[Day 22 — 6:30 PM]
When Link returned to base, the setting sun painted the lingering chill of the snowfield into a deep orange glow.
The air was warm.
But the cold from the underground still clung to his body.
—A fatigue that had settled into his bones after nearly two days below the ice.
He had already completed his transformation.
The heart in his chest beat steadily, powerfully.
Three hundred HP.
Enough to survive what would once have been a fatal mistake.
But Link did not relax.
As a programmer, he understood one thing clearly:
Stat growth was only the foundation.
What truly determined victory—
was stacking.
Buffs.
States.
Margin for error.
Operational space at the edge of failure.
He walked up to the second floor.
Near the window, he placed a delicate pink vase.
Filled it with clear water.
In this world—
that was an alchemy station.
"Let's begin."
Link closed his eyes.
Memory loaded.
Not recalled—
executed.
Like running a function he had written long ago.
He took out his materials:
Daybloom.
Blinkroot.
Shiverthorn.
Each was sorted.
Prepared.
Arranged.
No wasted movement.
First Potion: Ironskin Potion
Daybloom mixed with powdered iron.
The liquid turned cloudy.
Heavy.
Dull gray with a metallic sheen.
Link took a small sip.
His skin tightened.
As if something unseen had layered over it.
At the edge of his vision—
numbers shifted.
Defense increased.
"…Stable."
Second Potion: Regeneration Potion
The liquid rotated slowly in the bottle.
Not visually.
Energetically.
Link stared at it and murmured:
"Accelerates tissue repair…"
"Extends survival window."
He didn't drink it.
He placed it within immediate reach.
Third & Fourth
Swiftness Potion.
Archery Potion.
Completed one by one.
A row of bottles shimmered faintly under the moonlight.
Only then did Link exhale.
Not because he felt safe.
But because—
he had control over the variables.
[9:00 PM]
"Hey, hero."
A voice came from the doorway.
The Merchant leaned against the frame, flipping a gold coin between his fingers.
"Planning a battle, or planning your funeral?"
Link didn't turn.
"Contingency."
"That thing in the Corruption isn't beaten by luck."
The Merchant chuckled.
Then stopped.
He tossed something over.
Dynamite.
Thick red cylinders.
Heavy.
"What you asked for."
"Use it carefully."
His tone lowered slightly.
"I like making money."
"But I don't like running a shop no one comes back to."
Link caught it.
Nodded.
The Nurse passed by with a basin of hot water.
She glanced at his hands.
The frostbite not yet fully healed.
Frowned.
"Three hundred HP is impressive."
Her tone was calm.
"But if you turn yourself into a pile of meat—"
She paused.
Looked directly at him.
"I can't put you back together."
She walked away.
Silence settled in the room.
Link stood there.
Looking at the potions.
Their words weren't kind.
Some were sharp.
But he understood—
This wasn't system dialogue.
These were people.
In this world—
they weren't NPCs.
They were survivors.
Just like him.
[11:45 PM]
Link stepped onto the terrace.
The Guide was already there.
No book.
No movement.
Just standing.
Looking into the distance.
Toward the Corruption.
The wind stirred his cloak.
His silhouette—
too still.
Too quiet.
"You're going."
The Guide spoke.
Not a question.
A statement.
Link stepped beside him.
"I'm clearing it."
A faint laugh.
"Clearing?"
The Guide turned.
For a moment—
his eyes didn't look human.
"The Corruption is a wound."
"The Eater of Worlds…"
"…is the scab."
Link frowned.
The Guide continued:
"You broke the Shadow Orbs."
"You tore the world open."
"The stronger you become—"
"the more unstable it gets."
The air grew colder.
Link stared at him.
"…What are you?"
Silence.
A long pause.
The Guide reached into his cloak.
And handed him something.
A doll.
Roughly stitched.
Its shape—
resembled him.
"You don't need to know yet."
His voice returned to calm.
"If you can kill it—"
"Then you've earned your ticket."
"To hell."
Link took the doll.
"And then?"
No answer.
Only this:
"When you get there…"
"If you're ready to face the truth—"
"Throw it into the lava."
The Guide turned.
Stepped into the darkness.
His final words drifted back with the wind:
"Power has a cost."
"I hope you won't regret it."
Link stood still.
Holding the doll.
Warm.
Not like an object.
Like—
something alive.
He didn't ask anything else.
He turned.
Walked toward the teleporter.
The potions in his bag clinked softly.
Rhythmic.
Like a countdown.
Next stop—
the depths of the Corruption.