Arven pushes the cover of the sleeping pod open. A series of small LED lights along the chamber walls flicker on one after another. The light is faint but enough to show rows of identical pods stretching across a vast enclosed space.
Arven steps out barefoot, the cold surface grounding him as fragments of memory begin to settle into place. Without hesitation, he walks in a specific direction until reaching a large metal door in the far wall.
He places his hand against it and pushes. A stronger light from the corridor spills into the chamber, forcing him to narrow his eyes slightly.
Arven looks back into the room again, now more clearly illuminated by the light behind him. Rows of sleeping pods fill the entire chamber, far more than he remembers.
"…More than fifty," he murmurs quietly.
His gaze lingers across the rows before he exhales. "…So there are at least fifty inmates still stuck at this stage."
Before the thought settles, a sudden burst of blue light flares from one of the pods deeper inside the chamber.
"Aaarrgh…!"
The cry echoes sharply, followed by a loud impact as someone slams against the inside of the pod.
The cover shifts slightly, and the voice returns, now filled with anger.
"Damn you, Victor! Just wait until I get my revenge."
Another pod lights up nearby. A second voice follows, weaker and disoriented. The pod opens fully, and the man inside pushes himself up before freezing when he sees the other.
"…Damon… you're here. Does that mean…"
"Yeah, that bastard Victor killed me. What about you, Marcus? I remember you got away first."
"I remember the tip of a blade going through my chest from behind, and then everything went dark. When I opened my eyes, I was already here."
"That has to be Victor. His level is way above ours. There's no benefit for him killing us. No EXP, no drops, nothing worth taking. But that bastard doesn't care. He kills just for fun."
"Two years in this place… and now look at us. Back to level one, zero EXP, and everything gone."
Arven's eyes narrow slightly as he listens. He already knows how death here is treated as part of the system tutorials, a forced reset that strips everything away and sends you back to the beginning.
That rule should only apply within the first trial realm. Yet for reasons he cannot understand, Arven has been given another chance to start over even after dying in the sixth.
"Why, Rytir…?" he mutters, voice low and edged with quiet resentment. "You really enjoy playing with my life that much?"
The two men eventually notice him standing near the doorway. They leave their pods, walking in Arven's direction with guarded, aggressive movements.
When they get close enough, their eyes drift upward toward the faint text floating above his head.
[Lv. 1 — The Loser No. 001]
They stare for a moment before both of them suddenly laugh.
"What kind of joke is this?"
"The Loser No. 001?"
"Oh, must be the first inmate sent to this shitty place."
"Wait… doesn't that mean he's the one who's been here the longest?"
"Yeah… and he's still stuck at level one. He must've just died somewhere."
But then, their laughter fades slowly as something begins to feel off. They look at Arven again, more carefully this time, scanning him from head to toe as the mockery gives way to quiet unease.
They simply walk past him toward the open door, though their expressions remain tense, their eyes lingering for a brief moment before they look away and continue into the corridor.
"…This is weird…"
"Yeah… something's off…"
"If he respawned, that means he died in the first trial stage…"
"…Then where the hell has he been all this time?"
"…No idea…"
"Forget it. We've got more important things to deal with."
Marcus pauses, then suddenly stiffens as if something clicks in his mind.
"…Wait."
Without another word, he turns and quickly heads deeper into the facility. Damon watches him for a second before following behind, curiosity replacing his earlier dismissal.
They enter a wide chamber lined with rows of metallic deposit boxes, each one embedded neatly into the walls in perfect alignment.
Marcus stops in front of one of the boxes and places his hand against its surface. A faint pulse of light runs across it before the lock disengages, responding only to its registered owner.
The lid slides open. Inside, a single item rests neatly within. Marcus reaches in and pulls out a pair of dark, intricately crafted sandals, their surface lined with faint glowing patterns.
Without overthinking, he slips them onto his feet. And the effect is immediate.
***
[Alert!]
[Insufficient Intelligence to equip item]
- Required INT: 36
- Current INT: 13 (insufficient)
- MP drained to compensate failure
[Recommendation:]
- Go back to school, noob.
- You are too stupid to wear this magical item(s).
***
Marcus' expression freezes, then drains of color as his body stiffens violently. A sharp gasp escapes him before his knees give out, sending him crashing to the floor.
He groans as he quickly yanks the sandals off, his breathing uneven as the pressure in his head begins to ease.
Slowly, his MP starts to recover, and with it, the tension in his body fades enough for him to push himself back up.
"The hell…"
Damon walks over. "What happened?"
Marcus exhales sharply, still irritated. "This thing… it's a magical item. Needs thirty-six INT to equip."
Damon lets out a short breath of understanding. "That explains it. First time dealing with something like that?"
Marcus nods. "It's rare to find something like this at this stage."
"It's normal," Damon says calmly. "If you don't meet the requirement, the item just turns against you. Good thing you tried it here. If that happened outside, you'd be unconscious for hours."
Arven steps in quietly, catching the end of their conversation. His gaze shifts inward, focusing on his status window, specifically his 178 INT.
"With this… I can use most magical items here without restriction."
Without saying anything, he moves past them and approaches a different section of the room, where a set of larger lockers is installed along the far wall.
He stops in front of one and places his hand against it. The lock responds instantly, recognizing him without hesitation, and the compartment opens.
Unlike the deposit boxes, the interior is far more spacious, designed to store multiple items across different stages of the trial.
Anything placed inside can be retrieved from any locker room, regardless of which trial realm it was stored in. It is an expensive utility, but one that proves its worth every time.
Inside the locker, a set of dark assassin clothing, reinforced gloves, a pair of boots, a headpiece, a pair of daggers, and several small jewels are arranged neatly within the compartment.
They are neither magical nor classified as rare, but unique items with properties that cannot be replicated.
Most of these items are designed for agility-based builds, and in his current state, his agility is far from sufficient to handle them properly.
Still, he reaches for one of the daggers. The blade is sleek and narrow, its edge reflecting an unnatural sheen as if it exists slightly out of sync with the surrounding space.
"Whisperfang…"
The moment his fingers wrap around the hilt, his body reacts instantly. His muscles tighten without warning, contracting far beyond what is necessary as if responding to a command he never gave.
There's no warning from the system at all. But Arven can feel his stamina draining rapidly, as though his body is being forced to stay under constant strain.
"…Tch."
He lets go immediately. The dagger slips from his hand and drops back into the locker, the sound echoing just enough to draw attention.
Damon and Marcus both turn their heads toward him. Their expressions change the moment they see what he is doing.
"…No way…"
"That's a locker unit."
"You need a thousand gold coins just to unlock one of those."
Instead of questioning him directly, they simply watch as Arven reaches into the locker again.
This time, Arven pulls out a ring. It looks plain at a glance, a simple metallic band without any gemstone or ornament, something that could easily be mistaken for a common item.
"…That's it?"
"I thought he'd pull out something impressive."
"Yeah… All that hype for a locker, and it's just a cheap ring."
"Guess being the longest loser here doesn't mean much after all."
They chuckle lightly before turning away, already losing interest as they start heading back toward the corridor.
Arven hears every word, but he simply ignores them. Because they have no idea what they are looking at.
He lifts the ring slightly, his gaze focusing as the system interface responds instantly.
***
[Item Name: Mindforge Loop]
[Type: Unique Ring]
[Requirement: INT 153]
+20 to all Attributes
+50 Mana
+250% Mana Regeneration Rate
+12% to All Elemental Resistances
[Passive: Mindforge Channel]
Mana can be forged along the edge of any blade-type weapon, extending its reach by 50% of its original length.
The density and sharpness of the manifested edge depend on the user's Mana Forge Mastery.
***
Arven equips it without hesitation. A subtle shift runs through his body, as if multiple layers of limitation are lifted at once.
His senses stabilize, his breathing evens out, and the flow of mana within him becomes significantly smoother.
His status updates immediately. Strength and agility increase, and his intelligence rises further beyond its already high value.
Yet even with the boost, it still isn't enough for him to wield Whisperfang. His agility settles at 47, falling short of the required 55 agility.
"Well…" he mutters under his breath, closing the compartment with a soft push. "…just need to hit level five. Then I can use them. All of them."