Ymir's POV:
I blinked. Darkness surrounded me. Then, a sudden realization hit me—I was inside the Life and Death Trial.
"Alright then," I muttered, cracking my knuckles. "Let's get this started."
As I walked forward, I was greeted by a group of soldiers. Their leader pointed his sword at me, his voice filled with hatred.
"Kill that monster!"
They rushed at me, weapons gleaming.
I braced for impact—then frowned.
They were weak. Their attacks barely even tickled. It was like getting smacked by a bunch of toddlers.
Ah, right. My stats were sealed. The only way to regain my strength? Defeat my enemies.
"Well, guess I better start farming XP."
With that, I squashed them.
A Growing HordeAfter dispatching the first wave, I continued forward. More enemies appeared—this time, ten times as many.
200 knights surrounded me, their eyes filled with grim determination. Among them, one man stepped forward, radiating arrogance.
"Be honored, beast! For I, Sir Voldemort Van Helsing, shall be your executioner!"
I froze.
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
Voldemort?! Van Helsing?! Pick a side, dude!
I didn't let him finish his monologue. One smash later, the only sound he made was a pathetic "Ah."
"...Really?" I sighed. "That's your last word? Not even a dramatic 'NOOOO!' or anything?"
Oh well. Moving on.
The Onslaught ContinuesThe pattern continued.
Every new wave had ten times the previous number of enemies. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Millions. It was ridiculous.
And yet, they all had the same clichéd speeches.
Fat guy: "You shall fall before my blade!"
Bald guy: "Prepare to die, monster!"
Thin guy: "I will be your doom!"
Ugly guy: "For the honor of the realm!"
Bro, change the script.
Still, not all of them were boring. One dude had a massive scar across his face and a beard so thick it looked impenetrable. A true warrior. He actually gave me a challenge.
That's when I knew—I was finally reaching the true elites.
And then, I died. For the first time.
Dying Like a ChampionOne moment, I was fighting. The next—
BOOM.
A fucking cannonball obliterated me.
Not medieval cannons either—high-tech, rapid-fire, magical artillery. I took fifteen hits before one finally blasted my head off.
Yup. I had no armor. No weapons. Just a shitty full-body leather set and a stone club.
I looked like a prehistoric caveman getting gunned down in World War III.
And I kept dying. Over. And over. And over.
10,000 Deaths Later…After months of suffering, the system finally blessed me.
Ding!
[Title Acquired: Friend of Death]
You have died in the most brutal ways, yet still pushed forward. Even Hell could not match the pain you've suffered. You have befriended Death itself.
Permanent Buffs:
+40% to all stats when facing 5+ enemies
+50% recovery rate
+30% critical chance
"…Well, that's nice."
I checked my other dozens of titles, but there were too many to list. Moving on.
After killing over 125 trillion enemies, the system spoke again.
Ding!
Congratulations! You have advanced to the Final Battlefield.
I was instantly teleported.
Before me stood an army of legendary knights.
Ding!
Host has met the Heavenly Knight Order. Good luck.
A grin stretched across my face.
"Finally. A real challenge."
The Ultimate BattleI roared, my voice shaking the battlefield like thunder.
"CHARGE!!" an enemy commander shouted.
The knights rushed forward, flawless in formation. No hesitation. No fear.
Their discipline was on another level. Their teamwork was perfect.
And yet, with each swing of my club, I wiped out hundreds of thousands.
But then—
A lone figure stepped forward.
"Be honored, beast," he declared. "For I, Sir Gilbert, leader of the Heavenly Knights, shall fight you."
I studied him. He wasn't just another generic enemy.
He was different. Strong. Tactical. Worthy of respect.
His aura flared, and his elite comrades followed suit.
My instincts screamed: This fight was on another level.
"Let's go," I muttered, gripping my club.
Mastering DeathThe battle raged. I fought Gilbert's forces for what felt like years.
Each time I learned their strategies, I died. 100,000+ times.
And each time, I came back stronger.
Spearmen launched coordinated attacks, aiming for my weak points.
A warrior hurled his spear, the force behind it enough to split mountains. I barely deflected it, shocking him.
Before I could counterattack, arrows rained from the sky. A diversion.
I swung my club, a powerful gust of wind throwing the archers off balance. But just as I prepared to finish them—
CLANG!
Gilbert blocked my attack.
Our eyes met.
This was it. The real fight had begun.