A Desperate Struggle
Desperate struggle. “Haaah!!!” He screamed as he shot upright. No matter how many times he had died, he could never get used to it. His breath scraped at the back of his throat and his heart slammed against his ribs like it wanted to explode. He could barely remember how many deaths this was now. Eighteen? Or was it nineteen?
Tae-oh collapsed onto the cot, fingers tearing through sweat-matted hair. In the corner of his vision, two red hearts flickered precariously. Even if he caught the rainbow rabbit and somehow filled them, what was the point? Every single night an assassin came without fail and severed that fragile thread of life.
Fuck. What the hell am I supposed to do?
Tae-oh drew in ragged breaths and scanned his surroundings. The same comrades as yesterday. The same barracks stinking of stale sweat. The same damn scenery as the day before that. Ironically, that unchanging repetition pressed down on his chest harder than anything else.
Am I just going to keep repeating this forever until I die…?
He had already tried everything countless times. At first he turned to the one field he knew best—items. Racing into the forest and frantically gathering herbs had become so familiar he could do it blindfolded. His goal was a lethal poison that could stop the assassin at the source, paired with intricate traps. The result was pathetic. The man treated Tae-oh’s traps like a joke, ignored the poison entirely, and killed him anyway. Of course. The bastard was an assassin. Tae-oh had overlooked the existence of antidotes. The man might even be more of an expert on poison than he was.
He tried other items after that. Snares, sticky traps—none of it mattered. Traps simply didn’t work on him. The assassin’s overwhelming skill shut down every move Tae-oh made.
Around the seventh death, he changed tactics. If items were useless, only one path remained: a direct fight. Tae-oh upgraded the low-grade Potion of Swiftness he had used to kill the sergeant all the way to intermediate grade. He chugged additional potions that explosively boosted physical stats like strength and agility. He thought it would be enough. It wasn’t.
The speed felt similar, but something was fundamentally different. The so-called gap in swordsmanship mastery. Tae-oh’s blade was fast, yet the assassin dodged it with laughable ease. The assassin’s own sword moved in trajectories Tae-oh couldn’t even perceive, much less evade—slitting his throat, piercing his heart, gouging his stomach. Stubbornness drove him to try again and again. The result never changed. A five-year-old child doesn’t defeat a twenty-year-old adult no matter how many hundreds of times he challenges him.
Even so, he refused to give up. If he couldn’t save himself, he would ask for help. Tae-oh went to Company Commander Carlo, dropped to his knees, and begged. He ranted like a madman that there was a traitor inside the reconnaissance unit or that an assassin had infiltrated. At first, absurdly, Carlo cut his throat. Fuck. The charge was disrupting military discipline.
Once he regained his senses, Tae-oh began searching for evidence. But of course there was none. In the end he came up with a single ploy: If there isn’t any, I’ll just make it myself! He tried once and got caught. The reconnaissance troops called him a spy and took his head again. Goddammit. Dying for such a stupid mistake actually made him laugh.
Still he persisted. Tae-oh fabricated sophisticated proof of an assassin’s presence, and the company commander—barely convinced—strengthened the guards. The next day arrived. A real next day, not a repetition of yesterday. The hearts in the status window were still three.
It worked? I’m alive?
So there had been such a simple solution all along. Thinking that, Tae-oh headed for the workshop where he had stockpiled ingredients the previous day. But death was far more tenacious than he had imagined. While he was crushing herbs, a familiar sound reached his ear. Slice—
What was that?
He turned. The assassin stood right behind him. The man had used the moment Tae-oh was alone to slit his throat from the rear. No need for a deep cut. The blade was already coated in poison. Once again his vision blurred and his mind grew hazy. Then—
“You son of a bitch!! Tae-oh!!”
Rolls suddenly appeared and thrust his sword at the masked man. Clang—! The masked assassin retreated, parrying the blow.
“You bastard! Who the hell are you!! Tae-oh! Get a grip!! Tae-oh!!”
Even as he heard Rolls shouting, Tae-oh strained his eyes so he wouldn’t miss a single movement. But his sight was already failing. Clang— Clang— Clash—! Only the sound of clashing steel rang in his ears. In the end, Tae-oh died once again.
Night or day, today or tomorrow—it made no difference. No matter how desperately he flailed, the ending was always death.
He died dozens more times. His mind was in tatters, his sense of self on the verge of total collapse. Yet Tae-oh refused to surrender. The horror of death was so unbearable that, paradoxically, his craving to live hardened into an even fiercer poison.
“I survived that fucking army. There’s no way I’m dying here. No damn way.”
Every morning Tae-oh went to the training ground and swung his sword like a lunatic. He converted the endlessly repeating day into pure training time. To outsiders it looked like a single day of practice. To him it was not. The lines his blade carved through the air grew sharper and sharper. In the beginning he was so clumsy he couldn’t even grip the hilt properly; blisters covered both palms. But every regression erased the wounds and left only the sensation behind.
Self-teaching had clear limits. To match the assassin’s inhuman movements, he needed proper instruction. The person who caught his eye was Rolls, from the same squad. Tae-oh remembered how Rolls had crossed blades with the assassin in the workshop. He approached him directly.
“Rolls, teach me swordsmanship.”
Rolls, twisting a cigarette in the corner, stared at him in disbelief.
“You spent the whole damn day swinging that thing… and now you want to learn?”
“Yeah.”
Rolls exhaled smoke with a cynical snort. “You’ve got shit for talent. Just keep making your potions like before. That’ll keep you alive longer.”
“Just tell me how a beginner should start. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Why the hell should I?”
Tae-oh tossed a bundle of top-grade Meditation Herb cigarettes at Rolls’ feet.
“Fuck, a bribe? Don’t act so high and mighty. You know damn well you were supposed to make these for me anyway.”
That was the nature of their deal.
“This is just goodwill. Some of the medicines I can craft require catching fast animals. It’s easier if I know how to handle a blade. I can’t keep bothering you every single time.”
“That’s not the only reason, is it…” Rolls sighed. “Haa… Your obsession with staying alive is insane. Why struggle so hard in this shitty world?”
“Because it’d be a waste to die.”
“Funny bastard…”
“Are you going to teach me or not?”
Pressed by Tae-oh’s persistence and the bribe, Rolls scratched his head irritably. After a long moment he exhaled a deep sigh and stood up.
“Ha, fuck. Teaching you the spear would be way easier. This is exactly why I hate the reconnaissance unit.”
“Spear?”
“Yeah, dumbass. For beginners the spear gives you several times the survival rate. It’s easier to learn, too. Besides, you already have decent fundamentals for spearmanship. Not bad at all.”
“Then teach me the spear.”
Rolls clicked his tongue in annoyance. “This is the reconnaissance unit, you idiot. Stealth is the priority—conspicuous weapons like spears aren’t issued.”
“Ah…”
Rolls scratched his head harder. “Dammit. Can’t just ignore a guy who wants to live this badly… Watch closely!”
Tae-oh smiled inwardly. This bastard’s a junkie, but deep down he’s a decent guy.
“You’re holding the sword completely wrong from the start. What’s the point of just putting strength into it?”
And so Rolls’ swordsmanship lessons began.
From that moment, Tae-oh’s real desperate struggle began. Rolls’ teaching style was pure Spartan. Whack—
“That’s not it, dumbass. There’s a reason for every single thing I tell you to do, so copy it exactly.”
The slightest flaw in posture earned a merciless strike from the wooden sword. Rolls’ strikes landed on every vulnerable spot on Tae-oh’s body. Yet Tae-oh was happy.
I can feel myself getting stronger!
It was a sensation he never got from swinging alone. Even if his throat was cut again tonight and he collapsed onto the cold floor, tomorrow’s version of himself would see the assassin’s blade at least one millimeter faster. That certainty kept him going.
Tae-oh repeated the basic forms Rolls taught him without end. He no longer even tried to find the assassin. If he did nothing, he would wake up yesterday without any pain, catch the rainbow rabbit, train with Rolls, and end the day. He began to repeat that simple loop over and over.
Then one day, the wooden sword cut through the air with a clean whoosh. Tae-oh’s mood lifted slightly. Oh, that reached farther than yesterday. It felt like a small enlightenment.
He went to Rolls again and asked for the same lesson. On the training ground, Tae-oh demonstrated his progress. The pleasant sound of air being sliced rang out once more. Whooong—
That was when the real sword stopped against his throat.
Thud.
“Who the hell are you, you son of a bitch?”
A drop of blood slid down his neck. The razor-sharp killing intent made Tae-oh stammer.
“W-what?”
Rolls didn’t relax his expression at all.
“That swordsmanship—what the fuck is it, you bastard?”