There was a beautifully marked dagger, its silver blade contrasting with the black sand, and under it, the sand had been mended to write a message, a message that someone wrote with their finger—
"Survive for three hundred years, don't worry as hundred years are just a single second in reality, Good luck!"
Johan's entire body shook, frantically looking around for any sign of who wrote this. As far as he knew, the Fear of Asura wasn't a conscious dungeon.
Suddenly, he felt an urge to laugh, and he laughed—harder than he ever had in his life. It wasn't a happy laugh, but bitter.
"So the dagger is your way of saying that I either live three hundred years in this hell, or kill myself… I really didn't expect this trial to be so interesting. Alright, I accept the challenge." Johan, staring at the purple sky, yelled at the top of his lungs, and the sky seemed to vibrate a bit in return.
