After the crimson flicker came an eerie sound. Kael wasted no time.
His instincts screamed at his face telling him to find a way to cover himself. He swept his gaze around the dimly lit terrain until he spotted a massive boulder. Without any hesitation, he rushed behind it, pressing his back against the cold stone and controlling his breath.
He waited for that thing—whatever it was—to come and take his life. But in his heart, he was praying to every god and demon he could remember—begging for salvation.
Minutes passed. He kept his eyes locked on the direction from which the sound and flicker had come, expecting some horrifying monster to emerge at any moment. His grip on the crude dagger tightened, his muscles tensed like a coiled spring—ready to strike or run.
Yet, nothing came.
An hour crawled by. The oppressive silence of the wasteland remained unbroken, as if the land itself had swallowed the noise whole. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased. Whatever had made that sound had either left, lost interest, or maybe—just maybe— had never been there to begin with.
With a deep breath, Kaelvren stepped out from his hiding spot.
His gaze flickered back to the Gravestalker's corpse—still motionless, its hollow, lifeless eyes staring into the abyss as if warning him of the horrors yet to come.
And what did Kael feel?
Not fear.
Something far worse.
Greed.
A wicked thought wormed its way into his mind, curling like smoke around his reasoning.
Since my bad luck is already so good that I have no way out of this trial…
Why not fight my way through hell?
Yeah. Why not? What did he have to lose?
Monster cores were valuable—priceless, even. If he could gather enough, he might have a shot at obtaining artifacts or abilities. And if he was really lucky—oh, wait, he was Kael , the walking disaster—then maybe, just maybe, he could take them back to the real world.
No more begging. No more helplessness. No more scraping by while fate laughed in his face.
His fingers curled into fists, his lips pulling into a grin that had no business being there.
Screw playing it safe.
From this point on, he would hunt. He would fight. He would take every core he could get his hands on.
Even if it meant diving headfirst into death's waiting arms.
That toxic thought thrilled him.
Money hadn't always been his weakness.
There was a time when he had been drowning in it—when wealth was nothing more than a number, an afterthought. But in the last six months, everything has changed. Now, he was struggling just to scrape a piece of coarse hide from a dead monster, reduced to nothing more than a Ravager .
Watching opportunities slip through his fingers like sand had become routine.
But here…
Here, it was different.
Here, he had a chance—a real one. Not one handed to him by fate, not a fleeting stroke of luck, but something he could carve out for himself. Something he could take.
Kaelvren's gaze lingered on the path from which the Gravestalker had emerged. The air hung heavy, thick with an unspoken warning. Everything about that road reeked of death—an unmarked grave for those foolish enough to tread it.
If a Rank 8 Gravestalker had made it out, what horrors still lurked within? What stronger, more terrifying beings had failed to escape?
He let out a slow breath.
No matter how much he tried to steel himself, one truth remained: he was just a lesser human.
And yet…
That intoxicating greed refused to release its grip.
Fear whispered for him to turn back. But greed? Greed roared for him to move forward.
Tightening his grip on the dagger, Kaelvren silenced his hesitation and stepped forward—following the Gravestalker's trail into the path of the dead.
The moment Kael set foot on the ominous path, he felt the air shift around him. A rancid stench of rotting flesh filled his nostrils, thick and suffocating. Before him lay a grotesque sight—corpses of Rank 9 and Rank 6 monsters piled atop one another, forming a morbid graveyard of twisted, lifeless forms.
His stomach churned at the sheer horror of it. For a moment, he thought he might vomit. But he held it back. He couldn't afford to lose the precious water in his body—he had no idea when he'd next find a source to replenish it.
As he cautiously stepped forward, something caught his eye—a dying Rank 8 monster, its body twitching weakly amidst the corpses. Without hesitation, his instincts took over. In one swift motion, he drove his dagger into its neck, silencing its struggle, and then severed its head with a practiced slice.
Ding!
A cold, mechanical voice echoed in his mind.
[You have slain a Rank 8 Harbinger. All the soul fragments you will have accumulated will be calculated at the end of the trial.]
He exhaled sharply. His hand trembled from the sudden act of violence, but he had no time to dwell on it. The deeper he ventured, the more corpses piled up—twisted husks, some burned beyond recognition, others torn apart by unknown monsters. The grotesque sight made his skin crawl, but then—he saw something.
His body stiffened as if a demon had set its gaze upon him. Something unusual caught his eye—a Rank 6 monster lay in the distance, its once-mighty form crumpled like a fallen titan. Its enormous body, covered in dense, hardened scales, bore deep lacerations, its flesh shredded as if something had torn through its legendary defenses with ease.
A DreadWyrm—Rank 6.
Kaelvren froze. A monster of this caliber was nearly impossible to kill, its regenerative abilities making it a nightmare even for the strongest hunters in the human domain. And yet… here it lay. A dismembered corpse. Unmoving.
What could have done this?
A chill ran down his spine. Then—movement.
Barely noticeable. A faint twitch. The monster was still alive.
His breath hitched. His mind screamed caution, but his instincts screamed opportunity. This was his chance.
A sane man would run. A foolish man would hesitate. But Kaelvren—he was neither.
He surged forward. His dagger, crafted from bone, gleamed under the dim light. His hand twisted with excitement, though Dreadclawed at his spine. Something had managed to kill a Rank 6 Dread Doom Wyrm. Whatever it was, it might still be nearby.
But he didn't care.
For the past six months, it had felt like fate was spitting in his face. Every decision, every gamble—all disasters. His Luck stat, a mere 7, had been nothing but a cruel joke. Neither high enough to bring fortune nor low enough to predict disaster. Just… unstable. A constant coin flip.
But now—now it was proving its worth.
Not bad luck. Not good luck. Pure, unfiltered chaos.
This wasn't a moment for hesitation. Luck favors the bold, doesn't it?
His heart pounded wildly. His body thrummed with reckless energy. This was an opportunity no man would pass up.
He crept closer, scanning for anything of value. His fingers moved urgently, rummaging through the monster's dense scales, pressing against its flesh—
Ding!
A voice echoed in his mind.
[ You have slain a Rank 6 Dread – Doom Wyrm. ]
[ All the soul fragments you will have accumulated will be calculated at the end of the trial.]
Kaelvren's breath caught in his throat. He actually did it.
He didn't have time to process the absurdity of what just happened. His body was still thrumming with adrenaline when another notification popped up.
Ding!
[You have obtained a Weapon-Type Artifact.]
His mind blanked for a moment. An artifact?
His breath hitched.
An artifact. An actual artifact.
Without hesitation, Kaelvren urgently manifested the weapon into his hand. A sleek, obsidian dagger materialized, its blade drinking in the surrounding light as if it thrived in darkness. There was no grand reveal, no divine glow—just a silent, menacing promise of power.
But Kael didn't waste time marveling at it. He had no time for awe.
Turning back to the Doom Wyrm's corpse, he moved with urgency. He plunged the dagger into its flesh, testing its edge. The blade sank in effortlessly, far smoother than anything he had ever used before. Yet, even with this new weapon, he quickly realized the problem—this was a Rank 6 body. Even though it was already in a battered state, butchering a creature of this size was beyond him.
Damn it.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He had just made himself a target
not because he hadn't considered it before, but because it had finally sunk in.
He had killed a Doom Wyrm, yes. But that monster had already been on the brink of death.
And Something else—something far worse—had put it in that state.
Maybe that being was still here.
Maybe it was watching him right now.
Kaelvren swallowed hard. Please, not the monster that just killed this thing.
His heart pounded in his chest, and for the first time in his life, he felt an overwhelming urge to pray.
"I'll pray to the Goddess of Luck. No—worship her. No—convert, right here, right now. Oh, Goddess of Luck…
He clasped his hands together, whispering in his mind, Please, Goddess of Luck, just this once. Don't put me in danger. Let me slip away. Just this once.I am begging for mercy."
His survival instincts took over. Move. Now.
Kaelvren melted into the darkness, every movement deliberate, precise. He navigated through the field of corpses, using their twisted shadows as his cover. Each step was silent, his breath shallow, his eyes scanning for movement.
If luck was on his side—if the Goddess of Luck had truly accepted his desperate plea—then he would make it out alive.
For days, Kaelvren walked, his mind on edge, his body running on sheer survival instinct. He camped wherever he could—beneath fallen trees, inside the gutted remains of large monsters—never allowing himself more than a few moments of restless sleep before moving again.
But something about this world bothered him.
Even though it was a soul world and his body was nothing more than a manifested soul form, he still had to do all the necessary bodily functions—he had to relieve himself, he had to drink water, he had to eat. Why?
Shouldn't a soul world be free from such limitations?
Yet, here he was, starving, thirsty, exhausted.
Water, in particular, had been a nightmare to find. If he hadn't stumbled upon a river along his path, he might have already perished. Using whatever scraps of monster hide he could salvage, he had fashioned a crude water pouch—his lifeline in this brutal realm.
And so, with nothing but a dagger, a pouch filled with water, and sheer desperation, he trudged forward—deeper into the unknown.
After an unknown number of days, Kaelvren stumbled upon something truly massive.
A skeleton—so large that even the Rank 5 Abyssal Terror seemed small in comparison. Its sheer size was overwhelming. The skull alone was as large as an entire citadel.
Then it hit him.
What kind of being was this?
And what in all the hells could have brought it down?
He swallowed hard, scanning the colossal remains. The air here felt… different. Heavy. Unsettling.
And yet—safe.
No monsters lurked nearby. No sounds of movement. It was as if whatever had slain this titan had left behind a presence of pure dread, an aura that warded off lesser creatures.
Kaelvren cautiously approached, his fingers brushing against the ancient bones. Weathered. Aged. This thing had been dead for a very, very long time.
"If this thing's killer is still alive… it sure as hell isn't anywhere near here," he muttered to himself.
That meant…
This place was perfect.
The eerie silence around the skeleton made his skin crawl, but it was still better than being hunted. This massive skull could serve as a temporary shelter, a place where he could finally rest without fear.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, claiming the colossal skull remains as his new home.
He had no idea what lay ahead, but one thing was certain—
He had survived another day.