Kimura let the silence stretch between himself and the System. The endless screens, their sterile light and mechanical tone, gnawed at his nerves like rats chewing on a corpse.
For a soldier, silence had always been a shield. In the field, silence meant discipline, survival, control. But here, no matter how he clenched his jaw, the silence did not change the fact: he was trapped in a world he didn't understand, with an executioner's noose tightening around his neck.
Still, silence was better than answering that machine's voice.
He moved through the shattered remains of Scaletron City, boots grinding against gravel and cracked stone. The air carried the stench of dust and something faintly metallic—blood long dried into the ruins.
His eyes swept the rubble with soldierly precision, searching for anything edible. Hunger gnawed at him, sharp and insistent, a hunger that had grown fiercer since the metamorphosis had warped his body.
"System."
His voice was low, roughened by fatigue.
"Tell me—can I return home now, or is that mercy still locked away?"
A shimmer cut across his vision.
[Return denied. A hunter may only return after sufficient achievements.]
Kimura exhaled hard through his nose, the sound halfway between a scoff and a snarl. He crouched and shoved a boulder aside with a grunt. Stone scraped against stone, and dust rolled into his face. Beneath it, life clung stubbornly: a bush sagging under clusters of purple berries.
He plucked one, turning it between calloused fingers. Its skin was sticky, soft. His stomach clenched in anticipation. "Achievements, is it? Define them."
[Requirements:
– Complete the examination trials of 108 escaped monsters.
– Reach Combat Power 108.
– Clear all 25 main dungeons.
– Defeat all dungeon bosses.
Only then may the hunter return.]
Kimura tossed the berry into his mouth. Its tart juice burst across his tongue, sour enough to sting, bitter enough to remind him of army rations chewed down in the field. He swallowed without expression.
"So that's the leash."
Another shimmer ticked at the edge of his vision.
[Alternative return method available:
– Summoning travel requires 100 D.E.N. coins.
– A mission tied to the hunter's home world.]
He popped another handful of the purple berries into his mouth. His jaw tightened as the juices trickled down his throat, but hunger drowned his caution.
"And these coins—how does a man bleed them out of this nightmare?"
[Methods: Slay monsters. Complete daily quests. Convert combat power.]
Kimura barked out a short, humorless laugh. "Just like a game. Except the pieces on this board are human lives."
His eyes sharpened, voice clipped with military weight. "Show me the earning index."
Monster & Coin Table[Low-rank monster: 1 coin]
[Mid-rank: 2 coins]
[Hard-rank: 4 coins]
[Hell-rank: 8 coins]
[Purgatory (mutated low–hard): 18 coins]
[Nether (mutated hell bosses): 40 coins]
[Daily Quests: 1–150 coins]
[Combat Power Conversion: 1 CP = 50 coins]
[Current balance: 1 coin]
Kimura sat heavily on a broken runic pillar. The cold edge bit into his thighs, grounding him in the present. His eyes narrowed at the floating panel.
"System… explain combat power. Spare me riddles."
[Combat Power (CP) = total sum of physical, mental, and spiritual capabilities.
Each CP increase compounds growth.
Example: CP 2 = 2% stronger than CP 1. CP 3 = 3% stronger than CP 2, etc.]
Kimura's voice dropped into steel. "And Vanko?"
[Chris Vanko: Combat Power 65.]
Silence pressed heavy, thicker than any battlefield fog. His soldier's mind had endured death, loss, mutation, despair—but this number defied comprehension.
"How strong does that make him?"
His throat scraped as he forced the words out, clipped and heavy.
[Capable of erasing a country with minimal effort.]
His fists curled so tight his nails carved crescents into his palms. Heat prickled behind his eyes, fury grinding against grief.
"You call him player. Define it."
[Definition: A player is a singular anomaly, born once every 370 billion years.
Duty: collect dungeon energy (90% to the universe, 10% to themselves).
Unlike fictional protagonists, players are real—finite and unique.]
A bitter laugh tore from him, sharp as glass. "And fate chose him? That butcher?"
[Selection process is random.]
Kimura's jaw ached from clenching.
"Random? No. That devil carries the luck of gods."
[Note: Chris Vanko has not entered dungeons for a decade. Growth halted. Causes: Lust, Pride, Gluttony, Sloth, Greed, Demonic Nature.]
A grim smile ghosted across his face, though his eyes remained cold.
"Then he's rotting in his own filth. Revenge isn't impossible after all."
[Holy Land barrier prevents monster entry. Exception: Hell-rank bosses CP 45–50.]
Kimura's breath caught, shoulders stiffening. The image of the golden skeleton flashed across his mind, bones grinding, hollow sockets burning. He forced his jaw to unclench, chest rising slow. For now, the dome held.
In the distance, a glow pierced the gray horizon. The Tree of Faded Knowledge rose like a monument of gods, its trunk shimmering gold, veins of silver and green weaving across its bark. Leaves burned like jewels—purple, sky-blue, azure, gold—shedding an aura that pressed calm into his chest, unwelcome yet irresistible.
"System. Open Map."
[Location: Dungeon 25 – Land of Scaletons.
Current position: Scaletron City center. Holy Land of Cosmic Trinity (G.O.D.).
Destination: Tree of Faded Knowledge – 239 km northeast. Estimated travel: 13 hours.]
A silver arrow blinked before him, pulsing faintly.
Kimura spat into the dust, the tang of iron coating his tongue. "Thirteen hours? Fine." His spine straightened, the rhythm of old discipline hardening his body.
"Let's see if these legs still remember war fields." He broke into a sprint.
Six hours laterSweat slicked his body, stinging his eyes, soaking what remained of his clothing. His breath rasped in his ears, chest pumping like iron bellows. Each step struck stone, grit grinding into his soles.
The ruins shifted as he ran. Runic pillars rose, glowing in impossible colors—green, black, gold, hues beyond the spectrum of memory. Their strange light carved the dust into shapes, shadows moving like phantoms. His lungs burned, throat raw, but his stride did not falter.
"System—why doesn't my stamina break?" The words tore from clenched teeth, sharp with effort.
[Status analysis available.]
"No. I don't trust you fully yet."
[Full analysis is the only way to evaluate body, mind, and soul.]
"Later." Spittle flew from his lips, his face twisted in defiance. "For now, I'll run myself into the ground. That's my analysis."
[Acknowledged. Initiating Temporary shutdown.]
The panels winked out. Silence closed in, filled only by his heartbeat, ragged breath, the scrape of boots against stone.
"Exhaustion is the only leash I have left."
Hours bled together. Pain crawled up his calves, into his thighs, settling into his bones. But he forced rhythm into his body—inhale, exhale, step, step. A soldier's march against the world.
At last, the golden canopy crowned the horizon. Kimura staggered beneath it, lungs straining, and collapsed onto a rock. His chest rose and fell in jagged bursts.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Control.
Sweat cooled against his skin, leaving him shivering. He closed his eyes and forced his breathing into rhythm. For a moment, beneath the vast trunk and radiant leaves, the world pressed down not as a predator, but as silence.
Hours slipped past. When he opened his eyes again, they were clearer—redness drained, alertness returning. His body still throbbed with ache, scars of metamorphosis pulsing beneath the skin, but discipline steadied him.
Only ragged cloth clung to him now, torn to little more than a soldier's shame. He barely noticed. His hand rose instinctively to his chest—where Saki's locket should rest. His fingers brushed bare flesh.
Kimura froze. The calm shattered like glass under a hammer. Ice water surged through his veins.
"System." His voice came out cold as a blade. "Where is my locket?"
[Accessories were stored in inventory during awakening. Requirement: Combat Power 25 to unlock.]
A vein pulsed at his temple. His hands shook violently. His breath fractured, jagged, chest heaving like a furnace ready to explode.
"You strip me of my family… my body… my very soul. And now"—his voice dropped to a growl, cracking beneath the weight of grief, staring intensly at the screen infront of him—"you dare to lock away the last piece of them?"
The tree's radiant light flickered across his eyes, catching the storm rising inside. Rage clawed its way through his chest, forcing itself up his throat until his voice broke into a roar.
A roar, So strong that his own throat hurts and his vocal cords can't even produced, most of the sound due to the intensity at which he screamed .
"DAMN YOU, SYSTEM! DAMN YOU AND THE GODS WHO BUILT YOU!"
His cry thundered across the holy land, rattling through the branches of the golden tree. It was more than rage: a curse, a vow, and a fracture in his humanity, echoing into a world already broken.
Yet the floating screen, did not respond.
It remained motionless, hovering over the broken man, the runes on it pulsating, as if awaiting for orders.
This act of inhuman indifference and silence only fueled his anger even more.
Knowing fully well, that he is incapable of doing anything to it.
It was, at that moment, he realized the truth, he wasns't alien to but wished, he was oblivious to it.
He is… too powerless… to do anything…