It stared at me.
Or… at least, I thought it did. Its hood concealed everything above the mouth. The only thing I could see clearly was the grin.
That grin.
Too wide. Too calm. Too wrong.
It wasn't human.
A shiver crawled down my spine. Not the kind from horror movies or cheap thrills—this was real. The kind that makes your instincts scream at you to run, even if your brain hasn't caught up yet.
No, this wasn't fear.
This was dread. Bone-deep, soul-crushing, skin-prickling dread. The kind that tells you you're already cooked.
I didn't move.
I couldn't move.
Then it spoke—voice distorted like a broken speaker.
> "The shadow greets ???....????"
The last words glitched, like corrupted data. Its body flickered, bent unnaturally like a corrupted game model.
What?
That wasn't normal. That wasn't in the game.
The trials in Hero Chronicles were all automated. Ancient tech, puzzles, traps—sure. But not this. Not a living, breathing thing.
Definitely not one that looked like that.
"Who are you?" I croaked, barely getting the words out.
It tilted its head slowly, like a curious predator examining something beneath it.
> "I am Shadow. The follower of him."
Him?
I frowned. I'd played the game to 100% completion. There was no 'Shadow' character. No 'him' like this thing described.
Nothing about this made sense.
"So… do I have to fight you to get through?"
It laughed.
A thunderous, mocking cackle that echoed across the chamber and pierced into my skull.
> "Foolish mortal. You are not yet at the level to challenge me. Though you look and feel like him… you are nowhere near his level."
What? Look like who? Feel like who?
Too many questions. Too many unknowns. And every one of them pressed down on me like a vice.
Was Axel hiding more than I thought?
Before I could say anything else, that eerie voice returned—calmer now. Almost… amused.
> "Mortal. You may proceed. May the darkness have mercy on you."
The grin widened again.
And then… it vanished.
Not faded.
Vanished.
Like smoke swallowed by the void.
---
Trial One was called the Trial of The Body.
I forced my legs to move.
My heart was still hammering like a war drum, but the world wasn't going to wait for me to pull myself together.
The first trial chamber looked just like I remembered from the game.
Magical torches lit up the walls. Ancient glyphs pulsed beneath transparent floor tiles, glowing with eerie blues and purples. The air smelled like dust and static.
The objective?
Survive for three minutes.
That was it.
Just three minutes.
No enemies. Just traps. Arrows. Fire. Spikes. Blades.
It sounded easy.
It wasn't.
This was one of the hardest kinds of trials. Not because of the mechanics, but because mistakes meant pain. And now that this was real… that pain was no longer theoretical.
I stared down at my body.
Too small. Too light. My balance felt off. Like I was constanly not in control of my limbs. My reach was shorter and this body didn't have as much muscle as my previous one.
"Let's do this," I muttered, stepping forward.
The moment my foot hit the first tile—
CLICK.
The glyph lit up.
And death came flying.
An arrow whistled past my cheek. I yelped and stumbled back. Another arrow shot toward my side. I barely dodged it, feeling the wind slice against my ribs.
I wasn't fast enough. Not even close.
A third, fourth, fifth arrow came. I twisted, ducked, and rolled on instinct.
Then—
> [Skill: Super Cognition (Passive)] activated.
Everything slowed.
Not time. Just… my mind. The world around me became clearer. Cleaner. Calculated.
Trajectories. Angles. Timings. All running through my head like math equations.
It saved my life.
But it wasn't perfect.
An arrow clipped my shoulder.
"AHH—!"
It burned.
Like someone had pressed a curling iron into my flesh. I staggered back, gritting my teeth.
Blood soaked my sleeve, hot and wet and far too real.
No pain meter. No red vignette overlay.
Just agony.
I ripped a strip from my shirt and tied it around the wound. My hands trembled, but I couldn't stop. I couldn't even breathe properly. All I could do was survive.
Two minutes left.
Flamethrowers ignited from the walls. Blades burst from the floor. The tiles shook beneath my feet.
I ran.
I slipped. Skidded. Cut my knee on a jagged corner. Kept moving.
One wrong step, and I'd be dead.
One second too slow, and I'd be minced meat.
Thirty seconds left.
The traps doubled.
Every corner of the room became a deathtrap.
My heart thundered. My lungs burned. My arms felt like jelly. The cut on my shoulder throbbed like hell.
And then—
Silence.
Just like that… it ended.
I collapsed onto the floor, chest heaving.
Sweat soaked my clothes. Ash and grime caked my face. My arm was still bleeding. My shirt was half ripped. My hair smelled like smoke.
But I was alive.
Barely.
The obsidian door at the end creaked open, the sound like boulders grinding together.
I didn't move.
Not yet.
I needed… just a moment.
Just one.
---
Trial Two was the Trial of The Mind
After twenty minutes, I forced myself to stand.
The next trial wasn't about the body. It was about the mind.
Willpower. Endurance. Pain tolerance.
I remembered this one well.
Too well.
But now… I wasn't behind a screen.
Now, I would feel everything. I hesitated.
The room was dark.
No torches. No glyphs. Just void.
I walked until I saw a flickering light in the distance. A floating orb. Its glow didn't illuminate anything. The darkness swallowed it whole, like it wasn't even trying.
And then, it began.
Hands—inky and cold—reached out from the shadows.
They grabbed my head.
And pulled.
> "AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH—!!"
I screamed as agony shot through my skull.
It felt like someone was peeling my brain apart with a hot knife. Like a drill was twisting through my skull, over and over.
There was no timer.
No indicator of progress.
Just pain.
Endless, merciless, suffocating pain.
My throat was raw. My eyes bloodshot. My fingernails dug into my own arms, just to feel something else. Anything else.
Time didn't move. Or maybe it did. Maybe I just lost it.
When the pain finally stopped…
I wasn't in the chamber anymore.
---
The world was silent.
Corpses littered the ground like trash.
Blood ran in rivers.
A red sky loomed overhead, casting everything in a sickly glow.
And there—at the center—stood a figure.
Short. Pale. Long black hair. An obsidian sword in hand.
It looked familiar.
Too familiar.
It turned.
And I stopped breathing.
It was me.
Or rather… a version of me. Doll-like. Empty-eyed. Expressionless. Blood dripped from his hands. His clothes were torn and soaked red.
He was a puppet. A weapon. A warning.
He stared through me, and in a flat, cold voice, said:
> "Beware the last trait."
Before I could react, pain erupted again.
Fire in my skull. My brain boiled.
I screamed again.
White light consumed everything.
And then—
Darkness.
---
I woke up in a cold sweat.
My body was shaking. My mouth was dry. My fingers wouldn't stop twitching.
"What the hell… was that?"
That wasn't a trial.
That was a nightmare brought to life.
Or a vision?
A warning?
I didn't know.
But something was wrong. Deeply wrong.
I opened my status screen.
There it was. Blinking faintly at the bottom.
> [???'s Chip (passive)]
It felt… ominous now. Like a ticking bomb embedded in my soul.
I exhaled sharply.
"So… I'm stuck in a body I don't fully control. I can't use mana. And now there's a psycho follower of some 'him', a puppet version of me, and a mysterious trait that could kill me."
I let my head fall back.
"What a cruel joke this is."