His consciousness spread outward from its center, revealing the three-dimensional structure of space in a way he had never experienced before. Everything became noticeably blurry beyond four or five paces. His perception just reached the inn's front door, ten paces away, and couldn't extend any farther.
Setting aside his predicament, Kraft was still pretty happy with this new sensory organ—happy in the literal sense. With this open perspective, he could observe the inner workings of his own body and watch his heart pump blood into his arteries. Nothing in the world had ever felt so novel.
Even though his mind was still in the final stages of reconstruction, nothing could stop Kraft from being swept up in an unexpected fit of elation. For a moment, he forgot he was in another world, forgot he was being hunted, forgot that there was anything else he could forget. This sense overwhelmed his broken, incomplete mind.
Kraft wanted to announce to everyone he knew: From today on, I'm CT, I'm MRI, I'm ultrasound—I'm an entire radiology department!
Perhaps because the reconstruction of his logic was not yet complete, the absurd joy lasted for quite a while. He gleefully used this sense to examine anything that caught his interest, including himself: wooden planks, stone bricks, his chest cavity, his abdomen, even his own brain. He couldn't find a single blind spot.
Just as he was about to carefully "scan" the inner workings of his sword, a sudden headache interrupted him, forcing his attention away from Spiritual Perspective.
It seemed his consciousness had reached the limit of what it could bear and couldn't take in any more information of this kind. Apparently, senses that weren't innate didn't mesh well with the human body. He couldn't use it for long; the hardware just wasn't up to