I Was Reborn in Another World, But I Awoke Inside a Corpse

Chapter 150: Descent into the Stillroot Nest

The lower chambers of Elaraiya's divine root network had no maps—only warnings. Not because no one had tried to chart them, but because no one returned lucid.

Now, Isaac stood at the edge of the Stillroot Nest, the threshold where reality itself began to stretch… and slow.

The entrance was a vast, cracked root vein, its walls coated in gray lichen and wisps of still-floating spores. The air here was warm, but heavy—like trying to breathe through a thick blanket.

Lira sniffed once. "Smells like old tea and depression."

Sylvalen's brows were furrowed as she touched a twisting glyph along the inner bark. "Even the mana here resists movement. It coils inward. It's unnatural."

Isaac didn't answer. He was staring ahead with [Soulpiercer Sight – Rank A] active.

Nothing.

No status windows. No aura readings. Just... blankness.

It was as if the very laws of awareness had been paused.

They stepped in.

Immediately, the world dimmed.

Colors faded slightly.

Sound was muffled.

The walls pulsed once—like a heartbeat that took too long.

Isaac narrowed his eyes. "We're in."

Time became subjective.

Their movements didn't slow physically—but felt slower. Every step required more intention than it should. Lira started to blink less. Sylvalen occasionally paused mid-sentence and forgot what she was saying.

Isaac was the only one mostly unaffected—perhaps thanks to his Ω-ranked Devourer Matrix, or perhaps because System Override shielded his mind from ambient decay.

But even he could feel it.

Not pain.

Not fear.

Just… tiredness.

Like the dungeon was whispering:

"You've done enough. Sit. Rest. Sleep."

At the base of a collapsed root arch, they found a Slothspawn, curled like a sleeping animal.

It didn't move.

Didn't even seem hostile.

Lira raised her blade cautiously. "Is it dead?"

The creature stirred, lifting its head with slow, oily grace. Its eyes were half-lidded, and its aura was… lazy. Not weakened—lazy.

Then it spoke.

"Turn around. Too much effort ahead."

Sylvalen's hand glowed with warning light. "Stand aside."

The creature yawned. "You're not worth waking the others."

It lowered its head again. Within seconds, it fell back asleep.

Isaac stared at it. Then activated [Phantom Legion].

A spectral blade formed silently behind the Slothspawn—and gently poked it.

No reaction.

"This isn't a battle dungeon," he murmured. "It's a willpower trap."

The path opened into a vast hollow where elf bones lay undisturbed, their armor rusted, their eyes still open. Not from pain—from waiting.

Waiting for commands.

Waiting to act.

But the Nest never gave them one.

Lira knelt beside one corpse. "There's no decay. No rot. They just… stopped."

Sylvalen looked around. "This is worse than death. It's erasure without violence."

Isaac touched the ground. It felt warm, like a bed left just long enough to forget it had ever been slept in.

Then the whispers began.

"You've done so much already."

"They don't need you."

"Why fight if you're already safe?"

"Close your eyes. Rest."

Lira gritted her teeth. "That's not my voice."

"No," Isaac said, "it's his."

"Belphegor's not attacking us. His dream is."

They made camp in a dry alcove, lighting a flame that flickered oddly—slower than it should.

Sylvalen wrapped a protection charm around Lira's wrist and gave Isaac a steady look.

"We cannot stay long."

Isaac stared into the flame.

"No. If we linger, we'll forget why we came."

"And if we forget…"

His hand curled into a fist.

"He wins without ever waking up."

He stood.

"Let's go wake a god."