They had never seen the guards arranged like this before, making the spectacle all the more unusual. The servant frowned, quickening his pace and urging the young master along.
Each step felt as precarious as walking on thin ice.
The armored warriors' eyes followed them with an air of intent so sharp it felt like daggers piercing their hearts.
The young master trembled in uncertainty as the servant held his hand, doing his best to calm them both as they hurried on.
As they walked through the hallway, faint footsteps sounded from the left corridor. A woman and a child were headed their way in the same direction.
The young master turned his head toward them as the warriors bowed deeply to honor the woman and the child, deliberately ignoring him and his servant. The servant released his master's hand, crossed his arms, and bowed from a distance with a blank face.
Before him, a slim golden panel materialized near his mouth.
"I bow in respect to the great 'Aspiring Star of the Youth, Young Lady Cheon Ran,'" the servant said softly and eloquently.
With every movement of his lips, white letters appeared on the panel, one by one.
"Cheon Ran, The Aspiring Star," "Yuna, The Peony." He chanted the titles in silence, the inscriptions flying toward their recipients and leaving trails of luminous white. It was a message for two—one for Cheon Ran, the other for Yuna, a discreet love letter.
They seemed unaware, but the young master knew.
As soon as the messages arrived, Ran whispered, "Yunyun..." and gestured for Yuna to approach. Yuna quietly obeyed and crouched to whisper in Ran's ear while casting a look of disdain at the others.
After a brief exchange, Yuna, ever soft-spoken, gave a command to the guards at Ran's direction.
The warriors moved in unison, marching toward the young master and his servant. Their eyes locked onto him, the servant raising his arm in a silent gesture of surrender.
They did nothing to the servant, turning their gaze on the young master instead.
From a distance, the servant caught Yuna's resentful gaze.
He dashed toward the warriors, desperate to rescue the young master, raising his arms to chant a spell. A white tattoo appeared atop his hand as he finished, but it was too late—the guards had already surrounded the young master.
Undaunted by their numbers, the young master let out a childish war cry and swung at them. Not a punch landed; the guards avoided every strike with practiced ease.
"Get away from my master!" the servant shouted, his voice carrying such force it vibrated across the hallway.
The warriors abruptly halted and began returning to their posts. Bruised and shaken, the young master shivered, as if he had seen something terrifying right in front of him.
"What, afraid of my wrath!?" Sung shouted, masking his dismay.
Then, suddenly—just as before—space shattered. Ominous darkness spilled forth, heralding ill omen as a looming figure emerged from the void.
Everyone fell to their knees, breath synchronizing in the mysterious figure's presence. Only the young master was unable to react appropriately, overwhelmed simply by being in its presence. Trembling, the young master sensed a choking terror—the same fear that had haunted him before.
He fainted...
—Xin, still lying in the shallow water, opened his eyes.
Above him, he saw the moon, raining water from the sky. He stared, sure that something about the phenomenon was abnormal.
He brushed it aside, confused. He remembered dreaming—of that much he was sure—yet no detail returned to him. Despite his desperate search for answers, memory evaded him. He only knew for sure that he had dreamed.
A faint, stony clapping echoed through the waters. Gentle voices drifted through the misty air.
"The moon's really making it rain," an old man's voice said awkwardly.
Startled, Xin understood them and quickly hid behind the triangular lid, eavesdropping on their conversation.
"Lim'ur, are you sure you saw and heard the Simurgh here?" asked the first man, stopping midway across the barren shallows.
Xin peeked and glimpsed three men with spears and indiscernible expressions, their skin dark as ink—everything about them felt ancient to him.
"Yeah, it was here. The divine creature walked like a chicken!" Lim'ur replied, scratching his neck and pointing in the same direction Xin had awoken.
"Do you know why?" the first man questioned, giving him a grave look.
"Probably Lim'ur just got tired and saw something," the third man said, glancing at Xin from the corner of his eye, though he continued speaking, "something like that."
Xin grew anxious as they exchanged a fleeting glance, then quickly hid behind the structure, heart pounding.
"I saw it clearly—the simurgh, the winged wolf," Tim'ur insisted honestly.
The three men bickered like brothers, though they appeared entirely foreign to Xin's eyes.
Suddenly, Xin realized: it was best to hide within the structure.
The first man then spoke, "Maybe you stumbled across a Taec fruit—that's gone missing. If you think about it, that might explain what you saw."
Hiding like a rat, Xin opened the lid, but found the interior far too deep. Doubt gnawed at him—how could he escape again if he hid there?
Tim'ur was adamant: "Kras! Trust me, I really—" The third man approached, shifting tones: "That's strange—where did this come from?"
As footsteps approached, Xin climbed inside.
Clunk.
He clung to the lid's ring as it closed, trapping his fingers. Pain lanced through him—a silent, distorted scream tearing at his mind.
Flustered, Tim'ur glared at Kras.
"This is new," Kras said, hopping atop the structure.
Xin heard muffled voices overhead, punctuated by a heavy thud as the lid pressed down harder.
In agony, he whimpered, shuddering with paranoia, afraid they'd caught him. Tears of pain blurred his vision as he dangled helplessly.
"You're acting weird today, Tutu!" Tim'ur snapped.
"I've seen too many interesting things today," Tutu replied above, running his spear through his hair.
Thud.
A lighter thud this time—like a stick tapping out a rhythm. The pressure increased.
Tim'ur paused just below Tutu, noticing the structure.
"Relax, it's just a flower—an orchid," Tutu declared.
Xin wept quietly, enduring fiery pain in his joints.
Tim'ur's eyes lit up. "Wait—you mean a woman? You saw the witch here?"
"What!?" Kras barked, unamused. "You saw a witch? Why didn't you tell me!?" He punched Tim'ur's head.
"I wanted to have fun," Tim'ur sniffled, drawing Kras's ire. "Fun? She looked too good for words—"
"How can you tell she's a witch?" Tutu cut in, stopping them.
After a pause, Tim'ur explained quickly: as the woman spoke, water shaped itself into a ball. That frightened him, so he fled—the Simurgh ran off like a chicken.
In his cramped hiding place, Xin recoiled—his hand brushed against something musty: a corpse.
He tried to retch, but nothing came; he gagged and arched his back in anguish.
"Believe me, she was beautiful. Her white—"
"Is she really gorgeous?" Kras pressed.
"I only saw her eyes," Tutu said, flamboyant, twirling Tim'ur's severed head on his spear.
Xin heard Tutu whistling a lively tune. Silence fell—he didn't hear the others anymore. Blood started dripping onto Xin's forehead, painting his clothes red.
Conversing with the decapitated head, Tutu skewered it, then revealed another victim—Kras, a woman hidden behind a man's mask.
"Such unique weather—and such unique creatures. At times like this, one could die of boredom," Tutu mused, leaping from the platform.
Xin waited for the pressure to lift, then slipped free, finally.
Suddenly, a stunning brightness stabbed at his eyes, blotting all detail and assaulting his nose with a metallic stench.
He covered his watering eyes, painting his face red as the glare eased. Shapes began to coalesce behind the light—a nightmare made visible.
"Shit!" Xin gasped as he fought to hold back vomit.
Before him lay two headless bodies, sprawled like butchered animals—only a psychopath would leave such a sight. Their bodies were intertwined, blood gushing like fountains.
His hand bled, fingers purple and useless, pain radiating from his limp arm joints. His vision swam; hunger consumed him.
"The 1st Plain, the Evernight Hell. Is this… the world I deserve? Am I going to die again?" Xin whispered, tears slipping down his cheeks.
Questions raced through his mind—who to blame, did he deserve this, was this really it?
"Tutu, I'll kill you, you sick freak!" Xin screamed before retching uncontrollably.
The thought of dying again broke him. As he closed his eyes, someone whispered:
"You can't," said a childlike, ghostly voice.
When he opened his eyes, everything was white—a vast void stretched into eternity.
It felt ethereal and strange.
He looked around but saw nobody. Trying to speak, he found he had no mouth, just a single eye without a body.
Floating alone, he stared at a familiar stat panel:
Ye Xin /█/ Lvl. I
HP: 10/10 Stats: Normal
Mind: 22/30 Stamina: 09/15 RP: 10
STR: 10 AGI: 5 DEF: 3 INT: 12
◙: |Survivor|5| Inventory: [][][][][][][][][][]
↓Maximise↓
"I'm dead… again," Xin thought to himself.
"You can't," the mysterious voice repeated.
In an instant, his battered body materialized again.
Thud.
He collapsed to the ground, unmoving. Water gathered and formed a pillar around him, lifting him upright until he stood, though he felt nothing.
He watched his blood swirl and return to his veins. He could not breathe, encased within the water as it washed over him, head to toe, mending and restoring him.
—A colossal silhouette shifted nearby, alive and looming. Waves of air fanned outward, parting the waters and revealing solid ground beneath.
The sound of creaking, groaning wood echoed all around.