Ming woke to the faint chill of the cavern, the ache of battle still coiled in his bones. His body was slow to rise, but his mind had already moved on. There was no time to linger—he had less than a day before the next trial began.
> [Time Remaining: 20 hours, 41 minutes.]
The system's cold reminder burned in the corner of his vision.
He tightened the grip on his blade and stepped out of the cavern, the pale morning sun cutting through the mist. The forest stretched endless before him, but his direction was fixed. A city. He needed information, resources, and ground to stand on before the next descent into blood.
Hours passed in silence, broken only by the crunch of his feet over dirt. But the stillness shattered when cries reached him—screams, the clash of steel, the snarling of beasts.
A caravan. Attacked.
Without hesitation, Ming pushed through the bush. He found armored men struggling against a wave of twisted beasts, their wagons overturned, horses bleeding. A young noble stood near the center, blade trembling, fear in his eyes.
The world blurred. Chains of instinct and the sharpened hunger of battles guided Ming's strike. Steel sang, monsters fell, and silence followed.
When the dust cleared, the noble stared at him wide-eyed.
"You… saved us. Thank you," the youth said, voice shaky with disbelief. He straightened, forcing dignity back into his frame. "Tell me your name. I owe you."
Ming only shook his head. "Just tell me where the nearest city is."
The noble blinked, then nodded quickly. "Ashvale. Not far. Come with us. We are going the same way."
They set the caravan in order, and the journey continued.
After two hours of moving, they finally reached their destination—Ashvale.
The gates of Ashvale loomed tall, iron and stone carved with sigils that pulsed faintly in the light. Guards stood watch, eyes sharp, holding spears. When the caravan got near the gate their hands went up to block them.
"It's me, Lorian. And he's with me," the noble said sharply, drawing a pouch from his belt and tossing it to the guard. The clink of silver smoothed the way.
They let Ming through without another word.
Inside, Ashvale was alive. Market cries, the stench of sweat and steel, merchants hawking goods, whispers moving like smoke through the crowd. One whisper rose louder than the rest:
> "Did you hear? Someone cleared a mythical-level dungeon. Near impossible, they say."
"Mythical? That's nearly Abyss-tier…"
"Who could even—?"
The rumor twisted through the streets, stirring awe and dread in equal measure. But no one spared Ming a glance.
At the gate's edge, the noble pressed a small pouch of coins into Ming's hand.
"Take this," Lorian said, his voice firmer now, though his eyes held a kind sincerity. "If you ever need work, shelter… or a friend, come find me. I'd be honored to stand beside the one who saved my life."
Ming said nothing, only gave the faintest nod before turning away. The crowd swallowed him, the noble's voice fading with it.
The smell of roasted meat struck him like a blade. His steps faltered, stomach clenching for the first time since his resurrection. A human ache long forgotten.
He ducked into a tavern, dropped two coins onto the counter, and received a plate of steaming bread and meat, along with a wooden cup of ale. He sat alone at the far end, eating in silence.
Halfway through, the thought came unbidden: Why now? Why haven't I felt hunger ever since?
The system answered:
> [Notice: Host does not require sustenance. Hunger has been suppressed as a survival function.]
[The Soul System feeds on absorbed essence and ambient energy. Food is irrelevant.]
[However, your humanity remembers. Cravings surface when triggered. That is why hunger strikes only now.]
Ming's hand stilled on the cup. Humanity. He took another slow bite, chewing for memory. He recalled a table once filled with laughter, his family's voices, the warmth of shared meals. All gone, ripped away by gods who toyed with mortals.
He swallowed hard, eyes darkening.
"I won't forget what they took from me," he whispered.
The tavern noise drowned around him, laughter and shouts filling the air. But at that lonely table, Ming's vengeance sharpened further.
Tomorrow, the trial awaited.
Tomorrow, another step into the abyss.