Cosmo opened his eyes slightly...
But all he could see was darkness; his eyes had not yet become accustomed to this environment.
In the midst of it all, he struggled to rise in the obscurity where no physical features caught any light.
"Have they blinded me?" I pondered the possibility of total blindness—it wasn't far-fetched.
But no, that wasn't the case. The room was simply pitch black, like a coffin.
"My eyes are fine."
Even in the extreme darkness, he could make out his hand when brought close to his face.
Based on this and instinct, he deduced his vision was intact. Other factors, beyond the darkness, were at play.
"No, I'm not blind. I can feel it. So the answer is adaptation—to get used to seeing in the dark."
With that, he vigorously opened and closed his eyes, forcing his vision to adjust to the dim light.
But in doing so, his eyes began to itch and sting.
"What the hell? Sand?" Trying to rub his eyes with his left hand.
"Easy, think... I'm in total darkness, with sand..."
...
"This must be underground. This type of sand is damp and sticky, typical of deeper layers."
"At this moment, I know I'm in some underground chamber. Yet, something's still missing. Why can't I get up?"
After assessing his surroundings, he began to examine his body, feeling every part of his limbs.
"Ah, so in addition to being in total darkness underground, I'm also chained."
The detachment with which he processed the situation was chilling...
His hands and legs lacked strength even for minor adjustments, thanks to the chains.
"I'm drained, as if a massive log fell on me..."
Despite the discomfort and his indifferent deductions, tears welled in his eyes, mingling with the sand on his face.
He forced himself to stifle his sob.
"Glup... Crying won't change a thing now..."
Suppressing the emotion was uncomfortable; resisting tears was a futile endeavor.
Slowly, the tears subsided...
"My name is Cosmo, Cosmo-Min. I'm fourteen..."
"Argh, why does recalling it hurt so much..."
His eyes began to turn a dark purple, and involuntarily, he uttered an unusual phrase.
"I-I have no roots, no place to return, no path ahead. I arrive when destruction looms, I depart in peace."
Gradually, his eyes and mind settled, as if calm had returned.
Now, he needed to figure out how and when to escape...
"He"—
Cosmo recalled a person who had brought him here, yet only a blurry figure emerged in his mind. But he knew there was someone behind this.
"The man who passed my sentence. 'You seem fit enough,' he said, and here I am."
After struggling to recollect, receiving only fragmented memories, he collapsed again, unconscious...
After some time, he woke again in the dark, stronger but hungrier. His senses were becoming disoriented once more.
"How long was I out?"
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"I need food..."
Miraculously, as soon as he voiced his hunger, a small aperture appeared—a faint light emerged. His eyes, unaccustomed, were momentarily blinded. Once adjusted, he surveyed the scene.
"Numerous wounds on my body, beginning to heal. A chain around my ankles that might yield to a stone's force. A rainwater puddle in the left corner, moss, and dead rats strewn about."
It was enough for Cosmo; now he knew where to find water. His throat parched, death by dehydration loomed.
"Participant 171, Day 9. First meal."
A voice echoed through the gap, a clay bowl filled with scraps tossed inside.
Then, the gap closed...
The aroma enticed Cosmo, who crawled towards the bowl.
"Come on, Cosmo, one arm at a time, bear your weight... Argh."
Pushing forward, he closed his eyes—it dulled the pain, the shame...
Finally reaching the bowl, he found scraps—a meager offering, but a lifeline for Cosmo.
"I'm the last one, then..."
Nonetheless, Cosmo didn't falter. He devoured the food, leaving nothing but scraps of protein and carbohydrates.
At that moment, Cosmo speculated on his tenure here.
"Three days since the first meal..."
His mind cleared, his demeanor shifted.
"Twelve days. That's how long I've been here. One hundred seventy participants in total; two more just perished. The sounds indicated they died, one three days ago, the other today. Fortunately, this place provided enough dead rats to sustain me a little longer..."
Leaning against the wall, Cosmo's eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, allowing him some visibility.
His legs were outstretched, the chain gone—apparently, he had freed himself.
Lost in thought, he gnawed on a bone fragment from the meal.
"Every nine days, leftovers arrive; every three days, muddy water. Above us, frequent rains fill that puddle. Thankfully, I haven't needed the muddy water... The puddle never dries, and I can gauge the duration of rains by the drops that fall."
Unbeknownst to Cosmo, his senses sharpened, his deduction skills outpacing those of ordinary humans.
"These scraps are getting worse. Even semi-rotten rats would be tastier..."
He noticed the air thickening.
"Lately, it's easier to breathe. Perhaps each death leaves more air behind... In the beginning, I could barely draw a breath."
"SIGHT..."
"Time to train..."
Cosmo rose, commencing his daily routine: meditation, push-ups, and random exercises.
With no mentor, he had to teach himself everything.
"Inhale deeply... Hold for ten seconds. Exhale... Clear the mind of clutter... Breathe... Hold for twenty seconds... Exhale... Focus on a magic circle forming in my abdomen... Breathe... Hold for sixty seconds... Release the mana... Breathe in, hold for five minutes... Clear the mind... Exhale... Repeat."
His technique, honed over three days, began to yield results—a faint mana circle forming, thoughts sharpening, breath capacity expanding.
Focusing on clearing useless thoughts mitigated the agony of prolonged isolation in darkness.
Loneliness was unbearable. Days dragged, thoughts turned dark.
The torrent of negativity could drive anyone mad in seconds. Meditation offered respite.
"I wonder how long before I lose my mind..."
"My past is fading; survival is all that matters."
"All I need to remember is my name—Cosmo."
...
"Footsteps... Two people... Odd, usually, only one visits."
As he sipped water from the puddle...
"Participant 170, Day 72. Eighth meal. Final meal; selection begins in three days..."
Murmurs were audible, but Cosmo couldn't discern their whispered conversation.
"Omega difficulty...?"
"Y-yes, it startled me too, initially."
"...Participant 170, from now on, no more meals or water."
...
"What the hell are you people saying?!" Cosmo shouted in anger.
"I didn't come here willingly. Why are you doing this? Did I offend someone in the past? I can't even remember, but I'll apologize if it helps."
One of the guards, who had previously fed Cosmo, sympathized. Surviving this long showed resilience.
"Maybe I'm too old for this..."
"Listen, boy, listen closely. You have seven days from now to leave this place. Selection starts three days after that deadline..."
Cosmo reached out, grasping the man's leg.
"Thank you. I won't forget this small kindness."
His pale hand showed minimal muscle.
"Here, from Participant 21—deceased three days ago. Basic kit: a lamp, cultivation technique books, pencils, notebook sheets, and an old rusty sword. Use it to end it all, if you want..."
The guard turned away, his torchlight fading.
"Tsk... Participants 0 to 30 got Alpha difficulty. Only twelve survived... This kid, though... won't make it out."
Finally, Cosmo gained crucial information, but time wasn't on his side.
"Seven days... What happens after that deadline..."
Cosmo inspected the kit.
The lamp was useless; his vision had adjusted to darkness. Still, it could aid in reading notes.
He lit it, adjusting to the sudden light.
"Two books in one: ancient cultivation techniques and swordsmanship."
Cosmo absorbed the ancient techniques, crafting his own method. Exhausted, he mimicked the sword techniques with the old, rusted blade.
"No... Time isn't my enemy, but an ally..."
---
And so, days passed...