The pungent scent of burnt wood and something metallic, like stale blood, assaulted Kim Hyu-Gi's senses the moment his eyes snapped open. He found himself standing, inexplicably, on a crumbling stone parapet, a heavy, ill-fitting gambeson digging into his shoulders. Before he could even process the medieval surroundings, a deafening roar tore through the air, followed by the clanging of steel and the guttural screeches of what could only be described as nightmares made flesh. A vast, terrifying panorama unfolded before him. Below, a sprawling, ancient city, its walls scarred and breached in countless places, was a maelstrom of destruction. Black smoke plumed into the sky, obscuring a sun that seemed unwilling to shine on such devastation. And surrounding it all, stretching to the horizon in every direction, was an ocean of darkness – millions upon millions of demonic creatures. They swarmed the battlements, clawing at the stone, their red eyes burning like embers in the perpetual gloom. This was not a siege; it was an execution. Panic, cold and sharp, seized Hyu-Gi. This was the second simulation, then. The system had warned him, but the sheer scale of it was beyond anything he could have imagined. He was a knight, or rather, clad in the worn, dented armor of one, a cheap, dull longsword heavy in his hand. Around him, other knights, their faces grim and streaked with soot, fought with a desperate ferocity. They were outnumbered, outmatched, and dying. “Hold the line! For the Princess! For Ashfall!” a grizzled knight, his shield emblazoned with a faded lion crest, bellowed beside him. But his words were swallowed by the cacophony of war. Hyu-Gi’s system panel flickered to life, overlaying the gruesome reality: [OBJECTIVE: Escort Princess Elara to the Royal Capital. Remaining Knights: 4997] *4997?* That meant three had already fallen. In moments. His heart hammered against his ribs. This wasn't the F-Class dungeon where goblins fell like flies, nor was it the relatively contained chaos of the Endless Battlefield. This was pure, unadulterated hell. A hulking, multi-limbed demon, its skin like obsidian and its maw dripping with acidic saliva, lunged at him. Hyu-Gi instinctively raised his sword, a rusty, unpracticed parry. The demon’s claw, tipped with razor-sharp talons, swatted his blade aside with contemptuous ease, then plunged into his chest. The pain was instantaneous, searing, overwhelming. It wasn't the phantom ache of the Endless Battlefield. This was real. His lungs collapsed, blood gushed, and a scream tore from his throat, choked off as consciousness fled. Darkness consumed him, absolute and terrifying. Then, with a gasp, he was back. The same scent of burnt wood and blood, the same roar, the same crumbling parapet. His heart still pounded, a phantom pain throbbing in his chest where the demon’s claw had pierced him. He looked down; his gambeson was pristine, his sword unblemished. The system panel flashed: [DEFEAT! Reattempting Simulation...] He felt bile rise in his throat. So, this was how it would be. Endless, agonizing deaths until he figured it out. He swallowed, forcing down the terror. The memory of the demon’s attack, the feel of its talons, was chillingly vivid. This time, when the same obsidian demon lunged, Hyu-Gi didn't just parry. He tried to dodge, a clumsy sidestep born of panic. It wasn't enough. The demon’s second claw caught him on the side, tearing through his ribs. Another scream, another brutal death. Again, the abrupt return. The pain lingered, a phantom echo of fractured bone and torn flesh. He felt sick. This was the realism the system promised. 100% realism meant 100% of the pain, the fear, the crushing despair of death. It was a torture far beyond anything he’d experienced in the first simulation. He died a dozen more times in quick succession. Each time, a new horror. Once, a flying demon snatched him from the parapet, dropping him hundreds of feet onto the cobbled streets below, his body shattering on impact. Another time, a torrent of green, corrosive goo from a bloated behemoth dissolved his armor and flesh in seconds. He was trampled by charging demonic beasts, impaled by a dark knight’s lance, decapitated by a colossal axe-wielding fiend. Each death was a fresh, agonizing lesson in futility. The number of remaining knights dwindled, a chilling counter in his vision. 4980, then 4950, then 4900. The city of Ashfall was falling, piece by agonizing piece. He was the weakest link, a disposable pawn in a war he couldn't comprehend, let alone fight. *Why am I so weak?* he thought, his internal monologue a desperate cry amidst the external chaos. His E-Class strength felt like nothing here. The Basic Swordsmanship he’d mastered seemed utterly useless against these monstrosities. He remembered the swift, efficient clearing of the F-Class dungeon, the ease with which he’d dispatched goblins. This was a different beast entirely. Or rather, millions of different beasts. He started noticing patterns, small things. The obsidian demon always lunged with its right claw first, a split second before its left. The flying creatures often dipped just before their dive, a brief hesitation. The massive behemoths, for all their power, moved slowly, predictably. The other knights, too, fought with established routines, their formations crumbling under pressure, their strategies too rigid for the fluid, relentless assault. "We need to hold the main gate! They're breaking through!" a captain roared, his voice hoarse, his face a mask of desperation. Hyu-Gi watched as a wave of smaller, agile demons poured through a freshly made breach, overwhelming a pocket of defenders. They didn't just attack; they flowed, a living current of destruction. His deaths, though horrific, were beginning to etch a crude map into his mind. The parapets were suicide. The main gate was a slaughterhouse. The path to the Royal Capital – wherever that was – must be through the city’s ravaged streets, but every street seemed to be a fresh torrent of foes. "This is not about fighting them head-on," he muttered to himself, his voice lost in the din. He was back on the parapet again, the familiar fear clawing at him, but something else was stirring now. A cold, hard kernel of determination. He wasn't just dying anymore; he was *observing*. Each excruciating end was a data point. He watched the grim-faced knights around him, their movements tired, their hope fading. They fought like warriors, but this wasn't a warrior's battle; it was a survival challenge against impossible odds. His role wasn't to be a hero; it was to be a guide, a protector. To get the Princess to safety. The memory of the first simulation, the Endless Battlefield, came back to him. The slow, grueling process of learning, adapting, and finding the subtle edges. This was the same, but amplified a thousandfold. The pain was real, but the lessons were invaluable. He still couldn't feel his stats improving, but his mind, his eyes, his very soul, were being sharpened on the whetstone of repeated, brutal failure. A grotesque, winged demon shrieked as it dive-bombed a group of archers nearby. Hyu-Gi didn't instinctively raise his sword this time. Instead, he tracked its movement, the arc of its descent, the momentary exposure of its underside. He didn't know *how* he would use this information yet, but he knew he *would*. Panic still simmered, but a calculating coldness was beginning to take root, pushing back against the terror. He had to survive. He had to *learn*.

Chapter 32: Echoes of Pain