He died.
And it hurt.
When he opened his eyes again, the world was too still. Too quiet.
The air didn't feel like air.
His body didn't feel like his.
And his mind?
It was still back there.
Under that sword.
[Respawn Complete]
[HP: 20/20]
[Status: Normal]
[Location: Trial Platform]
Normal?
Was this normal?
He tried to breathe, but his chest felt too tight — like the blade was still there. He touched his ribs. Nothing. But his body remembered. His skin twitched with every phantom crack.
"I… died," he whispered.
The words came out hoarse.
And then louder, like he needed to convince the system, the air, himself:
"I DIED."
He doubled over, hands digging into the stone platform.
His vision blurred. He wasn't crying. But his eyes stung like hell.
He remembered the moment too clearly.
The Guardian's blade.
The acid hissing.
The feeling of his chest caving in.
His lungs collapsing.
His vision dimming like someone turned the world off.
And then…
Nothing.
And now—this.
Was he trapped?
Would he just die again?
Was this the loop? Some hell? Some sick joke?
"I'm not ready," he muttered. "I'm not—"
His breath caught.
He looked up.
The Trial Guardian stood where it had always been.
Unmoving.
Like it had never killed him.
Like it didn't care.
Like nothing had changed.
But he had.
His legs shook.
His fingers curled into fists, then loosened. Over and over. Like his body couldn't decide if it wanted to fight or run or just fall apart.
"Not again," he whispered. "Not again, not again, not again—"
He vomited.
Pain. Acid. Shame.
Then silence again.
Something cracked inside his head.
Not pain.
Something quieter. Deeper.
The voice that panicked — that thought — just… stopped.
Like a switch flipped.
His limbs stopped shaking.
His lungs calmed.
His grip tightened on the hilt of the rusted sword again — not because he willed it, but because something else did.
There were no more plans.
No strategies.
Only one thing left:
Kill or die again.
He stood up.
Not proud.
Not brave.
Just upright.
He walked forward.
The Guardian noticed.
Its head tilted slightly, like before.
[Engagement Triggered – Trial Guardian]
It moved first.
He didn't remember dodging.
But he was already inside its guard — swinging wide with the full arc of his shoulder. A brutal, inefficient strike — no form, no technique.
Just violence.
The blade scraped its helm. Sparks flew.
It countered with a punch.
[HP: 20/20 → 16/20]
His head snapped sideways — blood filled his mouth.
He responded by biting the Guardian's wrist as it grabbed him.
[Instinct Mode: Triggered]
[AUTO-BATTLE – Logging Active (Dormant)]
He screamed.
Not words.
Not rage.
Just noise.
He stabbed the dagger under its arm.
Slammed his shoulder into its hip.
Headbutted its chest.
The Guardian grabbed him by the throat.
Lifted him.
He flailed. Reached down. Ripped a shard of his broken blade from the ground and jammed it into the exposed inner knee plate.
[Damage: 3]
[HP: 16/20 → 10/20]
It dropped him.
He rolled.
Brought the rusted sword around in a wide, clumsy sweep — pure instinct.
It collided with the Guardian's sword arm.
Didn't cut.
But pushed it off balance.
He pounced.
Used his entire weight to knock the enemy down.
They slammed into the altar stones.
He mounted the armor — knees on chest — and began stabbing down blindly.
Again.
Again.
Again.
[Damage: 1]
[Damage: 1]
[Damage: 2 – Critical Point]
His vision was black at the edges.
Every breath was pain.
Every motion, fire.
The Guardian kicked him off.
He rolled across the stones.
Got up.
Charged again.
Steel met steel.
He didn't even try to parry.
He slammed into it, grappled with its arm, dragged it to the ground again.
Feral.
Maddened.
Unstoppable.
He didn't win because he was strong.
He won because he was the only one who refused to stop moving.
Finally, the Guardian slumped.
Its helm caved.
Its body crumbled to one knee.
He stood over it.
Dagger in hand.
He hesitated only for a second —
Then stabbed through the last open joint under the chin.
[Trial Guardian Defeated]
[HP: 3/20]
[XP: 0]
[Level: 1]
[Skill Pattern: AUTO-BATTLE (Locked – Pending Exit)]
[Vow Echo: "Refusal to Die" Registered]
He staggered back.
Looked at his hands.
Blood.
Some his.
Most not.
He didn't feel proud.
Didn't feel anything.
Just the hum of something dangerous under his skin.
"I killed it," he whispered.
No applause.
No reward.
Only silence.
And a door — now glowing faintly behind the altar.
The way out.
But he didn't move toward it.