Getting Out (1)
Ding—
The system window bloomed into view, punctual as ever.
Shff— splatter—
An excruciating pain erupted from his abdomen.
"Aaargh!!!!"
Red intestines spilled out in a rush, soaking the floor.
It was a fatal wound — the kind that should have killed him instantly. But he didn't die. No — he couldn't die. This curse refused to grant him even the mercy of an easy death.
Shff— CRACK!!!! SPLURT!
By the time hundreds — thousands — of abrasions had worn the pain familiar—
Ding—
Fwoosh—
This time, fierce flames roared up across his entire body.
Bzzt—
Tens of thousands of volts of current, as if to burn away every single cell.
Fwoosh—
The fire demon: skin melting away, his whole body boiling from the outside in.
Hsss—
Rot creeping in from the fingertips.
Hundreds, thousands of agonies tormented him without end. And whenever his mind began to blur — whenever the primal instinct of pain started gnawing at his sanity — that pattern appeared without fail.
Ding—
Fwoosh—
A black flame on an entirely different dimension from everything that had come before.
This fire did not end with simply burning the flesh.
The despair of a body rotting and festering apart. The agony of limbs bursting open. The crushing pressure of lungs freezing solid.
Beyond mere pain came a torment that ground the mind itself down to nothing.
And sure enough, into his vision — already charred pitch-black — a single message surfaced in sharp clarity.
Ding—
[Limit reached.]
[You have died.]
At first, the fact of his death made him happy.
Because it meant escape from this yoke of agony. Because he would never again have to writhe beneath the pain, screaming.
But that belief was a grave illusion.
[Chronos's Blessing settles upon you.]
[Returning to the beginning.]
"Hahk—!"
Crisp air flooded deep into his lungs.
The vision that had burned black snapped wide open. The belly that had spilled its guts lay restored, clean and whole.
The pain, vanished as if it had all been a lie, let him feel happiness in this ordinary calm.
"Please..."
Back in the first cycle, he had still felt the relief of having survived.
"Please... kill me..."
But Woobin knew.
He knew that the calm he felt now was nothing but an appetizer — one served to make the hell to come taste all the more excruciating.
Ding—
CRACK!!!
Without fail, blood burst from every inch of his body—
"Ughaaaah!!!!!"
And the hell filled with nothing but pain and despair began all over again.
Ding—
[Limit reached.]
[You have died.]
[Chronos's Blessing settles upon you.]
[Returning to the beginning.]
"Hahk—!"
How many times had he died now?
'Please, stop...'
He had no desire left to go on living.
'Kill me...'
He only wanted this pain to end — to reach the ending called death.
'Please......'
But that hope was a dream that could never come true.
Ding—
"Aaagh—!"
Crawling weakly along the floor amid the endless agony, gasping for breath, a question suddenly came to him.
'Why was I doing this again?'
He couldn't even remember why he had been struggling in this hell. The murderous pain left no room even to retrace his own memories.
And then, all at once, the scene replayed in his head.
Woobin had been clearing a hidden dungeon together with his comrades.
There had been a few difficulties, but nothing serious.
They killed the boss and secured the artifact.
And he'd thought they'd get through another day unscathed, just like that.
But then came a situation he could not comprehend.
Thud—
The moment the fist of the leader he had trusted with everything slammed into his abdomen, a message floated up across his vision.
Ding—
[A powerful spell strikes your entire body.]
[You have fallen into a paralyzed state.]
"Huh?!"
His body, cut loose from its master's control, crumpled to the floor — and only his eyes could still move.
In the view he strained upward to see, incomprehensible scenes drifted past.
"Look at your face. That's fucking hilarious."
Hyun-tae — the friend he had believed in and leaned on — grinned down and ground his heel into Woobin's head.
The leader he had believed in walked out without so much as a backward glance.
"Ah... ah..."
He screamed with everything he had, but no voice came.
"Kukuku... ah, this is so fucking funny. You should've reined in the greed, man. Useless at everything but your trait, and still hauling items out of every single raid — and this is where it got you."
Only Jung Hyun-tae's vicious, sneering face was there to greet him, snickering all the while.
Ding—
[Jung Hyun-tae has used Plunder.]
[An item has been taken.]
[Jung Hyun-tae has used Plunder.]
[An item has been taken.]
......
Every item slipped from Woobin's grasp and began piling up on the floor.
"I'll be taking this one."
"Hey, wait! I was going to keep that."
The comrades whose backs he had guarded with his life began fighting over Woobin's belongings.
"Don't fight over it. The leader said he'd collect everything and redistribute it fairly anyway. Get moving."
"Tch."
Watching them file out of the dungeon at Hyun-tae's word — not one of them sparing Woobin a single glance — he finally understood.
To them, Woobin had been nothing more than a meal ticket to shake items out of.
'Fuck...'
Why? It made no sense. He had been proud of the considerable role he played in this party.
Hadn't it been Woobin who landed the final, decisive blow in this very raid?
Then why — why would they do this...
He had thought they were all friends from the start. He had thought they were family — the kind he would gladly die for.
'Why me...'
He had always put his life on the line for every one of them.
He wanted to know the reason.
He turned the question over thousands upon thousands of times.
"Aaargh!!!!!"
Perhaps because of the horrific pain, thinking was nearly impossible — but in the end, he reached a single conclusion.
'Fucking bastards.'
Whatever their reasons, those sons of bitches had thrown him away.
And so only one thought remained that he could summon.
'I'll tear every last one of them apart.'
He would get out of here and kill every one of those bastards — and chew them up.
'Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!'
He endured on pure spite.
How could he get out of this hell?
Before he could even finish the thought—
Ding—
[Limit reached.]
[You have died.]
[Chronos's Blessing settles upon you.]
[Returning to the beginning.]
Hsss—
The agony that had been viciously shredding his body died away once more.
"Whew..."
Perhaps because the pain had receded, the fury that had been driving him cooled into something cold and still.
What he needed now wasn't rage. Only a plan to escape this living hell.
The first thing to do was get a grip on his situation.
Ding—
The first wave of pain arrived roughly eleven seconds after each death.
"Aaaargh!!!!!!"
And so, wracked by excruciating agony, Woobin honed his dulled blade.
[Limit reached.]
[You have died.]
[Chronos's Blessing settles upon you.]
[Returning to the beginning.]
How many times had he died? Early on, he had counted. Somewhere past a thousand, he realized the number meant nothing.
And then he began to grasp a few of the rules.
'So this is what "returning to the beginning" means.'
The first thing he checked was his status window.
The level he had spent years building had been reset to 1. And it wasn't only the level.
Not just his dying body — his mind had been reset as well.
'This is fucked.'
That truth was truly horrifying. Because every time he died, his freshly reset mind lived through this hell as vividly as the very first time.
But now, he was grateful for it.
'Just hold on a little longer.'
If not for that effect, his mind would have shattered long ago — no self left behind at all.
Woobin clenched his fist and stood before the firmly sealed door.
Everything about the situation was as bad as it could possibly be.
Without the levels and items he had bled to build, escaping this prison was impossible.
And yet there was exactly one thing that never reset.
Ding—
It was the trait.
Traits were abilities granted uniquely to those who had been transferred to this world.
From something as simple as doubling one's physical strength, to miracles that regrew severed arms — the potential of a trait was boundless.
And Woobin's trait was reasonably useful.
Type: Trait | Grade: S
Designated Skill: [Vital Point Strike]
Effect: The level limit of the designated skill is removed.
An S-grade trait, no less — one that removed a skill's level cap.
Growth that ended at level 10 for everyone else simply didn't exist for Woobin.
And the result—
Ding—
Type: Skill | Grade: B | Level: 101 | Form: Passive
◈ Striking a target's vital point lands a critical attack with 100% probability.
◈ Critical attack damage increased by 1,010%.
Woobin had come to possess firepower that no one alive could hope to match.
There was just one problem: right now, this skill was unusable.
The only way out was to smash down the firmly sealed door — and objects had no vital points.
Which meant he needed to grow a different skill.
[Would you like to change your designated skill?]
(Warning! Changing your designated skill will reset the grown skill.)
A skill imbued with decades of effort.
A culmination that held everything he was — you could have called it his life's entire work and not been far wrong.
Ding—
Yet there was no hesitation in Woobin's action.
Ding—
Type: Skill | Grade: F | Level: 1 | Form: Active
Effect: Striking a target with your fist deals 101% of your attack power as damage.
The skill he had chosen was a basic one — something anyone could learn at level 1.
Garbage efficiency, a trash skill no one ever used. But there was no other choice.
All he had left was this body — built to savor infinite pain.
Ding—
Shff—
"Ugh!!!"
With his organs spilling out behind him, Woobin drove his fist toward the massive door.
Ding—
Thud!
His fist burst open—
Ding—
Thud!
Even as the bones twisted out of shape, he did not stop.
"Just you wait."
Driven by a single obsession — to see his dream fulfilled, and wring the necks of those bastards.
[Limit reached.]
[You have died.]
[Chronos's Blessing settles upon you.]
[Returning to the beginning.]
[Limit reached.]
[You have died.]
[Chronos's Blessing settles upon you.]
[Returning to the beginning.]
· · · · · · ·
How many years had passed?
Ten? No — this was hell's time; it felt as though at least several hundred years had flowed by.
Thud—
Ding—
[Fist Strike's level increases.]
[Limit reached.]
[You have died.]
[Chronos's Blessing settles upon you.]
[Returning to the beginning.]
But Woobin did not stop.
'Just a little more.'
Thud—
Ding—
[Fist Strike's level increases.]
[Limit reached.]
[You have died.]
[Chronos's Blessing settles upon you.]
[Returning to the beginning.]
All he had to lean on was knocking at this door.
Thud—
Ding—
[Fist Strike's level increases.]
[Limit reached.]
[You have died.]
[Chronos's Blessing settles upon you.]
[Returning to the beginning.]
What had become of the world outside? Were they all dead already?
The ominous question surfaced now and then — but he did not stop.
Thud—
Ding—
[Fist Strike's level increases.]
[Limit reached.]
[You have died.]
[Chronos's Blessing settles upon you.]
[Returning to the beginning.]
Because if he stopped this work even for a moment, he felt despair would swallow him whole.
Thud—
Ding—
[Limit reached.]
[You have died.]
[Chronos's Blessing settles upon you.]
[Returning to the beginning.]
It was one such day — throwing his fist forward on the strength of an invisible hope.
Ding—
Thud!
Rumble—
From the wall that should never have broken, a response began to come.
Woobin swung his fists like a man possessed.
Ding—
[Fist Strike has been used.]
[Fist Strike has been used.]
[Fist Strike has been used.]
[Fist Strike has been used.]
......
A single thread of light spilled into the darkness-filled chamber.
'There it is!'
He could be free of this pain now! He could get out!
And along with the euphoria—
'You bastards.'
Rage came boiling up—
Ding—
And the moment that casually swung fist struck the wall—
CLANG!!!!
With a massive impact — rumble— the thing he had yearned for above all else became reality.
He could no longer measure how long he had endured — but every ounce of that effort was carved into his fist.