Arven pushes the cover of the sleeping pod open as a series of small LED lights along the chamber walls flicker on one after another.
He steps out barefoot, the cold surface grounding him as fragments of memory begin settling into place. Without hesitation, he walks in a straight line toward a large metal door at the far wall.
He places his hand against it and pushes. A stronger light from the corridor spills into the chamber, forcing him to narrow his eyes slightly.
Arven glances back. With the added light, the room becomes clearer. Rows of pods fill the chamber, far more than he remembers.
"…More than fifty," he murmurs. "So there are at least fifty inmates still stuck at this stage."
Before the thought settles, a burst of blue light flares from one of the pods deeper inside the chamber.
"Aaarrgh…!"
A gasp echoes sharply, followed by a heavy impact as someone slams against the inside of a pod. The glass cover shifts open wider, and a man sits up from within.
"Damn you, Victor! Just wait until I get my revenge."
Another pod lights up nearby. A second voice follows, weaker and disoriented. The pod opens fully, and the man inside pushes himself up before freezing when he sees the other.
"…Damon… you're here. Does that mean…"
"Yeah. That bastard Victor killed me. What about you, Marcus? I remember you got away first."
"I remember the tip of a blade going through me from behind… then everything went dark. When I opened my eyes, I was already here."
"That has to be Victor. His level's way above ours. No EXP, no drops, nothing to gain. But he doesn't care. He kills just for fun."
"Two years in this place… and now look at us. Back to level one. Zero EXP. Everything gone."
Arven follows the exchange in silence. He already understands what they are talking about. Death here is part of the rule, like cheat for tutorial purpose. If you died here, there will be a reset, everything stripped away, sending you back to the beginning.
But that rule is supposed to apply only within the first trial realm. Yet here he is, back again after dying on the sixth.
"…Why, Rytir…?" Arven mutters under his breath, "You really enjoy playing with my life that much, huh?"
The two men finally notice him near the doorway. They step out of their pods and walk toward him with guarded movements.
As they approach, their eyes drift upward toward the faint text above his head.
[Lv. 1 — The Loser No 1]
They stare for a moment, then both burst into laughter.
"What kind of joke is this?"
"The Loser No 1?"
"Oh, must be the first inmate sent to this shithole."
"Wait… doesn't that mean he's been here the longest?"
"Yeah… and he's still level one. Must've just died somewhere."
But the laughter doesn't last. It fades, slowly, as something begins to feel off.
They look at him again, more carefully this time, scanning him from head to toe. The mockery gives way to unease.
Neither says anything further. They walk past him toward the open door, expressions tense, eyes lingering for a brief moment before they look away.
"…This is weird…"
"Yeah… something's off…"
"If he respawned, that means he died in the first trial…"
"…Then where the hell has he been all this time?"
"…No idea…"
"Forget it. We've got more important things to deal with."
Marcus suddenly pauses, as if a thought has just struck him.
"…Wait."
Without another word, he heads deeper into the facility. Damon hesitates, then follows, curiosity replacing his earlier dismissal.
They enter a wide chamber lined with rows of metallic deposit boxes embedded neatly into the walls.
Marcus stops in front of one and places his hand against it. A faint pulse runs across the surface before the lock disengages.
The lid slides open. Inside rests a single item.
He reaches in and pulls out a pair of dark, intricately crafted sandals, faint glowing patterns lining their surface.
"Right… I still have these."
Without overthinking, he slips them onto his feet. And the effect is immediate.
Marcus's expression freezes, then drains of color as his body stiffens violently. A sharp gasp escapes him before his knees give out, sending him crashing to the floor.
***
[Alert!]
[Insufficient Intelligence to equip item]
Required INT: 36
Current INT: 13
MP drained to compensate failure
[Recommendation:]
Go back to school, noob.
You are too stupid to wear this magical item(s).
***
He groans and yanks the sandals off, his breathing uneven as the pressure in his head begins to ease. Slowly, his MP recovers, and the tension in his body fades.
"The hell…"
Damon walks over. "What happened?"
"This thing…" Marcus exhales sharply. "It's a magical item. Needs thirty-six INT to equip."
Damon nods. "That explains it. First time dealing with something like that?"
Marcus nods too. "I just found these items last month."
"If you don't meet the requirement, the item turns on you," Damon says. "Good thing you tried it here. If that happened outside, you'd be unconscious for hours."
Behind them, Arven steps in quietly, catching the end of their conversation. His gaze shifts inward, focusing on his status window, settling on a single number; his 118 INT. With that number, he can use most magical items here without restriction.
Arven says nothing. Instead, he moves past them toward a different section of the room, where larger lockers line the far wall. He stops in front of one and places his hand against it. The lock responds instantly, and the compartment opens.
Unlike the deposit boxes, this one designed to store multiple items across different stages of the trial. Anything stored inside can be retrieved from any locker room, regardless of which trial realm it was placed in. It's expensive, but one that proves its worth every time.
Inside, a set of dark assassin clothing, reinforced gloves, boots, a headpiece, a pair of daggers, and several small jewels are arranged neatly. None of them are magical or classified as rare, but each is a unique item with properties that cannot be replicated.
Most are built for agility-based users, and for now, his agility is far from enough to handle them properly. Still, Arven reaches for one of the daggers.
The blade is sleek and narrow, its edge carrying a faint distortion, as if slightly out of sync with the surrounding space.
"Whisperfang… It's been years since the last time I wielded one."
The moment his fingers close around the hilt, his muscles tighten without warning, contracting harder than necessary, as if forced into a state they cannot sustain.
No system warning appears, but the strain is immediate. His stamina drains rapidly, his body resisting the weapon more than wielding it.
"…Tch."
Arven lets go at once. The dagger slips from his grip and drops with a soft metallic sound.
That is enough to draw attention. Damon and Marcus both turn toward him, their expressions shifting as they notice the open locker.
"…No way…"
"That's a locker unit."
"You need a thousand gold coins just to unlock one."
They don't question him directly. They just watch as Arven reaches in again and pulls out a ring. It looks plain, a simple metallic band with no gemstone or decoration, something easily mistaken for a common item.
"…That's it?"
"I thought he'd pull out something impressive."
"Tch… all that hype for a locker, and it's just a cheap ring."
"Guess being the longest loser here doesn't mean much."
They chuckle lightly and turn away, already losing interest as they head back toward the corridor.
Arven ignores them. He lifts the ring slightly, and the system responds at once.
***
[Item Name: Mindforge Loop]
[Type: Unique Ring]
[Requirement: INT 103]
+20 to all Attributes
+50 Mana
+250% Mana Regeneration Rate
+12% to All Elemental Resistances
[Passive: Mindforge Channel]
Mana can be forged along the edge of any blade-type weapon, extending its reach by 50% of its original length. The density and sharpness depend on the user's Mana Forge Mastery.
***
Arven equips it without hesitation. A subtle shift runs through his body, as if several limitations lift at once.
His breathing steadies. The flow of mana becomes smoother, more controlled. His muscles firm up, gaining slight mass and tension, enough to shift his frame from frail to something closer to athletic.
His strength and agility rise, and his intelligence climbs even higher. Even so, his agility settles at 47, short of the 55 needed for Whisperfang.
"Well…" he mutters, closing the locker with a soft push. "…just need to hit level five. Then I can use them. All of them."