"Ahhggggghgh… what time is it?" Erlen groaned, stretching his arms like a lazy cat waking up from a long nap. His muscles cracked loudly as he looked around the quiet, dimly glowing chamber. "Why do I feel… weirdly energetic?" he muttered, rubbing his neck.
He clenched his fist and decided to test it. With a cocky grin, he swung a punch straight at the thick wall— CRACK!
"AGHH—!! Ow ow ow ow ow! Damn, that wall's made of some next-level crap!" He shook his hand, knuckles bruised and red. "Playing hard to get, huh? Fine," he smirked, talking to himself again.
Time passed—though in this place, time was starting to lose meaning. No sunrise, no sunset. Just the same dull, humming light that filled the endless chamber.
He had no clue that only two days had passed. In his head, it felt like months—maybe even a year. The silence was driving him halfway insane, but his determination burned like a quiet flame.
"I think I've been here for over a year now… Well, I don't know. Gotta train anyway."
He crossed his legs, sitting down in a meditating posture, and began trying to gather energy into his core. But the moment he did, pain shot through his body like lightning.
"ARGHHHHHH!! What the hell—?! It's like my veins are on fire!!"
He collapsed forward, gasping. He didn't know the first thing about how to gather or control mana. But there was something inside him—a stubborn fire, a will that refused to break. His special trait, The Limitless Gift, was already beginning to awaken quietly inside him.
He gritted his teeth. "Come on, again… one more try."
He focused. This time, the mana responded—hesitant at first, then rushing through his body like an electric tide. His veins glowed faintly blue, and the air around him trembled. He felt it—his first taste of real power.
His mana wasn't just stored in his core… it was flowing throughout his body. His muscles tightened, his mind sharpened, and for the first time since entering, he smiled genuinely.
"Heh… that's more like it."
He didn't stop there. His breathing became calm and steady. In that solitude, his instincts refined themselves, naturally forming a new breathing rhythm—one that stabilized his energy flow. Without even realizing it, Erlen had created his own breathing technique.
Hours—or maybe days—passed. His body was calm, but his thoughts grew restless.
"If only I had a bed to sleep on… and maybe some weapons to train with too," he said sarcastically.
The ground beneath him rumbled.
His eyes widened as the smooth marble floor began shifting. A bed slowly rose up from the ground—followed by a full kitchen, racks of weapons, and even a training dummy.
"…You gotta be kidding me," he said blankly. "If I'd known the chamber listens, I wouldn't have slept on the cold floor for a year!"
(Still day two, by the way.)
He grinned like a madman, grabbing the first weapon that caught his eye—a dagger.
"Alright, let's dance."
He began slashing and spinning, attacking the air with precise, deadly movements. At first, his grip was shaky, his form awkward. But within minutes, he was perfect—his strikes clean, his footwork silent. He had mastered it.
He dropped the dagger and picked up a sword.
"Let's see how you sing, pretty blade."
Slash. Step. Thrust. Pivot.
He moved like he'd trained for years. Sweat didn't even form on his forehead—his body was adapting at a monstrous rate. Sword after sword, weapon after weapon—he mastered them all.
Spears, axes, whips, bows… even a simple pen. "Heh, who says a pen can't kill?"
He was more than talented—he was terrifying. The Chamber was made to break humans—but for Erlen, it was shaping him into something beyond human.
Then boredom struck.
He stared at his reflection in the polished blade, a wild glint in his eyes. "What now… maybe I should see how much my healing can handle."
Without hesitation, he cut his own leg—deep enough that it barely hung on. He winced but didn't scream. His breathing remained steady as blood pooled beneath him.
Then he broke his other leg. Then both arms. His ribs. His spine. Every single bone in his body—snapped one by one. He was in pieces, but his eyes burned with focus.
He tried channeling mana to heal himself… nothing.
He tried again.
And again.
Failure after failure. His heart pounded, pain pushing him toward madness—but he refused to give up.
Then an idea sparked.
"Maybe… if I coat myself with mana instead of pushing it into me…"
He focused his remaining strength. A faint aura shimmered around him—thin at first, then thicker, denser. The mana solidified into a barrier around his broken frame.
And suddenly… his bones started healing.
His body glowed softly, the cracks mending, his limbs straightening. Within moments, he was whole again. His breathing was calm, steady, serene.
He flexed his hands, smiling faintly. "So that's how it is…"
He then extended his hand, gathering mana into his fist—and BOOM! A pulse of raw force exploded forward, blasting dust across the chamber.
A mana punch. He stared at his hand, awe in his voice. "I can really do that…"
Finally, he picked up a sword again. This time, he coated the blade in mana, making it hum with power. He slashed at the wall—this time, it cracked.
Only a scratch, but enough to make him grin. "Heh… guess I'm getting somewhere."
And there he stood—alone, broken, rebuilt, and stronger than ever.
Erlen wasn't just talented. He was the definition of monstrous prodigy.
The Chamber of Eternity had tried to test him—
—but instead, it was the Chamber that would remember his name.