The Branded and the Blade
The game was called Path of Ascendant.
It was set in the last remaining human kingdom, Apraphel. Players took on the role of characters known as “adventurers” and ventured beyond the kingdom’s massive walls into the ruined world outside—what the game simply called the Dungeon. The core loop was to gather resources from that fog-choked hell and return alive. That was it.
And in that world, there were people called sinners. The worst criminals were executed without exception, but those who still had some measure of control were rounded up and sent on expeditions beyond the walls. They had to earn back their freedom by paying off a price determined by the weight of their crimes. In essence, prisoners were debt slaves and cheap substitutes for real adventurers. From the kingdom’s perspective, if they died outside the walls, so be it. If they brought anything back, it was pure profit. They were little more than walking dead men.
That had been the setting…
Even within the game’s systems, the Prisoner origin was uniquely brutal. For starters, you couldn’t begin with any class—archer, rogue, warrior, none of them. You had to pay a hefty sum later or complete specific quests just to unlock a class. That meant spending the most critical early phase completely classless. On top of that, you couldn’t use any of the city’s convenience facilities normally. Blacksmiths, shops, the Adventurers’ Guild, clans—everything was locked behind annoying reputation grinds and extra quest chains. There were dozens of other disadvantages I could list. It was like running a marathon with sandbags strapped to your ankles.
But the reason I had chosen the Prisoner origin was simple.
Sheer stubbornness.
I wanted to clear the game with those sandbags on. Because it was just a game, I hadn’t needed to think too deeply about it.
‘But fuck, this isn’t what I signed up for.’
Out of all the possible origins, why the hell did I wake up as a prisoner? Was it because I’d cleared the game with that origin? Or—
“From now on, I’m going to tell you what you worthless pieces of trash have to do! I won’t repeat myself, so listen well!”
Just as useless thoughts began to creep in, the long-winded speech praising the kingdom from the foul-mouthed old man finally ended. That foul-mouthed bastard was probably the Warden in charge of managing the prisoners sent outside the walls. In the game, these were the NPCs who handled the Prisoner tutorial, so it made sense.
Then the next line should be…
The Warden scanned the prisoners with a deadly serious expression and lowered his voice.
The moment he finished speaking, his subordinates emerged carrying branding irons heated by magic. Yeah, here it comes. The highlight of the tutorial.
Sinner Brand.
This was another penalty of the Prisoner origin. In the game, that brand made your affinity with NPCs start in the gutter. It was the reason you faced restrictions on joining parties and using facilities. ‘Since this is reality, it’ll probably be even worse.’
Still, that wasn’t important right now. Surviving this moment came first.
Heavy footsteps mixed with the clank of armor echoed. The subordinates approached the first victim.
And then—
Hisssssssss—
“Aaaaaaaaagh!!!!”
A prisoner’s agonized scream reverberated through the basement. Shit, that has to hurt like hell…
Slice—!
‘…Slice?’
A sound effect that didn’t belong in this situation at all. At the same time, the prisoner’s scream cut off. Not gradually—it stopped dead, like someone had yanked the power cord from a machine.
A terrible premonition rose in my chest. I turned my head slightly to glance at the branded prisoner. There was some distance, so I shouldn’t have been able to see clearly.
But I did.
A headless corpse and what was presumably Prisoner Number One’s head rolled across the floor with a dull thud. In the subordinate’s hand stood a long sword.
‘What the fuck…’
They cut his head off just because he screamed? No, this wasn’t in the game at all. In the game it was just branding and done. My body began to tremble violently. The prisoners on either side of me must have realized the same thing; they were shaking so hard they could barely stay upright.
“Next.”
The Warden’s cold, emotionless voice rang out. The line moved on.
Hisssss—
“Ugh… kgh—”
Prisoner Number Two groaned in pain, desperately trying to protect his own neck.
“Aaaaaaaaagh!”
Slice—
Prisoner Number Two was eliminated too.
“Next.”
Ah.
“Next.”
We’re really fucked.
“Aaaagh!!”
Slice—
“Next.”
In that brief instant, a thousand thoughts flooded my mind. Why did I have to wake up in a world like this? Because I played that game? Because I chose the Prisoner origin? Because I saw the ending?
“Aaaaaaaaaagh!!”
Slice—
Regret for not choosing differently, self-loathing, denial of reality.
“Next.”
No. Get a grip. This isn’t even my fault to begin with. If I fall apart here, I really will die.
“Next.”
Haven’t I lived through nothing but hard times my whole life?
“Next.”
A pathetic life where everything always went wrong, where I made mistakes, struggled with no money, and couldn’t sleep from anxiety about the future. Even so, I had never given up on living.
“Next.”
That’s right. So…
“Next.”
I’ll grit my teeth and endure to the very end this time too.
“Next.”
“Next.”
“Next.”
“Aaaaaaaaaah!!!”
Slice—
By the time I finished my self-hypnosis, the line had already reached right beside me.
“Next.”
Subordinates wearing iron helmets that covered their faces stepped in front of me. A branding iron glowing with blue flames approached my face. I squeezed my eyes shut.
And then—
Hisssssssss—
Whoa, fuck. An excruciating pain slammed straight into my brain through my nervous system.
“Kgh. Kk—ugh.”
Does being burned hurt this much? It wasn’t just the feeling of skin scorching. It was as if my very soul beyond the flesh was being seared. Probably because this wasn’t an ordinary iron but one enchanted with magic… If I had to compare it, it felt like getting dental surgery without anesthesia. And a really brutal one at that.
‘Now I get why the guys in front couldn’t hold it in and screamed.’
I was barely holding on myself.
“Kgh… ugh… kh—”
Crunch—!
I clenched my teeth so hard to endure that blood poured from my mouth. Using pain to cancel out pain. It was a trick I’d only seen in movies, but doing it for real helped more than I expected.
‘Like hell I’m dying here, you bastards.’
Once I realized how effective it was, I bit down even harder.
Hisss—
“Ugh… kh. Kk… krrrrrrgh… Haa!!!!”
The moment the branding iron finally left my face, I let out the breath I had been holding.
“Kk… huu… huu…”
Damn… I almost went into shock from the burning pain before they could even cut my head off. No joke—I swear I saw ancestors I’d never met before flashing before my eyes.
Drip, drip—
Blood ran down from my chin. The aftermath of biting down so hard hit me late. Even though I kept wiping it with the back of my hand, the bleeding wouldn’t stop.
“Hmm…”
Shit, that startled me. Suddenly a figure appeared right in front of me. I hadn’t even noticed him approach, but the Warden was standing there, stroking his chin. He examined my condition as if stamping an approval, then quickly lost interest.
‘Haa…’
The tension left my body and I slumped. I wanted nothing more than to collapse on the spot, but I held back in case it drew unwanted attention. I simply lowered my head and kept wiping away the blood dripping from my chin. The metallic taste of blood spread through my mouth, but…
I had survived. At least this time.
*******
The test to prove our resolve continued. Prisoners received the Sinner Brand beneath their left eyes. There had been roughly a hundred of us. Now fewer than twenty remained. Even though eighty percent had died, it somehow felt like a lot of people had survived. Twenty people endured that kind of pain? Most of these bastards must be insane.
“You should be grateful to me.”
Soon the Warden stepped in front of the remaining prisoners again.
Yeah. This guy is crazy. It really drove home what kind of world this was. What a bunch of bastards.
At the Warden’s command, his subordinates dragged out a sack of weapons that had been sitting in the corner of the basement. The prisoners moved with mechanical precision as they received them.
‘Is it really okay to hand out weapons like this?’
They had no idea what we might do… Or was it pure confidence that they could slit our throats the moment we tried anything? Well, the subordinate NPCs were all mid-rank adventurers in strength, so they could probably afford to be that cocky.
Clank—
While I was thinking, my turn came. The subordinate pulled a weapon from the sack and handed it to me. It was a broken, worn-out dagger.
‘Ah.’
The system for determining a prisoner’s starting weapon was simple. It was completely random. There were various options—longsword, spear, dagger, katana, shield—but you received one at random. Of course, since they were essentially dumping junk weapons on prisoners, every single one was worn and rusted.
But why did it have to be this?
Among the weapons a prisoner could receive, the dagger was the absolute worst. That was obvious. A classless prisoner wasn’t agile like a rogue, and a short reach combined with pathetic killing power made the dagger nearly useless. In fact, every character I had raised that started with a dagger had died before clearing the early game.
Ha, this is going to be really troublesome…
Shing—
When I stood there dazed in front of the sack, the subordinate distributing weapons drew his sword. A silent threat that he would cut my head off if I kept wasting time. Why are these guys so damn impatient?
In the end, I had no choice but to return to my spot.
‘I should have stood further back.’
A bit of regret washed over me, but… whatever. It wasn’t like I had no options.
After the weapons were distributed, the Identity Tokens were handed out. Since only twenty of us were left, and the subordinates personally prepared and delivered each token, it was over quickly.
‘Prisoner Number 185, Rian Flodin…’
So that’s my name. A strange feeling washed over me. What kind of principle had brought me into this body? What happened to the original owner? What about me back in South Korea?
A thousand questions slammed into my head, but I wiped them away cleanly. Right now, surviving came first.
‘Alright. Focus again.’
After that, the Warden explained the precautions regarding the Identity Token.
He said the token was absolutely necessary to cross the walls.
‘In the game it was just a function that opened your character’s status window…’
As expected, the game and reality were completely different.
At the Warden’s command, the subordinates opened the locked exit of the basement. With the distribution of the Identity Tokens, every procedure was complete. Only the final step remained.
Yeah. It’s time to go.
The prisoners glanced around nervously and began shuffling toward the exit. Accompanied by the extremely thorough escort of subordinates with swords drawn.
‘Huu…’
I kept my head lowered and organized my thoughts for a moment. I had suspected it to some degree, but now I was one hundred percent certain.
Watching the prisoners’ heads get sliced off, feeling the branding iron burn into my face—I had realized it in my bones.
This was not a virtual simulation or a dream.
But I possessed the knowledge of the game. All the strategies and growth routes I had hammered into my head after thousands of retries. If this world was built exactly like the game, if I could make use of that knowledge…
I could survive.
So…
Let’s test it. Whether the knowledge I possess still works here.