Yu Jin inhaled slowly through his nose.
The name meant nothing to him—System? What kind of name was that? But it was the first real piece of structure he'd been given since waking.
"...Help."
The word hung in the air. A pause. Then a new set of brushstrokes unfurled across the glowing square.
Available Commands:• Status• Merits• Inventory• Traits• Skills• Store• Mission• Settings
Speak a command to access its function.
Yu Jin read through the list slowly, carefully, as if memorizing battlefield formations.
"...Status," he said.
The text shifted. New lines appeared.
He studied it in silence.
Then: "Traits." Another response. He nodded faintly.
"Skills."
"Inventory."
"Store."
One by one.
Like testing a blade's balance. Watching its edge.
[Cut to: Moments later]
Yu Jin sat motionless, hands resting on his knees. His face was calm—but the faint tension in his jaw betrayed the storm turning behind his eyes.
He understood just enough to know: this wasn't magic. It wasn't divine.
It was a tool.
A complex one, built for him. Built for war. Or survival. Or something in between.
"So you won't guide me," he murmured. "Just arm me."
The square didn't answer.
He leaned back against the wall, eyes closed for a moment.
Tomorrow, he would begin.
Darkness.
In the dream, Yu Jin stood on one knee, drenched in the rain. His spear lay broken in the mud.
Before him stood a giant of a man, crimson-faced and clad in green, the kind of green that mocked the blood in the soil.
The man said nothing.
He only looked down with quiet judgment—as if mercy itself was an insult.
Yu Jin's voice cracked in the storm: "I yield…"
The shame pressed in like a thousand blades. "I surrender…"
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
His eyes snapped open.
His body moved before his mind caught up—rolling to one side, one foot planting down, his stance dropping into instinct.
Combat-ready. Half-asleep. Breathing hard.
There was no enemy. Only the dim blue glow of the system's square.
Time: 04:00
Daily Routine Protocol: Active
Yu Jin stood still, catching his breath.
"...What is this?"
New text unfolded beneath the time.
Quest Initialized: Prepare for War [Daily Quest]
Objectives:• Morning Pushups: 0/50•
Running (Est.): 0/2 li•
Stretch and Form Drill: 0/1
Reward: +5 Merits
Failure: No reward. Progress reset.
He read it twice. Then a third time.
His fingers flexed at his sides. The sting of the dream hadn't left him.
"So… this is how you work."
He stepped toward the door without hesitation, jaw set.
"Fine. Let's begin."
Each morning came the same way. The sharp chime at four. The hovering glow. The list of tasks that no longer surprised him.
Prepare for War [Daily Quest]
Pushups. Run. Stretch. Drill. Reward: +5 Merits
By now, Yu Jin didn't flinch at the alarm. He was always awake before it.
Not because of the system—because of the ache. The ghosts never slept.
His body wasn't ready. Not yet.
The first run left his legs trembling. The second left him dry-heaving in the grass. Pushups turned his arms to stone. Drills lit fire in his spine.
Every morning, a new ache. Every night, another.
He woke to pain. He trained through it.
Because weakness had killed his honor once. Because regret was heavier than any spear.
He added his own punishments—beyond what the system asked. Fifty pushups became seventy. Two li of running became five. He drilled with his old forms until sweat soaked the earth beneath him. Until the wooden spear blistered his palms raw.
He didn't do it for points. He did it for the day he'd meet Cao Cao again—and stand without shame.
"Next time," he muttered, panting between thrusts, "I won't break. I won't surrender."
He imagined the battlefield. Not the system's reward. But the eyes of the men he once led. The face of the lord he once failed.
And so he moved. Bled. Fought the decay of who he used to be.
Not just reborn. Reforged.
On the tenth morning, he stood alone in the open field behind his home.
The sun had just started to rise, casting a dim gold across the grass. His clothes clung to him with sweat. His hands gripped the old spear tightly—wood creaking faintly with the pressure.
He stood in one of his old forms. Legs sunk low, spine straight, arms forward.
He didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't think.
He just held.
Time passed. The wind picked up.
His shoulders trembled from strain, but he didn't break posture.