but still supernatural. So, did the glitch give this teacher of yours powers and the ability to pass them on to others or something?" Again, Monlam shook his head.
"No. The abilities do not belong to him, to me, or to anyone in particular. Anyone who follows the Buddha's teachings can gain dharma power. Like magic, it is something that has the potential to come naturally to all beings." Monlam's explanation only deepened Magnus's confusion.
"So... your teacher's mind was awakened by a glitch, and that led them to not only learn about Buddhism but also somehow made it so that Buddhist teachings can grant people abilities, regardless of who they are?"
"Correct," Monlam said calmly.
"It is a process similar to what happened when the brick you have in your possession first appeared." Magnus blinked in surprise. The fact that Monlam knew so much about glitches was already surprising, but now he was even referencing specific ones he'd encountered? Magnus had a dozen questions about how Monlam knew all of this, but he decided to stay focused on the current conversation.
"What do you mean 'similar' to the Knockout Brick? Doesn't it just put anything it touches into a knockout state?" Magnus asked. That was the theory he and Basker had come up with, anyway. They believed that, normally, nothing without a consciousness could be knocked out. But the moment the Knockout Brick came into contact with something, it would both create and induce a knockout state within its target's source code. The results of this knockout state seemed to be random. In the case of the teacup, its knockout state had somehow led to its ability to show visions of the future in dreams.
Monlam, however, was quick to correct Magnus's assumption.
"Close, but not exactly," Monlam replied, his tone patient.
"The truth of reality is that it is both moldable and adaptive. It doesn't break when changed; it merely reshapes itself to fit the change. When the brick appeared in this world, it was like tossing a pebble into a pond. On the surface, it might seem like the only change is that there is a new rock in the water. But in truth, the ripple stirred more than just the water—it raised the water level, even if that rise was too small to see with the naked eye. Do you understand what I mean, Magnus?"
Magnus sat still for a moment, processing Monlam's words. His mind turned over the explanation, connecting the dots, until finally, realization struck, and his eyes widened in shock.
"Are you saying... from the moment the Knockout Brick appeared, everything in this world gained a knockout state?" Magnus asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Monlam nodded, confirming his thoughts.
Magnus inhaled sharply. He had originally believed that once something was hit by the Knockout Brick, it gained a knockout state—something that allowed it to be rendered unconscious. But the truth was far grander than that. Instead, from the very moment the Knockout Brick entered this world, everything in reality that the brick could affect—anything it could hit—had gained the potential to be knocked out; they gained a knockout state. The brick wasn't performing some complex task beyond what the Command Console had stated. It was simply doing exactly what it said: knocking anything it touched into unconsciousness.
"I get it now..." Magnus muttered under his breath.
"I was thinking in too basic terms." He'd been stuck in the mindset of game development, following the strict logic of coding. In game design, if you created a new attack that induced a specific status effect, such as petrification, that would work—as long as you coded what the petrification status effect actually did. But if you didn't code that part, then when the attack was used, it would likely result in an error. The attack would try to induce a status effect that didn't exist.
In a normal script, an error like that would cause the whole thing to stop running, breaking the program until it was reset and fixed. But there were ways to write a script so that when it encountered those kinds of issues, it could isolate errors, keeping the rest of the program functional while sending a report back to the developer. But this wasn't a game—this world went far beyond that.
If this entire world was truly made of source code, how could it possibly be compared to a mere game? The complexity of the code that formed every facet of the universe would be immeasurable. No—beyond that—it would have to be infinite. And if that was the case, how could something so infinitely complex be at risk of breaking the moment an error appeared? The source code of such a universe must have countless statements in place, ensuring that no matter what happened, even if an illogical glitch appeared, things could continue functioning—perhaps abnormally, but still functioning.
From the moment the Knockout Brick entered this world, it naturally should have caused an error. After all, it was an object that could induce a knockout state in things that didn't have one. But, as Monlam said, reality was moldable.
The glitches that appeared in this world were just that—glitches, bugs in the universe. And if those bugs generated errors that caused a script—or even entire scripts—to break and stop working, what would happen to the world they lived in? Entire sections of reality could stop functioning. In the worst-case scenario, their world could come crashing down. To prevent that, reality had no choice but to adapt. Whether it was a result of the infinite nature of the source code or something purposefully embedded within it, reality had the ability to change itself so that these errors never came to be.
In the case of the Knockout Brick, reality's countermeasure was to create knockout states in everything, adjusting itself to avoid a complete breakdown.
That would explain why the Command Console hadn't detected the teacup as a glitch. The Knockout Brick was the only true anomaly in that situation. The teacup and everything else that could be knocked out through contact with the brick had their knockout states set by the universe itself. By all means, it was a forced yet natural change. So the Command Console wouldn't register it as a glitch...
Seeing that Magnus had grasped what he had explained, Monlam's expression grew more serious.
"Magnus," he called, his voice steady but firm. The sound of his name snapped Magnus from his thoughts, and he turned his full attention back to Monlam.
"There's a reason I was sent to this village to meet you, and I need you to listen closely to my words." Magnus nodded slowly, uncertain why Monlam's tone had shifted so suddenly.
"We do not know the origin of these abnormalities," Monlam continued.
"Their source is obscured, hidden even from my teacher. But what my teacher has discerned is that their rate of appearance is increasing. Reality may be adaptable, but it doesn't change the fact that these illogical existences force it to compromise." As he spoke, Monlam raised his hands to illustrate his next point.
"Imagine our world as a perfectly balanced seesaw. Each appearance of these abnormalities adds weight to one side, and to maintain balance, something else, another weight must be added to the other. This is the way our world balances itself." Magnus listened closely as Monlam went on, tilting his hands slightly in front of him to demonstrate the balance he spoke of.
"With each new shift, every time one of these anomalies emerges, the world around us changes in an effort to maintain stability. But everything has its limits. Put too much weight on either side of a seesaw, and eventually, it will snap down the middle under the strain." Monlam lowered his hands, and his crystal-clear eyes—eyes that seemed to pierce through some unseen veil locked onto Magnus's.
"Not even my teacher knows what will happen to the world if that comes to pass, and sadly, that's not even the worst-case scenario," he continued.
"These abnormalities follow no discernible pattern, no rhyme, or reason in their appearance or effects. This means it's possible—likely even—that an anomaly could appear in our universe in the future. One that tips things so heavily in one direction that even our world's attempt to fix things will only make it worse. If what I mentioned before is to be viewed as a death by a thousand cuts, then this would be a laceration."