Luka barely processed the faint notification that flickered in front of him. His mangled body twitched as the words hovered, glowing against the crimson haze of his vision.
[Congratulations. Level Cleared.]
[Stats Increasing… Allocating Bonus Points…]
He lay there on the ground, too broken to care. His body was a mess—blood pooling around him, his left hand a memory, and his vision limited to one swollen eye. For a moment, he felt the cold seep into him, the kind of cold that whispered, Just stop. Just give in.
Then, like a shot of adrenaline, the next notification flashed.
[Strength: +5]
[HP: Restored to Maximum]
[Skill Category: Enhanced]
Luka felt it before he saw it. The warm glow crawled over his shredded body, sinking into his skin like thousands of tiny needles knitting him back together. His broken arm burned as it reshaped, his mangled hand reappearing with a sensation that felt like being electrocuted. His destroyed eye stung like acid before his vision returned, crisp and sharp.
He jerked upright, gasping, and stared at his hand in disbelief. "What—" he muttered, clenching his fist. The scars were gone, his body unscathed. Even the hollowness in his chest, where hopelessness had gnawed at him, felt... lighter.
Before he could revel in this strange renewal, the ground beneath him dissolved. The forest vanished, replaced by a void of blinding light. Luka shielded his eyes, feeling weightless for a terrifying second before slamming into cold, unforgiving stone.
He groaned, rolling onto his back, his body protesting despite being fully healed. Slowly, he opened his eyes to find himself in a massive room.
It looked like something ripped straight out of a gothic nightmare—a vast, crumbling chamber with high ceilings lost in shadows. The walls bore cracks and claw marks, and the faint smell of blood hung in the air. At the center was a massive obsidian table etched with glowing red runes, pulsating like a heartbeat.
Around the table stood empty suits of armor, towering and menacing. They loomed as though waiting for something—or someone—to make the wrong move.
Luka hauled himself to his feet, his muscles still tingling from the healing process. His boots echoed on the stone floor as he took a cautious step forward. "Where I'm I?" he muttered, his voice rough.
A notification blinked to life in front of him.
[Congratulations, Luka. Your performance in Level One has earned you a rank upgrade. Stats have been redistributed.]
He snorted, as he clicking to check his Stats.
Player Stats
- Name: Luka
- Level: 1
- Class: Novice
- Strength: 9/10
- Intelligence: 9/10
- HP: 10/10
- Skill: Middle Class
- Swordsmanship: 8/10
- Defense: 5/10
There wasn't much of a difference.
A familiar chim caught Luka's attention.
[Welcome to the Hall of Ascension. Here, you will rest, plan, and prepare for the next levels. But beware: only the strongest may continue.]
The words dissolved, replaced by another glowing prompt.
[Reward for Completing Level One: Select a Weapon Upgrade.]
Luka's lip curled in a mixture of frustration and curiosity. "Finally, something useful."
The notification shifted, displaying four options:
1. Reforged Steel Blade (E): A slightly stronger version of your original weapon.
2. Twin Daggers (D): Agile and fast, perfect for quick strikes.
3. Warhammer (D): High damage but heavy and slow.
4. Longbow (D): Distance-focused but weak in close combat.
He rolled his shoulders, considering. The blade was an insult; he wasn't about to go down that road again. The daggers felt too delicate, and the bow was laughable—he wasn't a sniper.
"The warhammer," he muttered, jabbing the option.
A surge of light blinded him momentarily before the weapon appeared on the obsidian table. It was massive, with an obsidian head carved with jagged edges that looked like they could shatter bones on contact. The handle was wrapped in rough leather, and the weight felt solid but manageable in his grip.
Luka hefted it, testing its balance. "Much better."
He sank to the floor, the warhammer resting across his lap as memories of the werewolf flashed through his mind. The claws slicing into his flesh, the sound of his nose cracking against its core, the sheer agony of losing his hand.
His jaw clenched, and a bitter laugh escaped him. "This isn't a game," he said aloud, his voice echoing off the chamber walls. "It's a goddamn nightmare."
But even as anger bubbled beneath the surface, there was something else—something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Determination.
This wasn't just about surviving. It was his redemption. Every ounce of pain, every drop of blood spilled, was his penance for failing to protect her. This was his last chance to honor what she meant to him.
"I'll win this," he vowed, gripping the warhammer tighter. "And I'll fix everything."
The room trembled slightly, snapping Luka out of his thoughts. He scrambled to his feet as a massive door materialized on the far wall. Carved with intricate designs, it glowed faintly with the same runes as the table.
Another notification appeared, simple but ominous.
[Rest Period Over. Prepare for Main quest Level One.]
Luka rolled his neck, his body itching for whatever came next. He had been given a second chance, and he wasn't about to waste it.
As the door creaked open, revealing an endless corridor shrouded in darkness, Luka took his first step forward.
He didn't flinch. He didn't even fucking hesitate.