Slash-splat-thump-pat~
The sound of limbs being severed echoed within the Dark Forest.
“No, please… enough…” cried the dark elf.
Markus was still… pissed.
Writhing before him like a pathetic worm was Liana. Her face was streaked with tears. Yet her sobs and cries failed to stir even a trace of sympathy within him—only disdain. His mood was still sour and his frustration simmered just beneath the surface.
Being trapped in this strange world only fueled his loathing.
Every time Liana tried to heal herself with [Dark Regeneration], Markus severed her limbs anew, venting his anger in relentless strikes that left her defenses in tatters. She might have been powerful at her peak, but in her current state, she was only a… slightly stronger woman. It was a pity, he thought, to waste his skills on her now, when she could have offered a real challenge sometime in the future.
To be fair, even a single level in [Wonder Path] was an insurmountable wall.
Though being around Level 80 was probably a big deal to the denizens of this world, it wouldn’t still compared to the likes of Markus whose game character had reached its full potential.
The yet-to-ripe Witch Queen Lianaresel stood no chance.
Growing weary of the woman, Markus decided he had no use for her anymore. Markus took his time testing the new combat system. No matter how much this world resembled the game [Wonder Path], it was a fact that this world operated on different rules.
"Farewell," he said coldly, raising his sword and driving it with deadly precision at her throat. “May you flee the path of wickedness in your next life, oh ye sad soul—”
And no, he wasn’t saying it for style.
This world was real. The person pinned under his sword was real.
There was no way ‘murder’ would come easy for him, regardless of how easily she fell under his sword. It was human decency, he at least offered her a prayer.
Thus, he continued, referring to his knowledge of the game’s lore while styling himself with what he knew of the Dark Knight. “Let the rotten ember that clung to your heart be buried from the cold. Give up your anger to me and be free. Never look back and walk to the shroud of sleep. Take the offered hand of the dead and confess to them your sins. The Dark Avenger forgives you.”
“No, p-please… I don’t want to—” The struggling dark elf stopped resisting as genuine tears poured from her eyes. The words ‘I don’t want to die’ never left her tongue as she realized at this point that there was no escape. “I… T-thank you…”
Markus didn’t like this. But then again, there were a few things in life he liked. Perhaps there was a silver lining, he thought as he glanced around—of all places to be thrown into, he’d landed in this world. With a flick of his wrist, he transformed [End] into a shovel and began the process of burying the defeated witch. Liana had been strong, probably around the early spectrum of level 80. That must be why she had so little gear and most of them didn’t seem to fit her level.
As he worked, Markus’s thoughts drifted to the changes in combat mechanics.
Ever since this world had stopped functioning like a game, the rules had shifted. The combat system was no longer as rigid, no longer governed by predictable cooldowns and set moves. Well, most skills still were constrained by cooldowns but not as much as before.
Under typical circumstances, Markus shouldn’t have been able to dismember her over and over with such ease; the game mechanics would’ve once prevented him from repeatedly exploiting her healing spell.
His weapon [End] being able to transform into a shovel was also something very recent. He just thought he could do it and he did. On top of orthodox weapons, he could probably transform [End] into various mundane tools.
Honestly, it wasn’t easy on Markus. Disrupting his opponent’s skills had become more challenging, and the realism of the fight weighed on his psyche in ways he hadn’t anticipated.
Every engagement felt raw and unpredictable—it was a far cry from the structured combat he’d known in the game. But fortunately, he was a golem. His biological senses, emotions, and even the sensation of pain were dulled, muted down to perhaps a hundredth or even a thousandth of what a typical human would endure.
Markus dug the grave deep enough to ensure no beasts could unearth the dead witch and to prevent any chance of her resurrection as an undead.
“There sure are a lot of appendages lying around… That’s on me…”
Once satisfied, he made his way through the forest, skirting its edges until he returned to the Dead Pit. Without any purification or fire magic at his disposal, he had to manage the corpses in the simplest way—by burying them. With his [End Shovel] in hand, he set to work digging a mass grave for the decaying bodies. Low-level wraiths hovered around, but he swatted them away with his shovel as he continued.
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Despite his anger issues, Markus liked to think of himself as a good person.
If he had to clear the Dead Pit by hand, he would. Besides, the physical labor was just the release he needed, a way to vent his frustrations and steady himself in this unforgiving world.
“Why make it so complicated?” Markus muttered to himself, the rhythmic sound of the shovel slicing through the earth punctuating his words. “Living in this world… shouldn’t be too difficult. You have the power. And then what? You will definitely fall to its temptations, and it will corrupt you… It’s a matter of when and not if…”
Markus focused on the task at hand, mechanically moving the dirt aside, creating a larger pit that would serve as a proper grave. This new pit would be bigger and deeper than the last, situated atop a sizable hill adorned with crags, sparse trees, and the occasional shrub. From this vantage point, he had a sweeping view of the landscape—a fitting place for the remains of those who had fallen to darkness.
The sight of a lone knight, wielding a shovel amidst the wildness of the Dark Forest, was indeed strange. To anyone passing by, he would appear almost comical, a relic of chivalry engaged in an act so mundane, yet so profound. But for Markus, it was more than just a task; it was a necessary step in a world that had stripped away the illusion of the game he once knew.
Markus continued his dark musings as he dug deeper into the earth, the rhythmic scrape of the shovel echoing in the quiet forest. “Is this world even real?” he pondered aloud, his voice barely rising above the sound of dirt being displaced. “Maybe I am only dreaming, but I’m too death-fearing to even try the unthinkable. Can people even die in dreams?”
Frustration bubbled within him, becoming anger that had no clear target. “I’m still pissed,” he admitted, pausing for a moment to wipe the imaginary sweat from his brow. “But I don’t even know who I’m angry at anymore.” His thoughts drifted back to the life he once had, the memories flickering like ghosts at the edge of his consciousness. “I had a life before this. I wonder how many people mourned for me.”
The pandemic had hit right as he was pulled into this new existence. It was a time of turmoil that left him with mixed feelings. “I kind of don’t want to come back now…” he mused, thinking how easy it would be to move on when you had no people you wanted to go back to.
“And man, with this golem body, how am I supposed to enjoy life?” he complained to the empty air. No warmth, no taste, no simple pleasures to savor. “No sex, food, or even fucking sleep…” The frustration surged anew. It was a hot tide that threatened to overwhelm him. “I’m getting angry and frustrated again… Shit! Calm down, Markus… At least you don’t shit or get tired anymore.”
He chuckled darkly at the irony, shaking his head as he plunged the shovel into the earth once more. With each strike, he felt a complicated feeling of release and despair. There was a strange comfort in the repetitive motion that momentarily drowned out the noise in his head. Yet the underlying frustration remained, eating away at him like a relentless specter.
Markus unsummoned his [End Shovel] and walked back to the Dead Pit, dragging the cadavers in doubles, sometimes even triples. Each body had fallen with a single blow in the form of a necrotic spell around the heart, but that fact offered him little comfort. While their mortal flesh had suffered easily, their souls remained tethered to this world, being self-tortured by their existence.
As he moved the bodies, the low-level wraiths became restless, their wispy forms swirling around him with an unsettling energy. He ignored their presence, focusing instead on the task at hand. The wraiths, he noted, appeared to be around level twenty, their noisy attributes and erratic movements giving them away. He had encountered enough high-level ghosts to recognize the difference; they were quiet, cold, and sly, their intentions shrouded in an eerie calmness.
If there were too many, their combined damage could stack dangerously, or worse, they could mutate into a higher-class monster. For now, there was nothing to worry about with these lower-tier wraiths.
Markus continued to talk out loud, needling at himself and grappling with what he was supposed to do now. “This world had gods... Maybe they can send me home,” he mused, with a faint hope in his heart.
“No. They can’t send me home. The so-called gods of this world didn’t even have a concept of Earth.” His voice grew sharper, the frustration creeping back in. “Yeah, they believe in different dimensions, but not the universe or the galaxy.”
He shook his head with a scowl forming on his face. “The people of this world believed the world was flat, overlaid with infinite realities. They were all wrong.” Or maybe Markus was wrong… like he cared about this stuff anyway.
“Ugh… this was no time to get theoretical… more burying to do.” He sighed heavily, as he gently dropped the dead. “May you flee the path of misfortune in your next life, oh pitiful soul.”
There was a short silence as he let down the last of the dead.
“Ah, shit… life is fucking meaningless…” he muttered, summoning his [Ender Shovel] for one last time. With determination, he finally finished the grim task of covering the mass grave.
One shovelful of dirt.
Two shovelful of dirt.
Three shovelful of dirt,
Markus took his time, not abusing his superior physical prowess. He found himself more concerned as he covered them with dirt… what the hell was he going to do after this?
And then he finished.
After a moment’s pause, he slammed the flat side of the shovel into the earth and sat atop the freshly turned mound. As he glanced at the sunset, the vibrant hues painting the sky began to fade, and he realized it was almost dark. The encroaching twilight mirrored the heaviness in his heart, leaving him with nothing but the stillness of the forest and the shadows creeping around him.
The title of [Dark Knight] didn’t arise from any faith-based system, nor was Markus the religious type. Yet, as he sat atop the freshly turned grave, he felt an unexpected urge to utter a prayer.
“May you flee this flesh, rise among the stars, and find your happily ever after in a realm where peace reigns,” he began, his voice steady despite the heaviness of his words. “Oh ye hopeful souls, don’t lose hope. Live. Eat. Love. Accept. Acknowledge. Be more than what this measly realm could ever offer you. Be loved. Make promises. Live more. And then live more.”
As the last echoes of his prayer faded into the twilight, he remained still, waiting for hours until the stars began to show themselves, twinkling faintly against the darkening sky.
Markus wanted to cry that night, to let the emotions well up inside him and spill over, but no tears came. The earthly and coarse semblance of his eye sockets remained dry as if they had forgotten how to weep. Instead, he felt a profound emptiness, a longing for something he couldn’t quite grasp—a connection, a sense of belonging, a reminder that he was still alive in some capacity, even in this twisted reality.
That night, Markus reaffirmed to himself his will to live in this world.