Watching Iver, Sherlock gave him an astonished look. "You're actually... reasoning it out?"
Sherlock had grown used to Iver directly arriving at mysterious yet correct conclusions. But now Iver was seriously thinking and reasoning it out. Although he had concealed some of his knowledge to reach the correct conclusion faster than Sherlock, at least this time, there was a reasoning process that others could understand.
"Can't be helped."
Iver spread his hands. "If I don't solve it step by step, I'm worried my thoughts will be rewritten again."
The most terrifying form of the Void Box was when no one knew it existed.
In that case, it could practically be called "fate" itself.
But as long as someone realized it existed—or even went further and figured out how it worked—it was actually quite easy to crack.
Under such circumstances, the simplest, most straightforward, and most correct approach was to answer the question step by step.
It was like a high school student solving a middle school math problem. The answer might not be obvious at a glance, but after one look, they could at least get a general idea. There was no need to solve it step by step; they could simply give the answer directly.
—and that was where the Void Box could interfere.
When you thought a question was so simple that it couldn't possibly be any simpler, you would casually give an answer. But the Void Box would rewrite your subconscious, making you overlook a few words or numbers and give a completely wrong answer—while remaining absolutely convinced that you were right.
That was also why Iver had not directly sought help from the gods through prayer.
Even if a god gave Iver the correct answer, the answer in his mind could be rewritten with ease. And