The world outside the dungeon was quiet.
Ming stepped out of the jagged maw of the cavern, his boots sinking into damp soil as the stale air gave way to the crisp breath of night. For a moment, he just stood there. Stars stretched above him, the moon casting silver light over his battered form.
He looked down at his hands, still trembling, but no longer weak. His body had been reforged inside that dungeon—burned and broken, only to rise sharper than before. The Fangblade rested at his waist, its black edge humming faintly with power, pulsing with the Abyssal Guardian's core.
For the first time since his resurrection, he felt something like control.
For the first time since death, he felt closer to vengeance.
But even as relief brushed the edges of his thoughts, instinct whispered otherwise.
The air was wrong.
Ming narrowed his eyes, scanning the treeline. The forest was hushed,no insects, no birds. The wind carried no scent, no rustle of leaves. Just emptiness. Heavy. Watching.
His black eyes flared. Soul View stretched outward, unfolding the world into layers of intent and malice. Somewhere in that stillness, something was hiding.
Then he heard it.
Clink. Drag.
The sound of chains scraping across stone.
Ming's grip tightened on the Fangblade. His ribs still ached from the Devourer's blows, blood crusted on his skin, but he stood straighter, eyes locked on the shadow creeping between the trees.
A figure emerged.
Tall. Cloaked. Bound in chains that writhed like serpents, slithering across the ground with every step. They didn't hang,they moved, alive, as though part of his flesh.
The figure's face was hidden beneath a hood, but his voice cut the silence, smooth and mocking.
"So it's true," he said, each word dragged out like a blade being sharpened. "A human slipped the leash. A corpse that refused to stay buried. Maybe the gods will be amused."
Ming said nothing. He watched. Waited.
The chains rattled, tightening around the figure's frame as though eager for blood.
"I am Serak," the figure continued, his tone light, as if introducing himself at a feast instead of a battlefield. "One of the Right Hands. A scout, nothing more. I was sent to investigate the disturbance here… and what do I find? A broken man carrying a dirty blade."
The Fangblade thrummed at Serak's words, as if insulted.
Ming finally spoke, his voice low and steady despite the ache in his body.
"Then report back. Tell your gods I'm coming."
A pause. Then soft laughter,cold as rusted steel.
"Oh, you are interesting."
The chains lashed out without warning.
Ming's body moved on instinct. Soul Blink activated, his form vanishing and reappearing a few feet aside. The chain slammed into the ground where he had stood. Stone shattered, dust spraying into the air.
Another chain snapped out, striking like a whip. Ming raised the Fangblade, its black edge cutting through the air. The impact rang like thunder, sparks exploding where blade met iron.
The chains didn't break. They recoiled, slithering back to Serak's side.
Ming slid back, boots gouging furrows into the dirt. His breath came hard, but his black eyes burned brighter.
Serak tilted his head. "Quick reflexes. That blade sings in your hands. But tell me… how long can you last when your body is already breaking?"
The chains snapped forward again, faster this time—a storm of steel snakes. Ming blinked, twisted, rolled beneath them. The Fangblade flashed arcs of silver-veined black, slicing through air, deflecting strike after strike. But one chain coiled around his ribs, constricting.
The pressure made his wounds scream, blood spilling fresh from half-healed gashes. His knees almost buckled.
Serak's voice was silk over glass. "See? You may have tasted evolution, but you're still a worm writhing in the dirt. The gods will crush you before you crawl too far."
The chains constricted tighter. His ribs creaked, vision blurred at the edges. For a heartbeat, Ming felt himself slipping.
The Abyssal Devourer stirred inside him, shadows rippling across his skin. He gritted his teeth and activated it, devouring part of the chains to break free.
The metal writhed, screaming as if alive, dissolving into black mist where it touched him. Serak's head jerked up, the chains recoiling violently, severed.
Ming staggered free, chest heaving. He wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes never leaving his enemy.
Serak chuckled softly, though his chains hissed with unease. "You even stole the Guardian's curse… No wonder the dungeon collapsed so violently. A devourer, a blade of the abyss, and a soul that refuses to bow. You are… troublesome."
He raised one hand, chains curling lazily around his fingers. But this time, he didn't strike.
"This was only a taste. You would have died before the fight even started if I had used sixty percent of my power," he said. "The gods are watching now. Their gaze will fall heavy upon you soon. And when it does…" He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to a whisper. "You won't last long."
The chains uncoiled, dragging him backward into the shadows. His figure blurred, fading like smoke into the treeline until only the faint rattle of chains remained… then silence.
Ming stood alone beneath the moonlight, chest rising and falling, Fangblade still humming with battle-lust. His body screamed for rest, but his spirit burned hotter than ever.
He stared at the space where Serak had vanished, his jaw tightening.
"Then let them come," he whispered.
The Fangblade pulsed in his grip, echoing his words.
The night swallowed the forest again.
But Ming knew the silence would not last.
The gods had noticed he survived.
Ming stood alone beneath the moonlight, chest rising and falling. His body screamed for rest, but his spirit burned hotter than ever.
The weight of what had just happened pressed down on him.
That wasn't even a full fight. Serak had made it clear—he hadn't fought seriously, hadn't even shown the full strength of a Right Hand. Just a scout. Just a taste. And even so, Ming had been one misstep away from death.
His grip tightened on the blade. The dungeon had reforged him, but it wasn't enough. Not yet.
He turned away from the treeline and forced his body toward the cavern's edge where the forest thickened. His legs were heavy, his wounds throbbed, but he kept moving until he found shelter. There, in the dim wash of moonlight, he sat with his back against the stone and stared up at the night sky.
The silence weighed on him, but so did the clock burning in the corner of his vision.
> [Time Remaining: 23 hours until next trial.]
Ming exhaled slowly, steadying the storm inside him. "No more delays," he muttered. "I need to move. Find a city. Prepare… or I'll be nothing but prey when the trial begins."
The blade pulsed faintly at his side, a reminder that his war had only just begun.
He closed his eyes for a moment—not to rest, but to focus. Tomorrow would bring the next trial.
And tomorrow, he would sharpen his vengeance further.
I'm just too weak now.
I can't deny it,fighting that Right Hand made me realize how weak the monsters I fought were.
I thought I was growing, but I wasn't. In their eyes I'm just an insect trying to climb where I cannot.
I'm not even considered a threat.
But no, I won't give up.
One day they will fall at my feet. I will kill them all.
He roared in defiance.
The forest was quiet again, though his pulse still thundered. Ming lowered the broken blade, forcing his breath to steady. His soul sense pulsed faintly, sharper, keener. For the first time since his resurrection, he felt he had taken a true step forward.
But the memory of the fight weighed heavy. That thing… was just a scout. Weakened. And still I nearly died.
He pressed a hand to the cavern wall, sliding down until he sat in the shadows. The stone was cold against his back, grounding him. His blackened eyes dimmed as the system's glow faded from his veins.
I can't stay here. Rest, then move. I've got less than twenty-three hours before the next trial begins. I need a city, information, ground to stand on. This cave won't protect me when the system calls again.
He closed his eyes for a moment. Not to sleep he couldn't afford that,but to breathe, to let the silence dull the ringing in his head. Then, with grim resolve, he pushed himself up. One step at a time, he would keep moving.
Far away, beyond mortal sight, another scene unfolded.
Serak strolled into a vast chamber of swirling light, where countless eyes blinked open and shut across the walls. The divine presence pressed against him, immense and suffocating. He yawned.
A voice, neither male nor female, rippled through the chamber.
"You let him escape."
Serak scratched his neck, unbothered. "Escape? That wasn't my job. I was told to scout, so I scouted. He's alive. Report delivered. Now, I'm going to bed."
The divine pressure sharpened, like reefs rising beneath a vast ocean. A shape shimmered in the radiance—a towering figure, faceless, yet endless.
"You toy with things you don't understand, Serak. That human will not be ignored forever."
Serak smirked. "Human, god, beast… it's all the same noise to me. If he's strong enough to climb to where you stand, then maybe I'll finally get to sleep in peace. Until then? Don't expect me to care."
He turned, hands tucked behind his head as though this chamber were nothing more than a corridor.
As if that human could ever reach such power, he thought, a laugh bubbling up as he left the divine light behind. Let him dream. The gods aren't so easy to kill.
His chuckle echoed down the endless halls, fading into silence.