Kimura had been in the D.E.N. for days—maybe more. Time here was a smear: a series of sharp, dangerous moments stitched together by hunger, cold, and the constant calculus of survival. Monsters crawled in the corners of reality; their shapes broke logic. His mission, stripped to its bare bone, remained the same: survive, adapt, kill.
Location: G.O.D. / Scaletron City / D.E.N. / The Tree of Faded Knowledge
"I am Kimura Takatou."
The thought thundered inside him as he balanced on a gnarled root the size of a house. Leaves, coarse and oddly functional, draped his shoulders like poor armor. Each time he moved they whispered—dry, papery sounds that made the scar tissue along his forearm itch.
"The man who has lost everything… and the man who will rise. Rise to end the source of all agony, no matter the cost."
He paused. At the base of the tree, a stone gate yawned—a wound in the trunk carved from something older than rock, older than metal. Five hundred meters wide. Eight hundred tall. The surface felt wrong beneath his palm: not quite cold, not quite warm, as if it remembered suns that never rose.
"Currently," he said, voice low and soldier-precise, making sure to not forget the wounds of the agony, that carved his very flesh into what it is today.
"I'm trapped in a dungeon-city called Scaletron. Thrown here by a demon wearing human skin—Chris Vanko."
He closed the distance until the gate filled his vision, a challenge that did not blink.
"Here, dreams are nightmares. Sleep stretches into decades or centuries while the clock outside ticks a few hours. Anyone else—anyone without a spine hardened by war—would have shattered long ago."
His fingers curled into a fist. The memory of their faces—Saki's laugh, Airi's small hand—stung like salt. "I've considered ending it myself… more than once."
"hehe."
A dry, humorless laugh slipped out of him. "Sigh… System, is this the place?"
[Answering…]
[This is the Temple of Faded Knowledge. The flames of forgotten spirits, experiences, and discoveries once burned here.]
"Flames, huh?" He let his tongue press against his teeth, tasting dust and metallic tang. He traced the surface of the gate with a practiced hand, reading the invisible script like a veteran reading a battlefield map.
[Indeed. The flames are a byproduct of the Tree of Faded Knowledge.]
"So… how do I open it?" He scratched the back of his neck—the smallest crack of uncertainty crossing his otherwise stoic expression.
"No. Better question: why should I even enter?"
[The Hunter, a few days prior, expressed a desire: strength sufficient to return home. The System has devised plans to realize this.]
A tiny, dangerous flicker of hope warmed his chest. It felt like betrayal to welcome it, but human instincts were stubborn things. His heartbeat pushed at his ribs—an animal rhythm.
"You can do that?"
[Not precisely. It is within the core rules embedded in my construction. I am developing as the Hunter's operational aide—to maximize efficiency.]
Kimura's mouth tilted. "Hmm. Confirms my theory."
He looked at the tree, at the rune-cracked ground, then back to the gate. "Alright," he said, voice steady and lethal, "I'll believe you—this once. But know this: betray me and I will kill you. Even if it costs me my last breath."
His eyes burned with an oath born of ash and iron. Every syllable was a promise carved into bone.
[Understood, Hunter.]
"Good. Now tell me how to enter this dungeon—and explain the plan, in full."
[Understood, Hunter. Transferring full data.]
Knowledge hit him like a swarm: particles of alien information, bright and sharp, hammering at the edges of his mind. Images, formulas, procedures—countless and incomprehensible—flooded inward.
"Argh!" He stumbled, teeth gritted. Nerves flared; his skull throbbed as if someone hammered a tent peg against his temples.
[1%… 3%… 5%… 8%… 24%…]
Sound contracted and stretched. The world tilted. He felt the information press against the walls of his skull, probing like cold fingers, relentless and clinical.
He endured.
Time smeared.
[80… 87… 90… 97… 99… 100%]
When the last data thread settled, Kimura let out a long, ragged breath. Tension unknotted from his shoulders as if some invisible load had been set down.
"Sigh… damn it." He put a hand to his temple, tasting iron. For a moment the pain had been obscene—but it had also tasted like progress. "For some reason, that hurt… felt good."
[Answering…]
[System triggered controlled dopamine responses to regulate extreme sensory overload, enabling prolonged endurance without forced shutdown.]
He allowed a fraction of a grin—bitter, brief. "Good. Last time nearly killed me."
He turned his gaze back to the gate, the runes glowing in a slow, patient cadence. "Now… how do we open it?"
[Would you like me to use the status function on the gate?]
"Yes." His reply was careful—trust given in inches. A soldier never surrendered entirely.
[Acknowledgment received.]
[Starting data collection and analysis…]
[Using basic-level D.E.N. information authority.]
[Processing…]
[Process completed.]
The panel shimmered, offering a lattice of symbols and a map of requirements. Kimura scanned it with a soldier's eye, noting not just the demands but the order—priority, cost, risk.
Outside, the wind moved through the tree's leaves like paper fingers. Somewhere deep in Scaletron, something howled—an animal note cut with hunger. Kimura felt it in his chest: a readiness, a load settling into his bones.
"Tell me everything," he said. "No sugarcoating. No lies. What's the first step?"
[THE GATES TO THE FORGOTTEN TEMPLE: CREATED BY AN ELDRICH DEMON SITH'KER DUE TO HIS UNKNOWN REVERANCE TO THE TREE OF THE FORGOTTEN KNOWLEDGE…]
[Step One: Acquire the Gate's Resonance Sequence. Method A: collect three Faded Embers from the surrounding minor altars and subdue their respective guardian construct to extract resonance via forced synchronization. Method B: obtain the main rune stone of Fehu by completing a daily quest.]
[Risk assessment: Method A— low - intermediate difficulty , high rewards.
Method B— intermediate difficulty, mid rewards.]
[Estimated time: Method A—variable; immediate if successful.]
[Additional note: Extraction attempts may attract local predators. Stealth advised.]
Kimura pressed his thumb to the rune nearest him. The glyph hummed faintly beneath his skin, like the echo of a distant drum.
He nearly ignored the entire three page worth of lore, as to him this information is irrelavent at the moment.
His mind focused only on the methods of unlocking the gate.
"Three embers," he repeated. "Altars. Guardians." He chewed the decision over like rations. Risk favored action—an old reflex. But cunning favored patience.
He inhaled slowly, tasted the air—stone, old sap, the ghost of smoke. "We'll take Method A," he said at last. "Low-to-moderate danger. Fewer variables. Stealth. Precision."
[Acknowledged. Planning route…]
[Route plotted: Clockwise sweep. Estimated ember sites: three. Additional resources near Altar Two: possible medicinal lichen.]
Kimura nodded. He felt the cold logic settle in—plans slotting into place like puzzle pieces. The System's voice, clipped and clinical, no longer felt like a razor at his throat. It was a tool. A dangerous one—but useful.
He tightened the makeshift cloak around his shoulders, feeling the strap cut into skin hardened by months of fatigue.
"Alright. Keep the panel link active. If anything hits us, you scream."
The order was half jest, half command.
[Acknowledged. Active monitoring enabled.]
He stepped off the root and into the shadow of the tree, each footfall measured, each breath a metronome. The world around him contracted to the size of targets: a ruined altar, the faint glow of ember dust, the shape of a patrol in the distance.
Somewhere, a bell chimed—low, metallic, like a toll for a forgotten god. Kimura's lips thinned. The hunt had a beginning.
And he would begin, with the weight of his failures knotted at his back and the cold oath of revenge lying light in his throat.
---
Part 3
The air beneath the Tree of Faded Knowledge was heavy, charged with an ancient stillness. Golden veins pulsed faintly along its roots, casting pale light across the shattered ground. Every breath Kimura drew tasted of dust and old power, as though the place itself remembered centuries of forgotten battles.
He stood alone at the base of the colossal trunk, leaves rustling faintly above. His mind circled one truth: if he rushed forward blindly, he would die. He needed strategy—survey, adapt, exploit. But before he could measure any outside threat, he had to measure himself.
His body had been shifting ever since the metamorphosis. Stamina that refused to break, endurance that grew stronger with each passing day. The system had once hinted that he carried "special powers," born under extremes of emotion and strain. If those powers existed, he needed to see them now.
"System," he said, voice firm and controlled. "Run a full evaluation. No omissions."
The air shimmered. A grid of sterile light scrolled across his vision, cold and merciless.
[Combat Power: 1.3]
[Stage: 0]
[Attributes: Void, Space, Time]
[Abilities:
1. Blackhole
2. Space Manipulation
3. Time Manipulation]
[Hunter-Specific Traits:
– Instinct: Intuitively knows the best action in any situation.
– Development (Stamina): Each recovery from exhaustion permanently increases max stamina by 1%.
– Hunter's Physiology: Human race retained, but hidden capabilities can now be unlocked consciously.
– (???) System? (???)]
[Overall nightmares endured:-12]
[Total amount of time in the nightmare Stayed in each
:- 003 days 08 hours 0 seconds]
[Overall Evaluation: Too Weak.]
Kimura's jaw set. Too weak. Always the same verdict.
"What does one Combat Power mean in real terms?" His words were clipped, cold.
The system gave no reply. Silence pressed in. His gaze locked on the last unfinished entry: (???).
"What's this hidden trait?"
[(???) is the hunter's own power, designated as 'System' by him.]
Kimura let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "So it's you. You could've just said that instead of dressing it up."
[Affirmative.]
"Tch."
He studied the panel again, frustration flickering across his face. Attributes without explanation. Abilities with no details. Numbers telling him he was still nothing. Weak. Insignificant. His chest tightened with the old weight of failure.
"Can you at least—" he began.
The voice cut him off.
[Alert: The hunter must not rely entirely on the System. Tools cannot replace discipline. The hunter must perform his share. The System cannot hand him everything.]
Kimura froze. The rebuke hit harder than expected. A soldier should never lean too heavily on his rifle, his orders, or his comrades. He had known that once, lived by it. But here, in this nightmare, desperation had made him slip.
He inhaled slowly, then released it, voice steadying into iron. "You're right. I let myself lean too far. That ends now."
Resolve set his shoulders straight. Whatever trials lay ahead, he would face them not as a man carried by a machine, but as a soldier who carved strength from suffering.
The panel faded. The silence left behind was not empty. It was a vow.
—
Part 4
The world around him was quiet—almost too quiet. Only the faint rustle of leaves and the creak of the half-finished treehouse broke the stillness. Kimura sat cross-legged on the ground, his back leaning against the rough bark of an old oak. His hands, still scarred and raw from the last battle, gripped a crude stone shard. He scraped it across a flat rock, each scrrrk—scrrrk echoing like a caveman's diary.
He grunted. Pathetic. From soldier to caveman. What's next, hunting rabbits with sharpened sticks?
But he had no choice. The system, with all its glitches and vague answers, couldn't be trusted. If he wanted to measure his strength, he'd damn well do it himself. So he carved numbers, approximations, anything that gave him control.
"Alright… speed, force, defense…" His voice was low, muttering as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile quiet. He scrawled, checked, recalculated.
What he found made him freeze.
His hand trembled as the stone scraped halfway across the surface, leaving an ugly jagged line. He stared down at the numbers, reading them again and again, as if repetition might make them less absurd.
Speed: 13 meters per second.
Force: 120 to 600 kilograms.
Jump distance: 8 meters any direction.
Fall resistance: 23 meters.
Memory storage: 2.5 petabytes.
…
"…The hell?" His lips barely formed the words. His heart thudded in his chest, too loud, too real. This can't be right. It's too much. No… it's insane.
Every value mocked him. If a human soldier had these numbers, wars wouldn't last months—they'd be massacres in days.
He swallowed, throat dry, staring at the rock like it had betrayed him. "This is me? This thing… this monster… is me?"
The wind shifted, brushing cool air across his sweat-damp forehead. He wanted to laugh, but his lungs felt tight, refusing release.
Then—
[Congratulations! For doing a critical work and deducing a problem related to your (cp) on your own!]
The voice slammed into his skull like a gunshot.
"GAAAHHH!"
The words weren't heard—they were felt. They blasted through his eardrums, rattled his teeth, reverberated down his spine until his whole body convulsed. He collapsed sideways onto the dirt, palms clamped over his ears as if he could dig out the pain.
Warm liquid oozed. Earwax—or was it blood? He couldn't tell.
[As a reward for this achievement your system (lv 0) has gained (0.1%) increase for (???). Please choose two among the three rewards for the early feats.]
Kimura's breath hitched. His chest locked, air trapped. Panic clawed at him, white sparks bursting in his vision.
"Hhh—haa—" He tried to scream, but nothing came. Instinct roared. His fist slammed into his sternum, once, twice, until with a wet pop his lungs opened. Air ripped through his throat in a violent gasp.
"Haa! Gha! Haa!" He rolled onto his knees, body heaving, spittle stringing between his lips. Every breath felt like swallowing fire.
"FUCK! System, what the hell was that for!" His voice cracked, guttural with rage, his hands still pressed to his leaking ears. "Didn't I tell you—adjust the goddamn volume?!"
[Apology for… the incompetence,] the system's tone droned, strangely flat, as if embarrassed. [The system is still in learning phase. It was not able to explain the auto-audio adaptive function properly.]
Kimura's blood boiled. His temple throbbed so violently it felt like veins would burst. He spat into the dirt, lips curling back in a snarl.
"Sigh? You think I'm sighing?!" His voice cracked again, spitting venom into the night. "Why can't you explain things from the start? Why do I have to almost die every time just to get a clue out of you!?"
He staggered upright, chest rising and falling like a man fresh from drowning. His fists clenched until his nails dug crescent moons into his palms.
"Is it too much to ask?!" He threw his head back and roared to the canopy of trees above. His voice echoed through the silent forest, startling birds into flight.
"YOU DAMN SYSTEEEMMMM!"
The echo returned to him, mocking, hollow. For a moment, it wasn't just a scream at the system—it was at the world, at fate, at the cruel weight pressing down on his soul.
And somewhere, hidden between his fury and the system's lifeless apology, the forest itself seemed to hold its breath.
–––
Kimura's roar faded into the night, swallowed by the trees, leaving behind a ragged silence. His throat burned, chest tight, but the rage still coursed through his veins, hot and poisonous. He dropped back down to the dirt, pressing his palms over his eyes.
"Unbelievable…" His voice cracked into a laugh—half bitter, half hysterical. "I once thought AIs would take over the world. Efficient, unstoppable. Machines without human flaws, right?"
He let his hands slide down his face, fingers dragging lines across sweat-slick skin. The laughter curdled into a snarl. "With this level of intelligence, you're not an artificial intelligence—you're artificial waste."
The words burst out like bile, his voice breaking the forest's hush.
[Would you like to know the content of auto-audio adaptive mode?]
Kimura's head jerked toward the floating interface, glaring at the glowing words as if his fury could burn them away.
"Tch." He clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing. "No need. I can already guess from the damn name." His tone was flat, but his jaw flexed, teeth grinding as if chewing on broken glass.
The system's screen pulsed faintly, then—glitched. Just for a heartbeat. A ripple across its surface, like something beneath the data stirred uneasily.
Kimura's breath hitched. "What the hell was that?" He stepped closer, eyes narrowing at the distortion.
[Nothing…]
The delay between letters was a fraction too long, a hesitation the system had never shown before.
[…You didn't check for your rewards…]
A chill skated down Kimura's spine. "Hmm…" He squinted at the screen, suspicion gnawing. That pause… like it was hiding something.
"Show them to me." His voice was sharp, cutting, like a command barked in a warzone.
The light flickered, steadied, then projected the choices in clean, cold text:
---
[Choose your rewards:]
1. Necrotic Locket of Gala
(Origin: ???)
(Effects:)
Grants owner ability to phase through solid matter.
Bestows limited invisibility.
Can perceive ghosts.
???
2. +1 Totem of Time Reversal (Low)
(If used, causes you to respawn 24 hours before. May cause ???)
3. Potion of Vigor Recovery (Small) ×2
(Effect: Restores vigor at 1% per second for 3 minutes. All vigor types.)
---
Part 5
Kimura's jaw dropped. "Damn…" The word came out as a whisper, reverent despite himself. "These… these are insane."
The night air seemed to press closer, as if the world itself leaned in to witness his choice. His fingers twitched, itching to grab the phantom items through the glowing screen.
His eyes traced the locket's description, lingering on the word "ghosts." His throat tightened. Saki. Airi. For a second, he swore he could hear laughter—his daughter's small voice, distant and brittle, like an echo caught between worlds.
He swallowed hard, tearing his gaze away. His eyes locked on the second option—and widened.
"What?!" His voice cracked, high and sharp. He stepped back as if the screen itself had struck him. His eyes glowed faintly, pupils narrowing, disbelief scrawled across his face.
"Respawn? Did I read that right?" His voice dropped to a rasp, almost reverent. "Time reversal?"
The words tasted unreal on his tongue. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the world. Images flashed through his mind—Saki's hand slipping from his, Airi's screams cut short, blood pooling beneath them. His body trembled, a shiver crawling down his spine.
This wasn't just an item. This was salvation. Or damnation.
"Twenty-four hours before…" He muttered, his hand hovering near the screen, fingers trembling. "If I had this before… I could've—" His voice cracked. He clenched his fist, slamming it into the dirt. Soil sprayed, pain lancing up his knuckles.
"But at what cost?" His eyes narrowed, sharp with suspicion. The ??? burned into his sight. Unknown variables. Unknown consequences. He knew better than anyone that power always carried a price.
His breathing slowed, harsh and deliberate. He forced himself upright, straightening his spine. The forest pressed in around him, shadows stretching long and sharp.
"System," he said finally, voice low and edged with steel. "These rewards… where do they come from? Who made them? And don't you dare say 'data unavailable.'"
The screen flickered again. Letters appeared, stuttering, like something struggling to form words:
[Origin: …]
[Origin: …not accessible at this level.]
The hesitation wasn't lost on him. His gut twisted. You're hiding something. And it's not incompetence.
His gaze flicked back to the rewards, tension coiled in his chest. The locket, a tool for slipping past guardians, for glimpsing ghosts of the past. The potions, practical, simple. But the Totem…
The Totem glowed faintly, its description etched in faintly pulsing text, as if it were alive. Or waiting.
Kimura's lips curled into a humorless smile, bitter and sharp. "Of course. Out of all the insane options, the one I want most is the one wrapped in question marks."
He let the silence stretch, the air thick with his unease and the system's quiet hum. His eyes narrowed, a soldier's stare dissecting every angle, every possible trap.
Finally, he whispered, more to himself than the machine: "This world just keeps stacking the deck. And I'm still the poor bastard forced to play."
The screen pulsed again, patient, waiting for his choice.
Kimura's hand clenched, trembling, torn between temptation and dread.