I remained frozen, my heart pounding in my chest, my legs shaking. Slowly, I sank down and cradled my face in my hands. The ramifications of that small summon were too much to bear.

No matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise, to believe it was all a mistake, denying what I truly was became increasingly challenging. And the judgments of others made it even harder to escape that truth.

I lifted my head, half-expecting to behold the majestic sight of Deimos reigning above me in all its glory, only to be met with the familiar earthly full moon. I inhaled deeply, grappling with the profound question.

Was I genuinely a child of Deimos, a demon brought into existence just days ago, harboring peculiar recollections of three distinct lives in my mind? Or was I the amalgamation of Cala, Dolores, and White Flower, infused with so much demonic darkness that even summoning magic struggled to discern the truth?

As my mind grappled with these questions and struggled to make sense of them, something unusual and disconcerting started to occur within my body.

It wasn't necessarily a bad thing. While my breathing quickened and my heartbeats grew stronger, I felt like a surge of power was being unleashed and flowing through my veins, as if a constricting hold that had been suffocating me was gradually loosening.

I clenched my fists, sensing the gathering power in my hands and arms. I cracked my neck and took a deep breath, relishing the clean, refreshing air filling my lungs. My hands and legs were now pulsing with newfound strength!

I started to feel better and was savoring the moment. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes to enjoy the moment, and then, upon reopening them and glancing at my body, I couldn't help but snort in annoyance. It seemed like even the slightest joy came at a cost as if I would be penalized for feeling better. In the dim moonlight, I could see that my blouse had become frayed, revealing a partial view of my breasts beneath.

It was a minor annoyance, and it provided an explanation for the curious glances I received lately from that old wizard. He must have believed that I was intentionally causing it.

I cursed under my breath.

I had only mended it yesterday, and now the blouse was unraveled once more. Had I accidentally damaged it? When and how did it happen? Could it be that the summoning had somehow caused the damage?

I have this little quirk that makes me really uncomfortable when my clothing is in disarray. I feel the need to be at least decently dressed and not wearing tattered pieces, almost as if it's a deep-seated belief that has been with me since childhood. I can't seem to shake it. I've often wondered if it might be related to some form of PTSD from all those hours spent playing with and dressing up dolls.

I attempted to mend the blouse with a single 'heal', but it didn't quite do the trick, although it did show some improvement.

To get a better look at it and work on it more effectively, I took it off and lit up the area. Upon closer inspection, I could still see some clumps and holes in the fabric; it wasn't perfectly restored. I made several more attempts at repairing it, and it was only with the third spell that it began to look almost as good as new.

Hmm, why did it take me so much longer to repair it this time? Was there some unknown to me issue with magical materials? Ah, well, what mattered was that it was fixed.

Well, the material was fixed, but it was stained. While I did examine the bloodstains, I was asking myself what should I do about them? I had already attempted to tackle a stain problem once, and the evidence of my failure was still in Hew's cabin trash. But maybe I went about it the wrong way. These were bloodstains, which are biological matter, right? The most effective way to remove biological matter is with dark spells, isn't it?

Well, perhaps I should give another spell a try. Anyway, if I ended up damaging the blouse, I could simply use my healing spell again... I focused on the blouse and merged the wind spell with a dark bolt spell, directing it at the stains. It was quite a complex spell, to be honest, so I decided to start with a smaller area and progressed slowly over the rest of the blouse. I concentrated on my intent and observed in fascination as tiny specks lifted from the blouse, disintegrating in the air. It was like countless miniature fiery insects taking flight from my garment. A strange and silent spectacle.

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It consumed a significant portion of my mana, but in the end, I was astonished to see my blouse clean. Well, it still requires a bit more fine-tuning to avoid damaging the fabric and reduce the disproportionate use of mana, but the spell is effective.

Feeling excited, I removed my boots, socks, trousers, and even my underwear to test the spell. And it worked like a charm! It can remove all sorts of stains! Every article of my clothing was now sparkling clean. I need to patent this!

This little triumph lifted my spirits surprisingly well, and I celebrated with another victory dance, basking in the moonlight in my birthday suit. It's amazing how fixing my wardrobe can make everything seem better!

There was one minor flaw, though: my claws had punctured the socks. Unfortunately, these didn't have the size-adjusting feature like my boots. Well, nobody's perfect, right? I didn't have any more mana to repair the socks, so that would have to wait.

I took a deep breath. Alright, with the most pressing issue resolved - my wardrobe fixed - I dressed back up and made another attempt to identify myself.

I used White Flower's spell to create a mirror in the air and frowned when I saw that it wasn't as flawless as I'd expected. I was accustomed to perfectly clean mirrors, but this one fell short. Perhaps it was because I had so little mana left? I was genuinely feeling drained!

I shrugged, somewhat disappointed, and began the self-identification process in the mirror.

"Demon, black magic, arcane magic, elemental magic, level twenty-six (??????? ??????)."

When playing the game, the computer would display a small screen with the information provided by the spells. However, in the real world, I didn't have the dream interface. There's no massive computer system here that neatly labels everything and provides selective access to a library of information.

The identification spell involved sending a tiny speck of my mana, or what Flo called magic, toward a target. This speck of magic would interact with the target's own magic, collect some information from the interaction, and then return to me.

Well, it comes back because there's a reflection process when two strands of magic meet. This returning speck of magic, now even smaller, will interact with my own magic aura. If it can interpret it, I'll know the result.

It's like touching something with your hand and having your brain process the result. You feel whether it's rough, hard, or smooth, and you understand it, not in written form, but in a sensory way.

When I used that spell on Aline, I suddenly knew she was a fire mage and her level. But when I tried it on my own hand or leg, I only circulated the same mana inside my body, which told me nothing.

But how to send that speck of mana away from you and make it return to hit you? Well, you use a mirror! Magic is partially reflected by some mirrors but not very efficiently. I'd estimate around five to ten percent. To identify yourself, you need two reflections. First, when you send the tiny speck of mana toward the mirror, it gets reflected and then identifies you. Second, it gets reflected from you back to the mirror and then back to you for interpretation. This means you're dealing with around two times ten percent efficiency at best, resulting in a very weak answer and explaining the challenges of self-identification.

Actually, this shouldn't be necessary. I mean, you should know what you are, right?

Well, I did use the spell, and now I felt uncertain about how to interpret the newfound information about myself because, in reality, I should already know what I am. The results were just confusing me.

After casting the spell, it felt like I knew that I was a demon, but I also knew that I wasn't. I wasn't too alarmed, as the spell is no more than a trained muscle, delivering answers it was trained to provide under specific conditions. Demons are filled with black magic, and I also had a significant amount of it.

My black magic came directly from Ha'Des, which is where all demons originate, so it made sense that the spell might go astray and assume I was a demon. There's always a distinct flavor to magic, and not all black magic is the same.

So far, so good, but what's the deal with those summons? As Aline put it, "Why are you here?" Yeah, why was I there in the first place? Were the summons also puzzled by the source of my magic?

I repeated the spell once more.

"Demon, black magic, arcane magic, elemental magic, level twenty-six (??????? ??????)"

It did recognize more of my magic. Could this be because of the better quality of the mirror I used compared to the one inside the tower? Was that also the explanation for my evidently incorrect level?

But what's the deal with that level?

Sweat began to bead on my demon's face. I tried various spells, starting with the fireball and then moving to the thunderstrike and ice lance. However, ice lance had transformed into some kind of snow bolt, thunderstrike resulted in only a weak electrical shock, and fireball was the only one that seemed somewhat decent but still far below what I should be able to cast.

I felt a lump in my throat when I realized that I truly was at level twenty-six. I gazed again at the faint image of the demon I saw in the mirror, then sat down and started to cry. It was like the old saying: If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it's a duck.

I was a level twenty-six demon, with a level not much higher than Spartacius.

I was fucked to such a degree that it rendered me speechless. There was nothing I could do but cry.