Part 1
Kimura sat on a weathered stone slab, its edges rough enough to bite into his skin. The cold from it crawled upward, chilling the marrow of his bones. His eyes, however, were far from the discomfort—they were glued to the faintly glowing screen in front of him. His expression, usually composed even under fire, now betrayed an unguarded bewilderment.
"So…" His voice cracked faintly, as if he was afraid of hearing his own words. "…you're saying I can literally respawn back in time?"
The silence stretched for a beat, broken only by the faint hum of the colossal tree behind him. Then the answer appeared, calm and indifferent as always:
[ Affirmative, Hunter. ]
The words burned themselves into his vision. His breath caught in his throat. He had seen monsters, ghosts, and horrors draped in blood and shadow—but this? This was beyond insanity. To bend time itself…
He forced his gaze downward, tracing the glowing corner of the screen where the label [Low Level] pulsed softly, mockingly.
"…Low level?" The disbelief in his tone snapped into anger. His voice grew louder, trembling at the edges. "How can something that manipulates time—one of many things we humans can't buy, beg for, or fight against—be called low level!?"
The reply was instantaneous, unfeeling:
[ Answer: Three main reasons.
1. A hard cap on the reversal (24 hours).
2. ??? Penalty upon activation.
3. One-time use only. ]
The panel faded back into its steady glow, as if it had delivered a final judgment.
Kimura clenched his fists until his knuckles cracked. His lips parted, but no words came. At last, he released a long breath that trembled as it left him.
"…Figures." He leaned back slightly, the exhaustion pooling in his voice. "Even miracles bleed loopholes."
Yet, despite the frustration, a current of excitement wormed its way into his chest. The thought itself was a dangerous comfort: a second chance, a lifeline carved into time itself. His pulse quickened with something he hadn't felt in days—hope.
"In these past few days…" His whisper wavered, heavy with memory. "…I've watched men break, I've endured sights no sane mind should carry, and I've bled through nightmares stitched into reality." His fists trembled, tightening against the stone. "And still… this place never fails to surprise me."
He raised his head slowly. The air itself felt heavier, pressing down on his shoulders. Somewhere beyond the limits of perception, a gaze seemed to pierce through the thin shell of his existence. He couldn't see it, but his instincts screamed. The kind of primal warning no training could override.
"It's as if… I'm being watched." His throat tightened. "…and yet… not."
A shiver rippled down his spine. He shook it off with effort, though his hand had already moved unconsciously to the hilt at his side.
His gaze wandered to the landscape. To the massive trunk of the Tree of Faded Knowledge—its branches clawed toward a sky that had no sun, no stars, only a dim glow like embers behind smoke. Shattered pillars rose from the earth, etched with runes that pulsed faintly with an otherworldly rhythm, like dying heartbeats. The soil itself glimmered in golden-green hues, as though fragments of memory had been buried beneath it.
And then—the gate.
Embedded into the tree's heart, the massive gate curved like the maw of a beast about to awaken. The bark around it was charred black, veins of light stretching outward like roots spanning continents. The roots themselves slithered across the ground, vanishing into horizons unseen.
Kimura let out a dry laugh that died quickly in his throat. "Heh… Well, that's not my problem. Not right now."
Yet the words rang hollow even to him. The weight of the gate's silent presence pressed against his mind like a storm waiting to break.
"System." His voice regained its edge, tone hardened into command. "Open the map. Pinpoint the three altars."
[ Affirmative. ]
Swosh!
A new panel bloomed into existence, its light painting faint lines across his scarred face. A miniature map unfolded—delicate, glowing threads stretched across a landscape of darkness. Three markers pulsed like faint stars.
Kimura leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Hmm. You Adjusted the scale?"
[ Yes, Hunter. ]
He studied the details with the precision of a tactician. Every curve of the terrain, every shadow, every possible choke point—he committed them to memory. He could almost feel the sweat of decision making in the air, the invisible weight of the battlefield pressing into his mind.
His eyes hardened as he traced the markers with a calloused fingertip.
"The Altar of Lingering Spirit…" His lips thinned. "Three minutes at full sprint." He shifted, calculating. "The Altars of Lingering Discovery and Lingering Experience… six to ten minutes more, depending on the path."
The numbers rattled through his mind, slotting into plans like gears clicking into place. Plans within plans, contingencies layered like armor.
At last, his gaze returned to the reward panel. His chest rose with determination.
"Alright then…" He whispered into the silence, the glow of the screen dancing in his eyes. "…choose options 3 and 1."
---
Part 2
[ Affirmative. ]
The screen pulsed once, then unfolded into a new form.
Swish!
A diamond-shaped blue panel shimmered before Kimura, its edges spinning faintly like a compass locked on something unseen. Inside, an avatar of him stood still, rendered with unnerving accuracy—from the scars that lined his jaw to the hard set of his shoulders. Around the avatar's spine floated multiple colored orbs, dim and lifeless, spiraling as though waiting for a breath to awaken them.
[ Equip-able Items:
1. Locket of Gala
2. Potion of Vigor Recovery (Small) ×2 ]
Kimura raised a brow, leaning closer. His instincts screamed this was important—not some shallow cosmetic interface, but something deeper, like anatomy stripped into its essence. He reached out almost without thinking.
Tap!
His calloused finger pressed the panel. He froze. It hadn't phased through like a hologram—it had resisted, solid and real, as though the screen was part of the world itself.
A low whistle slipped from his lips. "…Seriously? I can touch it now?"
The surprise melted into a grin. "Heh. Nice."
But with discovery came questions, and questions bred confusion.
His smile faltered as quickly as it had come. "Alright, smart-ass system. How do I actually equip this stuff?"
No answer came.
"Heh!" He shook his head in with a helpless chuckle.
He tapped on the glowing silhouette of the potion.
[ Item Selected! ]
A soft chime echoed in the silence. Kimura's eyes flickered wider, curiosity flaring against his natural caution.
"…So that's how it works." His voice carried a mix of excitement and wariness. Like loading a weapon for the first time. One mistake, and it might blow your hand off.
The next prompt slid across his vision.
[ Please choose a Chakra Petal to hold the item. ]
Kimura blinked. "Chakra… what?" His soldier's instinct bristled—unfamiliar terms meant potential traps. He straightened, scanning the avatar again.
And then he saw it.
At the base of the spine, a small spiral pulsed faintly with crimson light, like an ember buried under ash. The rest remained dark, dormant, as if waiting for something—or someone—to ignite them.
He leaned closer, whispering. "…So this is the petal thingy?"
The system, true to form, gave no reply.
Kimura ground his teeth, muttering, "Of course you won't answer. Why would you ever make it easy?"
He narrowed his gaze, the silence between them suffocating. His hand hovered uncertainly. Every instinct told him to be cautious, to test, to probe. But another instinct—the one that had kept him alive through war zones and nightmare dimensions alike—urged him forward. Curiosity wasn't weakness here. Curiosity was survival.
"Alright. Let's gamble."
Click!
The spiral fractured in an instant, splitting into four triangular blades of neon light. They unfolded like a flower made of steel, rotating slowly around the glowing core. Energy hummed in the air, a faint vibration that brushed against his fingertips.
Kimura inhaled sharply. "…Not just a slot. It's a lock. A chamber."
He tapped again, almost reverently.
[ The item 'Potion of Vigor Recovery (Small) ×2' has been allocated to Slot No.3. ]
The panel dimmed briefly, then pulsed as if satisfied. The potion's image slid neatly into one of the glowing slots, its outline crackling with faint sparks of energy.
Kimura exhaled through his nose, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Not bad. Not bad at all."
But the system wasn't done.
[ Please choose the 'usage phrase' for the item. ]
Kimura blinked once. Twice. "A phrase?" His voice was slow, uncertain. "You mean… I have to speak something? Like a password?"
The weight of the words pressed against him. A phrase wasn't just convenience—it was symbolism. In war, words mattered. They were orders, oaths, last prayers whispered before death.
He rubbed his chin, staring at the faint glow of the potion resting in Slot No.3. "…So, every time I want to use it, I'll have to say it. If I choose carelessly, it could get me killed in a fight."
Memories flickered through his mind like lightning—shouts on the battlefield, code-words screamed over broken radios, the final gasps of men who used their last breath to say something that mattered.
"Words carry weight," he muttered. "In this place… maybe even more than bullets."
He let the silence stretch, his thoughts heavy. What phrase embodies survival? What phrase won't betray me in panic, won't twist against me when my body is shredded and my mind is fractured?
His eyes hardened. "It has to be short. Fast. Easy to remember. But more than that…" He exhaled slowly. "…it has to mean something to me."
The battlefield in his mind grew quiet. For a moment, he wasn't staring at a glowing panel, but into the abyss of memory—into faces of comrades lost, into the fragile laughter of his family now drowned in nightmares.
He clenched his fist. The phrase pulsed in the back of his throat, waiting to be spoken.
"…System," he said at last, his voice low but unyielding. "Register my usage phrase as—"
—
The dome was quiet, too quiet for comfort. Kimura stood in the center, air thick with that familiar hum—the kind that made it feel like the place itself was watching.
"System," he muttered, his voice gravel and exhaustion. "Register my usage phrase as minor invigoration."
A faint blue light flickered across his vision.
> [Usage phrase has been set.]
[Warning: Once chosen, the phrase cannot be changed. It will be etched onto all items of similar type.]
[Confirm? Y/N]
He hesitated, staring into the dark air. Once chosen.
He remembered his first promise—the one that shattered with Saki's scream and Airi's cry. "Always protect them." He had failed that one. This time, he would choose a phrase that wouldn't break.
"Yeah," he whispered. "Minor invigoration. Just enough to keep going."
> [Confirmed.]
The system buzzed, a faint shimmer running through his body. His muscles felt lighter, breath sharper. It wasn't power. Just endurance—the kind a man needed to keep walking through hell.
"Guess that's fitting," he muttered. "A little strength for a broken soldier."
He crouched by a vine-choked pillar, waiting as the process finalized. In the silence, he pulled out a small silver locket from his pocket. It pulsed faintly against his palm—another relic from the dome's ruins.
> [Assigning item…]
[You can instinctively use the capabilities shown in the item description. Other abilities will unlock when requirements are met.]
"No phrase needed, huh?" He closed his fingers around it. The metal warmed against his skin, the hum faint but alive. "Fine by me."
The world sharpened. The fog around him thinned, outlines of broken towers and sleeping beasts becoming clear. For a moment, it almost felt like clarity.
He pocketed the locket and stood. "Alright. Time to move."
He plucked a few berries from a nearby bush, violet juice staining his hand. The taste was sharp and sweet—a flash of Saki's stew in a life that wasn't coming back. He smiled faintly, a habit more than an emotion.
"Not bad," he said quietly. "Almost feels human again."
He took a deep breath and started running.
The air tore against him, the dome's wind slashing his face like cold wire. Ruins blurred past—shadows shifting, whispers echoing just beyond the edge of hearing. Voices that sometimes sounded like his daughter calling him Papa.
He didn't slow.
Something flickered in his vision.
> [...etched in blood, not code...]
Then it vanished.
He ignored it and pressed harder. The locket burned against his chest; the phrase thrummed through his blood. The minor invigoration pushed his body further—five meters a bound, then six, until the dome itself seemed to pulse with each step.
Shapes moved in the mist: beasts with eyes like embers, archers made of bone and fog. He didn't strike. Not here. The dome had rules—attack first, and you became prey.
He kept running until the ruins thinned and the ground began to glow—a pale light pulsing in the distance like a heartbeat. The Altar of Forgotten Spirits.
Kimura slowed, breath heavy but steady. The whispers grew clearer now—Saki's voice, Airi's cry, Vanko's laugh, all tangled together.
He clenched his fists.
"Crash later. Finish this first."
The altar loomed ahead, carved from black stone and shimmering with faint blue fire. The dome pulsed with his heartbeat. The black sphere within him stirred, whispering promises of power, of revenge, of despair returned a thousandfold.
Kimura's lips twisted into a smile that wasn't quite sane but wasn't broken either.
"The ghosts of my sins aren't done with me," he said. "But neither are Vanko's."
And he walked into the light.