Growth Pains and the Warrior's Dream

Seeing the final expression of the warrior wracked with growth pains, Han Seongjin stood motionless for a moment. Why the smile? Right before death. Before he could grasp the meaning behind that smile, the warrior's body vanished without a trace.

"......"

Confirming the warrior's death, he slowly spread his arms wide. The fierce wind of the mountain range whipped against his skin. Absorbing the sensation, he felt an intense thrill. Cold air flooded his lungs to the brim, and he exhaled deeply.

"Haa......"

This is it. His body felt light, as if floating above the clouds. What do you call this? The ecstasy of victory? Whatever it was, the sensation was exquisite. Refreshing. Addictive.

No, am I already addicted?

Still, he figured this level was just right.

A trickle of blood dripped down. Sheathing his dagger, he pressed his hand to the severed stump of his ear and right arm. Blood was still flowing. The spots where the warrior's sword had sliced clean. Normally, new arm and ear would have regenerated by now, but strangely, nothing was happening.

Ah, correction. Regeneration was occurring, just excruciatingly slowly. Compared to earlier, the bleeding had visibly lessened. But it wasn't enough.

If the clean cut is the issue...

He gripped his remaining right arm tightly with his left hand. And—

"Hoo... Hraaa!!"

—Crack!!

"Graaak!"

He tore off the smooth cross-section sliced by the sword with all his might. Fucking hurts. Regret flooded him for a moment, but he shook it off. He quickly retrieved the severed right arm that had flown off and pressed it to the stump.

—Squelch.

Flesh and blood surged from the wound, filling the gap between the severed parts in an instant. In less than thirty seconds, the right arm was perfectly reattached. He flexed his fingers, checking the connection.

Hm. Good as new.

The ear would have to regrow on its own. He couldn't see where it had gone. He even tore off the remaining ear. Fortunately, he felt fresh flesh budding the moment he did.

Now for this.

Taking one last deep breath, he replayed the recent battle in his mind. That cross-section he'd seen when facing the warrior head-on. The grains lining the seams within it. If he hadn't spotted that 'grain' at the end, he'd be the one collapsed in the snow right now.

What the hell was that?

He drew his dagger again and stared at it intently. The same dagger he'd used to butcher the bear just yesterday. Sharp enough, but ultimately just an ordinary knife. Yet it hadn't merely broken the steel sword—no, it had severed it. He'd seen it clearly. The layered cross-sections that made up the warrior's sword—or rather, his very existence. When he pressed the dagger to those seams, the sword had parted effortlessly.

It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠defied explanation as a physical slash. It felt like touching some more fundamental concept.

That sensation when I saw the grain earlier.

The world receding, time slowing, a space existing only for him and his foe. In that realm, he felt truly alive. Perhaps the warrior had lived his entire life in such a state. Pouring everything into a single blade, repeating life-or-death battles. The pinnacle reached at the end of that fierce existence—that may have been the power to cleave the 'grain.'

And that pinnacle had been passed to him. He could even call the warrior his master, in a way.

"......"

He picked up the bisected sword fallen to the ground. A crude, worn steel blade. But it held the life of one warrior.

Why had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he smiled just before death? Joy at meeting one who had reached his realm? Relief at escaping the chains of endless battle? Who knew the true intent.

"Farewell, Master."

He plunged the sword vertically into the spot where the warrior had vanished, embedding it firmly so the wind wouldn't topple it. He stepped back to confirm it was secure, then retrieved his survival backpack.

Moments later.

—Rumble...

The ground shook as cracks split the sky. The dungeon was collapsing?

Like the dungeon name 'The Warrior's Dream,' he must have been the central pillar holding it together.

—Thud.

He plopped down right beside the planted sword and watched the dungeon crumble. Gazing down from the summit, the earth fractured wide. The ridgelines mimicking the real Helm Mountains collapsed like sandcastles, and the endlessly falling snowflakes scattered into the void.

He stared at the crumbling world. An enormous avalanche swallowed the valley, the sky itself caving in—a spectacular sight. Staring blankly, a thought crossed his mind.

The Warrior's Dream. A dream...

The relieved smile on the warrior's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠face before death. Perhaps in the solitude of this endless snowscape, he'd been waiting for someone to defeat him and inherit that 'grain.'

If so, he could finally awaken from that cursed insomnia and find true rest.

"Hoo......"

His vision blurred. Not from fatigue or injury. The colors of the world faded one by one, darkness swallowing everything like the deep sea.

The last thing he saw was a single final snowflake settling atop the broken sword he'd planted.

Then, his world went completely black.

—Chirp, chirp.

—Buzz.

Sounds of the forest reached his ears. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw the cave entrance. Bright sunlight poured down from above, casting a shadow. The same cave he'd entered to access the dungeon. He'd awakened right in front of it.

The difference? The cave had vanished without a trace. As if it had never existed, only rough rock face met his eyes.

But that wasn't important.

......'Thank you'?

The notification from the system after clearing the dungeon. The clear announcement, trait level-ups as reward, new trait acquisition. All good so ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠far. But a thank you?

"......Who to whom?"

The warrior to him? Or the system itself? The system, which had always felt like a dry machine, leaking something akin to emotion for the first time—it left a profoundly strange feeling.

What the hell is this thing, anyway? Most likely the entity that dragged me into this world.

What does it want from me?

He checked his status window again. Intermediate Dagger Skills had leaped straight to Advanced Dagger Skills, and the sensation of seeing the warrior's 'grain' had solidified into the new trait Weak Point Perception.

Weak Point Perception. The name felt too meager for its caliber. The sensation and power he'd actually felt were far beyond what such a modest title implied.

Well, names aren't what matter.

The effect was. Becoming a trait meant that vision of the grain was now fully his. A massive gain.

An attack that ignored defenses and cleaved the foe. Depending on the situation, it might even land critical hits on opponents far stronger than him.

And Advanced Dagger Skills. Three levels at once to reach Advanced. Another huge boon. His main was martial arts, but daggers were always a versatile weapon. He could already sense their utility.

He drew the dagger from his thigh holster. Gripping it blade-up, he flicked his wrist to reverse it blade-down.

—Whoosh! Slash!

He slashed the air. Repositioned and slashed again. The sound of the blade cutting air echoed sharply.

My hand movements feel faster.

The difference was tangible. Because of the three-level jump? His grip on the dagger felt far smoother than before. As if every muscle fiber in his fingers perfectly understood and reacted to the dagger's center of gravity.

The 'Advanced' label was no empty title.

But the most pressing matter now was something else.

The selection window still blinked in the corner of his vision. He'd already surpassed the threshold with experience from slaying demon beasts before exiting the dungeon. All that remained was pressing the button.

But not now. This wasn't a safe spot, and his condition was poor. Clothes torn, emergency rations down to a couple energy bars and a bottle of water. The battles inside had left him starving and stamina-drained.

Need to regroup. Pick a new hunting ground too.

Unlike the dungeon, demon beasts were scarce in the real Helm Mountains, and low quality to boot. Leveling Demonic Body to 10 here would take thirty years, not three.

He pulled out the map buried deep in his bag and scanned it. His eyes caught something. A plain at the mountain range's edge, not far off. A village there: Pavel Village. Not too small, not too big. Perfect for resupply and intel.

He shoveled the last energy bar and water into his mouth. Hoisting his lightened backpack, he set off.

The sun rose and set once.

"Wh-what was that just now?!"

"Something flashed by...?"

At light speed, he breached the village barrier.

"Everything from here to here."

"Pardon?"

Ignoring the stunned clerk's face, he devoured the food like a whirlwind. Straight to the nearby motel for check-in. Slipping into the room, locking the door, showering. Changed clothes, drew the curtains to black out the room, sat on the bed.

Now to level up Demonic Body.

"Hoo......"

He steadied his breath. Tension crept in. He was used to pain, but Demonic Body level-ups were another league.

...Should I try lotus position?

Might help endure it. He lifted one foot deep onto his left thigh, then the other. Straightened his back, tucked his chin.

Perfect.

A flawless lotus worthy of Buddha's nod.

Clinging to faint hope, he hit Yes.

—Crunch.

"Graaaaaah!!!"

Lotus position helped not a bit. And this time it lasted an hour. Just added numb legs.

—Rumble!!

A massive roar erupted from the earth with the shockwave. Perhaps from recent frequent seismic activity, the ground had split wide, the road severed dozens of meters down into a cliff.

And right at the cliff's edge stood an old man. He halted, peering down at his feet.

No road, no ground. Just a yawning abyss.

"Oh dear, the path's cut."

The old man extended his hand and clenched lightly. His eyes gleamed, space warping.

—Rumble...

The earth quaked as house-sized boulders from below defied gravity, floating up. Dozens, hundreds of rocks gathered like living creatures from his feet to the opposite cliff.

—Crunch, crackle!

The massive stones interlocked like precise gears. The chasm in the earth shrank, then sealed completely.

A smooth new plain entered the old man's view.

"Neatly done."

Satisfied, he stepped forward. Then, his brow furrowed faintly. Overexertion for a man past eighty? A stuffy pressure weighed on his chest like soaked cotton.

He drew a small cylindrical pill case from his pocket. But his hand paused at the lid.

"Hmm, was it one pill or two...?"

Even he couldn't fight time. Once he could memorize every book in the academy library as basics. Age had dulled his memory.

"Sigh, guess I have to ask."

He knew the nagging was coming, but no choice. Sighing, he pulled out his communicator and hit shortcut 1.

—Beep, beep.

Before three rings, a voice emerged.

"Ah, yes. Iris. Um, that... how many pills was the dosage again?"

Iris sighed deeply, replying sharply.

"Ah, I tried not to, but a cliff popped up and blocked the road. So I just..."

Her endless nagging assaulted him like a villain's energy blast, dizzing his head.

"I'll be back before break ends. So... can't you handle it somehow?"

"Ah, got it..."

—Click.

The call ended. Wibel von Rosenberg gave a wry smile, popping two pills. His physician was great in every way but a bit scary. If only the blooming young lady were a tad gentler.

Thinking so, he hummed lightly and walked on. Ahead, Pavel Village's barrier came into view.