Wind howled around me as I laughed into the abyss.
The echo of my own scream still clung to my bones. The sensation of my skull cracking, my ribs shattering, the metallic taste of blood in my throat—it was all still fresh, vivid as reality.
Because it had been reality.
I had died.
And yet here I stood again, alive, my heart thundering in my chest.
[You have died.][Regression activated.]
[You have acquired the skill of your killer: Impact Resistance (E-rank).]
I could still feel it in my body: the faint resilience in my bones, the dull armor coating my skin. A tiny skill, laughably weak compared to the Sword Aura I had stolen. But that wasn't the point.
The point was simple.
Suicide worked.
The Tower recognized it.
And as long as death counted… then there was no limit to what I could become.
My grin widened until my cheeks ached.
The next morning, I walked back into camp.
The other hunters stirred uneasily when they saw me. Their eyes darted to the empty place where our guild master should've been. Their fear was naked, palpable.
No one said it outright, but the truth hung heavy in the air: Han Seo-jin had killed the man they thought invincible.
A dog biting its master.
They avoided me like the plague. No one asked where I had gone during the night. No one dared.
Good.
Fear was better than contempt.
But inside, I was restless.
Impact Resistance was proof enough. Regression worked no matter what. But I needed more.
I needed to know what happened if I died to monsters. If I died again and again. Would I get stronger infinitely? Or were there rules I hadn't yet discovered?
The hunger gnawed at me. The need to test, to push, to see the limits.
The others planned to move toward the 11th floor the following day. But why wait?
I slipped away from camp when no one was watching, sword in hand, heart hammering with anticipation.
The forest of the 10th floor was dense, alive with predators. The black wolves prowled endlessly, red eyes gleaming in the shadows.
I walked openly. My blood called to them.
It didn't take long.
The growl came first. Then the snap of branches. Then the blur of fur and fangs as a wolf lunged at my throat.
I didn't dodge.
Its teeth sank into my neck, hot pain exploding through my flesh. Blood gushed, and my vision dimmed.
[You have died.]
[Regression activated.]
[You have acquired the skill of your killer: Keen Scent (E-rank).]
I gasped awake, stumbling backward. The forest was quiet again. My throat was whole.
And in my mind—an alien awareness, sharp and primal. My nose twitched involuntarily, picking up scents I had never noticed before: the musk of wolves, the damp earth, even the faint metallic tang of blood far in the distance.
"…It works," I whispered. My laugh spilled out, uncontrollable. "It works!"
Another test.
Another death.
Another skill.
Hours blurred into madness.
I threw myself at the wolves again and again. Each time they tore me apart, each time I regressed.
Claws ripping my chest.Fangs snapping my bones.Blood pooling around me.
And each time:
[You have died.][Regression activated.]
My notifications filled with garbage skills—
Night Vision (F-rank).
Tough Hide (E-rank).
Quick Step (F-rank).
Pack Instinct (F-rank).
On their own, they were weak, laughable. But they stacked. Layered. Built into my body until I was no longer human, no longer just a man swinging a sword.
My muscles tensed with unnatural power. My skin hardened like leather. My senses sharpened to unnatural clarity.
And the Sword Aura—still blazing in my hand—grew more precise, deadlier with each fight.
The wolves that had once terrified me became little more than training dummies.
I cut them down in droves, laughing as their blood sprayed across me.
The hunter had become the predator.
But there was more.
Something deeper.
I noticed it after my tenth death that day.
The moment I died—there was a place.
A flicker of darkness.
Voices whispering.
I couldn't catch the words. They slipped through me like smoke, gone before I could grasp them. But they were there.
The Tower wasn't just rewinding me.
Something was watching.
Something was counting.
The thought should've terrified me. Instead, it thrilled me.
"Watch me, then," I whispered into the void. "Count every death. I'll give you numbers you can't even comprehend."
When I finally staggered back into camp, covered in dried blood and grinning like a lunatic, the hunters shrank away.
"Wh—what happened to you?" one stammered.
"Training," I said simply.
Their eyes flicked to the Sword Aura still humming around my blade. To the madness burning in my smile.
None of them dared speak again.
Good. Let them whisper. Let them fear.
Tomorrow, we would climb to the 11th floor.
And tomorrow, I would feed again.
That night, as I lay awake, my heart drummed with anticipation.
The wolves had given me scraps—useful scraps, yes, but scraps nonetheless.
What would happen when I died to something stronger?
A troll? An ogre? A floor boss?
Each one was a treasure chest waiting to be cracked open with my own corpse.
I could already see it: a mountain of deaths paving my road to power.
And at the end of it all—
The Tower itself kneeling.
I laughed in the darkness until the others shifted uncomfortably in their sleep.
Let them fear the madman.
Tomorrow, the experiment would continue.