He adapted—slowly, painfully, and through relentless repetition. Each movement he made was no longer driven by panic, but by a growing familiarity with death itself. He evaded what he could, weaving between lethal strikes with a body that had long since forgotten comfort. And when fleeting opportunities arose, he seized them, pouring every ounce of strength into his fists, striking with a desperation that bordered on madness.
Yet… he still died.Again and again.
He was no invincible main character blessed by fate, no overpowered figure destined to dominate. He was fragile, fallible—human. And this truth carved itself deeper into him with every failure. Expectations had no place here. What existed instead was a slow, deliberate forging—his character being molded through agony, persistence, and sheer will.
His teeth clenched, jaw trembling under the weight of exhaustion. After countless attempts—after enduring cycles of death and rebirth—he had reached his threshold. His mind, once sharp and determined, now teetered on the brink of collapse. The strain was unbearable, pressing against the fragile edges of his consciousness.
This was it....His final attempt...
And so… it began.
He stood upright, barely. What remained of his strength gathered within him like the last flicker of a dying flame. Grit and perseverance were all he had left—and yet, they were enough to keep him standing.
The wolf lunged.
Its massive form surged forward with terrifying speed, a blur of muscle and killing intent. It sought to end him in a single, decisive motion—a swift and brutal execution.
But Zephyr moved.
He ducked low, just enough to avoid certain death. His body slid beneath the beast's abdomen, the world narrowing into a single, fleeting moment.
He struck.
A punch fueled by everything he had endured. Every failure. Every death. Every ounce of rage and determination compressed into a single blow.
It was strange.
In this boundless, surreal expanse, he felt stronger than he ever had in the real world. His fists, though battered and raw, carried enough force to damage the beast—despite its hide being as unyielding as forged steel.
The wolf retaliated instantly.
Its tail lashed out, a violent arc aimed to crush him where he stood. But Zephyr twisted away, narrowly escaping the strike.
The pattern… it hasn't changed.The realization echoed within him.
From the very beginning until now, the beast's movements remained the same. Every attack, every feint, every sequence—it was all the same.
Predictable and Repetitive.Perhaps it was instinct.
Or perhaps it was simply its nature.
Though its intelligence surpassed that of ordinary beasts, it was still bound by primal tendencies. And when cornered, it reverted entirely to instinct—raw, unrefined, and unchanging.
That was his advantage.
That was what he had learned through countless deaths.
He moved again.
Evade...Strike... Evade... Strike...
Over and over, like a relentless tide crashing against stone.
His fists slammed into the creature repeatedly, each impact reverberating through his broken body. Pain no longer mattered. The line between endurance and self-destruction had long since vanished.
Both of them were desperate now.
Locked in a brutal exchange where neither side could afford to falter.
If only I could conjure the katana… he thought bitterly. This wouldn't have dragged on this long.
He had tried before—many times. But nothing had answered his call. No weapon manifested. No power awakened. Only failure greeted him, time and time again.
So he fought with what he had.
His body,his will, his resolve.
They clashed like equals—beast and human, instinct against persistence.
Flesh tore. Blood spilled. Limbs strained beyond their limits.
An eye for an eye.
A limb for a limb.
Blood for blood.
Time lost meaning. It stretched endlessly, yet passed in an instant. Every second felt eternal, every moment fleeting.
And then—It ended.
The winner emerged."Hah… hah… hah…"
Zephyr sat atop the fallen beast, his breaths ragged and uneven. His body was unrecognizable—a grotesque testament to the battle he had endured.
His left eye was gone.
A massive claw mark stretched from his head down to his neck, jagged and deep. His left arm was completely missing, torn away without mercy. His right arm hung uselessly, reduced to something akin to crushed flesh, barely functional.
Deep gashes covered his entire body.
He was broken, body hattered beyond repair and yet…
He had won.
Or perhaps… this was merely the second time he had killed it.
Death lingered close. He could feel it creeping in, ready to claim him at any moment. But despite everything, a grin spread across his bloodied face.
Because before him floated something extraordinary.
An orb.
A wisp—the essence of the beast itself.
From the void, Maw emerged, his presence as unsettling as ever.
"Touch that wisp," he commanded.
Zephyr did not hesitate.
With his remaining strength, he reached out using his mangled arm and made contact.
The moment his fingers brushed against it, something inexplicable occurred.
The wisp dissolved into light and surged into his body.
His surroundings shifted.The battlefield vanished, replaced by the quiet expanse of his consciousness.
Confusion flickered across his mind as he waited—anticipating some transformation, some revelation.But nothing happened.
Silence.
After a brief moment, he spoke, his voice heavy with fatigue.
"What was the purpose of that wisp?"
Though his body had been restored within his consciousness, exhaustion clung to him like a shadow. He had no energy left to ponder endlessly.
Maw's response was simple.
"Exit your consciousness… and you'll see."
Zephyr nodded again.
Without further question, he disappeared from his consciousness.
Yet as Maw watched him depart, a wicked smile curled across his lips.
'Hehe… let's see if you can still stand.'
The moment Zephyr left his consciousness—
Darkness followed. Absolute and suffocating.
His body collapsed.
Blood began to seep from his orifices, his form going limp as his mind finally gave in. The strain had been too much. His consciousness shut down entirely, unable to bear the accumulated burden.
And yet—He was not teleported.
He remained there, motionless, as though lifeless.
*****
Back in the chamber…
"Hm? What happened to that boy?"
Chris observed with mild curiosity.
He cared little for the candidates themselves. To him, they were insignificant—mere participants in a system he oversaw. But anomalies demanded attention.
"Lost consciousness without being teleported… how strange."
Others who had failed were already removed from the trial, returned and placed in recovery. Everything had functioned as intended.
Except this...
Still, after a moment of thought, he dismissed it. Confidence in his creation outweighed his concern.
His gaze shifted.
Among the candidates, a few stood out.
One in particular—a woman of average height, bearing a bow and daggers—moved with fluid precision. Her actions were efficient, deliberate, conserving energy with every motion. With the aid of her wisp, she flowed like water—elusive, graceful, and deadly.
Observers seated at distant tables took note.
The candidates remained unaware that they were being watched, evaluated for potential.
But above all…
One figure dominated the scene.
The Drakonis Clan's prodigy.His name stood etched at the top.
Aiden Drakonis.
The so-called golden boy.A projection displayed his trial.
He stood tall—imposing, composed—his presence alone commanding attention. A longsword rested in his grasp, as though it belonged there by destiny itself.
He looked like the protagonist of a novel.
Before him stood a monstrous bear—five meters tall, its black fur resembling hardened steel, its claws nearly two feet in length.
A creature of overwhelming power.
Yet....With a single motion, Aiden cut it in half.
No hesitation and No struggle.
The beast fell instantly, its body split cleanly.
Blood spilled briefly before flames erupted, consuming the remains entirely.
Without a word, without a glancing back
His hunt had only just begun.