The world returned gradually, as if ink was disappearing from a page. He opened his eyes and was aware of a weight—his body was heavy as rock, with every muscle protesting. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling as if he had run for days without stopping.
He was lying on his back, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. It wasn't the boundless black of the Shadow Domain or an illusionscape battlefield. It was stone, weathered and cracked, with fine lines of moss growing in the corners. The smell was damp earth and cold metal.
For a moment, he wasn't sure if it had all been a dream. The puppets that looked like him, the monsters with teeth of dripping darkness, the sword that pulsed in his hand like a living thing. But when he moved, the sword was still there, lying next to him.
The Vampiric Nightblade.
Its dark steel glimmered dully, as if it were drinking in what faint light this place had. The red lines that were etched into it pulsed softly, as if veins filled with blood. He reached out a hand to it, brushing his fingers across the hilt. The moment he touched it, a surge of power coursed up his arm. His wounds burned and then died, the pain easing away as if the sword itself was numbing it.
It was more than a weapon. It was a bond.
He made himself sit, tightening his hand on the sword. The trial memories ripped their way back into his mind. The vacant eyes of his puppets, the snarls of ruthless beasts, the taste of exhaustion so deep it had nearly destroyed him.
But he had not been destroyed.
The system had hurled everything it could at him, and he was still standing.
"Why me?" he muttered beneath his breath, his voice gruff. "Why are you pushing me like this?"
The air stirred, and the cold voice spoke once more.
[ System Active. ]
[ Reason: You were chosen. Weakness is not allowed. To move forward, you will need to release who you used to be. ]
He let out a bitter laugh. "Release who I was, huh? It's like you're tearing me apart piece by piece."
[ Correction: You are rebuilding. Trials are not punishment. They are preparation. ]
He wanted to protest, to throw the blade away, to yell at the voice that didn't care if he lived or died. But he also knew it was correct. Every time the system had pushed him into a corner, he had come out stronger. More damaged, perhaps. But stronger.
His fist tightened on the Vampiric Nightblade. The sword hummed in his hand, as if in concurrence with the system's statement.
He dragged himself to his feet. His body ached, but it moved. Each step gave him balance.
The chamber stretched out around him, a vast stone hall without doors, without windows, without any hope of escape. But he was smarter now. This was not a dungeon from which he could just walk out. This was still part of the test.
[ Next Directive: Adaptation Phase. ]
The words seared in front of him, sharp and cold.
[ In the Shadow Realm, you fought reflections and beasts. Here you will have to learn to master what you have acquired. To live, you must have mastery, not possession. ]
The moment the message vanished, the ground shook. The rock opened, and from the darkness below, something stepped out.
Not a puppet this time, not a beast.
A knight.
Its armor was jagged and black, as if it was forged from broken glass. Its visor glowed red, and it wielded a massive sword, one even larger than its body. The air around it crackled, the pressure almost suffocating.
He swallowed, raising the Vampiric Nightblade. His hands trembled, but not from fear—with anticipation.
The knight struck first. Its sword came down in a crushing blow, fast enough to whistle. He barely turned aside, and the strike shattered the stone floor where he'd been standing. Dust exploded around him.
Instinct yelled at him to strike back, but the words of the system echoed. Mastery, not possession.
Suddenly The System Showed Up
[Knight Have a Skilled called Undead Immortality which is basically Transcendent Immortality: A form of immortality where the being exists outside of normal reality, often in a separate realm, making it difficult or impossible to harm ]
Then he Understand that the knight is immortal so he cant be killed since they both are on Separate Void Then he Charge his Blade To the Knight Fastly...
He couldn't just flail around. The Vampiric Nightblade wasn't some tool he could force his will on. It was alive. It needed more.
The knight attacked, swinging once more. This time he did not dodge. He moved into the strike.
The collision thundered like a crack of thunder. His arm rang, the shock of the blow striving to rip the sword from his grasp. But the sword pulled the energy in, pulling strength up his arm. The strain in his muscles vanished, substituted by the steady flow of power.
He struck back.
The knight staggered somewhat, and he attacked. His sword bit into the side of the armor, black steel into dark glass. A burst of crimson light burst forth—not blood, but energy. It flowed into the blade, into his veins.
The Vampiric Nightblade seemed to laugh silently, feeding him, rewarding him.
The knight roared and struck again—harder, faster. But now he perceived. Every blow he parried gave power to the sword. Every blow he dealt nourished his flesh.
Their battle was a storm. Steel on steel, shadow on shadow. Their fight rang through the hall, sparks flying, cracks racing across the floor. His arms grew heavier with each blow, but the sword compelled him, pushed him beyond himself.
Finally, with a cry, he thrust the Nightblade into the knight's chest. The armor burst, and the light in its visor went out. With one last shriek that rang among the trees, it disintegrated into shards of glass that dissolved away into vapor.
There was silence again.
He stood, breathing hard, sweat dripping from his face. His sword pulsed once, feebly, then was motionless.
[ Adaptation Phase Completed. ]
The words hung in the air, but he barely heard them. His eyes were trained on the knife in his hand.
It was no tool anymore. It was a friend, a curse and a blessing. A reminder that in order to live, he would have to delve further into the darkness— and embrace it.
System Showed Up
[The Nightblade can Affect All type of transcendent being Who exist beyond reality or even More higher Structure But for That he should Upgrade his Blade By points that He gain from The Dead knight]
Then He Used his point
[Weapon:Nightblade(Lvl 3)]
Stats 20+ exp
[12exp +Nightblade→Lvl 7]
The system spoke to him again, more softly now.
[ Recall this: Strength without control is devastation. Control without strength is frailty. Only when both are present can you forge your way ahead. ]
He nodded slowly. For once, he didn't protest.
He sheathed the sword—if sheath was even the term, for the sword seemed to vanish into his shadow when he let it go. The hall around him warped, the stone blurring, the moss dissipating. Darkness took back the world once again.
When it cleared, he was on the ground under a pale sky. Morning sun broke through the clouds above. The world had the scent of grass and wind instead of stone and ash.
It was finished. For the time being.
But deep down, he knew the truth. This was only the beginning. The system would never finish. The trials would only get harder. One day, the things that came for him wouldn't be shadows or knights. They would be real—flesh and blood. Enemies who wouldn't dissipate into mist when they were killed.
He sat up, gazing out to the horizon. Out there, somewhere, the world was busy about its business. His friends, his enemies, so many faces unfamiliar to him living their lives in ignorance of what kind of storm was coming.
And he, on the cusp of it all with nothing but a cursed sword and a voice in his head.
He smiled grimly, despite the weight pressing down on him.
"Good," he whispered. "If this is the path you're forcing me down, then I'll walk it. And I won't stop until I've made it mine."
The Vampiric Nightblade pulsed faintly in answer.
The quest wasn't over. It was only beginning