Three weeks.
That was how long Kael's soul had been spending in this wretched world—three weeks of survival during which his life could end at any moment.
Three weeks of endless hunting and being hunted. His only companions were the bones of long-dead creatures and the silence of the endless desolate land.
Kael was gazing around and sighed, murmuring, "For now, this place belongs to me."
Who would have thought that the colossal skull of the Ancient Titan would end up as a shelter for a mere mortals against the monsters that was roaming outside?
It wasn't perfect—but in a world where safety was a luxury, it was the best he could ask for.
Thanks to the eerie aura it gave off, most monsters kept their distance. And for now, that made it the best home they could possibly have.
Kael sat outside the skull, his sharp gaze locked on the horizon as if he were some kind of creation god making a godly creation, nothing but the sharpening of his newest claws—a pair of gloves made from the claws of a monster and crafted with the remains of the Doom Wyrm—the Rank 6 monster he had slain weeks ago. The gloves were his greatest work so far. The monster's bones were too tough; it took him a week to carve with his dagger, but without it, carving through them with his bare hands would have been impossible.
But persistence was key, but that was a lie; the secret behind his gloves was his little cheat—the obsidian dagger he had obtained from the monster.
It was slow, agonizing work, but he had nothing but endless time in this seemingly perpetual trial.
The fire burned weakly beside him, casting a flickering shadow against the Titan's skull. He'd kept it deliberately small—just enough to stay warm, but not enough for the monsters to notice. Even then, it risked becoming a beacon. And in this world, attention meant one thing—death.
The wind howled across the lifeless, desolate land, carrying a bone-chilling cold that sank into his very bones. Kael adjusted his coat, pulling it tighter around himself. The coat was crude—stitched from the hides of low-rank monsters he'd butchered—but it did its job. Out here, survival wasn't about looking good—it was about staying alive.
Yet as he sat, sharpening his gloves and watching the flames flicker, an important thought crept into his mind—how much longer could he keep this up?
The cold wind was still gnawing at his skin. Not even the wall of the titan's skull could shield him from its relentless bite. He exhaled, watching as his breath transformed into mist in the bone-chilling wind. His gaze drifted toward the horizon—nothing.
No signs of life. No movement. Just the endless expanse of dead trees and cracked earth stretching toward endless. It was a sight he had grown familiar with, yet each time he saw it. it left a deeper weight in his chest.
A slow sigh escaped his lips. Plain weak. Still nothing.
"Three weeks in this godforsaken world, and yet I have no clue how to end this trial and go back to my world. There is no gate, no clear path, no answer. Just an endless, barren, desolate land. I had hoped—hoped—to find something: a city, a village, hell, even a ruined temple. Anything that would tell me I wasn't alone in this damn place."
But this world had nothing to offer him—nothing except monsters, cold wind, and silence.
Yet, survival was his ultimate goal. And survival required strength.
"In these three weeks, I had accumulated around fifty cores, stored carefully in the depths of the Titan's skull. Alongside them, I had stocked up on food—scarce as it was. The bones and remnants of the Doom Wyrm had been repurposed, carved into tools and weapons. I had made progress, but…
Is it enough?"
With that, he turned his attention to his dagger and realized he hadn't checked his Nexus for a while. With a thought, the translucent screen materialized before his eyes, displaying his current stats.
---
Name : Sanctus Kaelvren Stormborn Dominus Citadellae Ruinae
Soulname : Not Obtained
Talent : Undetermined
Ranking : Unawakened / Lesser
| Soul Job : Not Assigned
Soul Flaw: Not Revealed
Soul Attributes : Undermine
Soul Core: Not Formed
Soul World: Absent
| BLOODLINE
Bloodline : Dormant
God's Blessings : None
Bloodline Ability : Unawaken
| Attributes
Strength: 4
Agility: 7
Vitality: 10
Endurance: 4
Perception: 3
Luck: 7
| Abilities : None
| Artifacts : 2
| Echoes : None
[Notice]
All the soul fragments you have accumulated will be calculated at the end of the trial.
---
With an annoyed look, he said, "Still nothing."
Despite fighting powerful creatures and narrowly escaping death multiple times, his stats remained the same. Am I missing something? Is not fighting against monsters going to increase your stats? Is it because I am in the trial?
" I should also check the details of the dagger."
With a flicker of thought, information on the dagger appeared in front of him.
---
Name: Soulbound Dagger
Rank: Dread (Rank 6)
Type: Weapon (Dagger)
Effects:
Soul Devour: Absorbs the life force of slain enemies, temporarily enhancing the wielder's strength, speed, and regeneration.
Blood Oath: Once bound, the weapon cannot be discarded, stolen, or destroyed. It will always return to the wielder.
Veil of Shadows: When held, the user's presence becomes harder to detect in low-light conditions.
Flaws:
Cursed Hunger: The dagger must kill frequently, or it will begin consuming the wielder's vitality instead.
Bound by Fate: If another soul attempts to wield it, they will be permanently marked as an enemy by the dagger's original owner.
---
Kael's grip tightened around the dagger as he read through its description.
Cursed Hunger.
A weapon that fed on the life force of its kills—thank God I am killing monsters these days; if it were not for that, it might eat my vitality.
His hands clenched into fists.
In a daze, he thought that he had survived brutal fights and hunted powerful creatures, yet his efforts had led nowhere. His stats are not going up; there's no way of becoming stronger. I can't absorb the cores. So what the hell is going on? What should I do?
His mind raced. His gaze flickered back to the translucent screen.
If increasing stat wasn't an option, then there had to be another way. Something he was missing.
Kael exhaled slowly, forcing down his frustration.
Not yet.
Not here.
If this trial had rules, then I need to know the rules should I die. Not yet. That's an idiotic choice; no, I want to survive long enough to reach the end of this damned test. I need to change tactics.
For now, there was only one path forward:
Keep killing. Keep surviving. And find the exit.
Kael stood up, stretching his sore muscles as he walked toward the gaping maw of the Titan Skull—his so-called bedroom. The wind howled behind him, a mournful wail that carried the whispers of the dead. He ignored it; he had heard the worst thought already.
Inside of the skull was crude yet secure. A pathetic excuse for a bed—woven together from dry grass, stitched monster hide, and brittle leaves—lay in the corner. It wasn't comfortable, but it was warm. The colossal bones overhead provided an impenetrable shield, keeping out the harsh winds and the piercing gaze of nocturnal predators. Most monsters wouldn't dare squeeze through the narrow entrance.
One of the safest places he had found in this forsaken world.
Kael dropped onto his makeshift bed, staring up at the jagged ceiling of bones. His fingers twitched, his mind restless. Sleep would come eventually—if he let it.
But his thoughts wouldn't shut up.
Nonsensical things. Things that shouldn't matter anymore.
The Citadellae Ruinae. The clinking of silver goblets. The polished floors where power-hungry men bowed so deep their noses nearly touched the ground.
"Hah. Bootlickers."
With a flick of his fingers, the illusion came rushing back—glorious halls, velvet drapes, empty smiles. They all followed him once. Laughed when he laughed. Nodded when he spoke. Scrambled for his approval like mongrels fighting for scraps.
"This is how, I the mighty one fallen."
Here, he was no prince. No noble son of a grand house. No heir to anything except this corpse-littered desolate land.
Here, he was nothing and had nothing.
No titles. No followers. No bootlickers.
Just him and the monsters.
A chuckle slipped past his lips—
"And yet... I've never been more free."
His fingers traced the edge of his dagger. This place had stripped away all the pretenses, all the illusions. What remained was simple: Kill or be killed. No politics. No betrayals. No fake smiles hiding sharp knives. Just blood and survival.
"Maybe this place isn't a punishment after all."
Maybe it was a gift.
Kael smirked, his oceanic eyes gleaming in the darkness.
"Let's see who fall first—me, or this world."
Kael exhaled slowly, pushing those thoughts from his mind. It didn't matter. The past was irrelevant. Survival was all that mattered.
His body ached from the day's training, muscles screaming from endless repetition, but exhaustion dulled the pain. His breath slowed, his vision blurred. In a moment he was in the embrace of sleep pulling him out of all worse.
And with it—dreams of blood, shadows, and thunder.
Outside skull, the world began to shift. Dark clouds rolled across the solid sky, swallowing the stary sky. The wind howled through the titan's remains.
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Lightning flashed in reply, illuminating the skeletal remains of fallen monsters in the forsaken land.
Seems that something was coming.
The ground was trembling. The storm was approaching.
But Kaelvren was now drifting into a deep slumber, unaware of the chaos that was unfolding.
And then, in the darkness, thunder struck—and in that moment, two red eyes glimmered.