The moon hung low in the night sky, casting an eerie glow over the battleground. My chest heaved with exhaustion, the metallic taste of blood lingering on my lips. The fallen bodies of two of my assailants were laying on the ground.

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Name: Roland

Level: 35

Race: Verdenkind

Class: Warrior

Title: Kinslayer, Champion, Monster Slaughterer

Experience: 127000 / 7,745,000

[Status]

H.P: 280 / 890

M.P: 80 / 200

S.P: 323 / 1,200

Fatigue: 79%

Defense: 640

Offense: 825

『Expand』

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The swashbuckler's desperate cries echoed through the air as I forced him to his knees, my grip firm on his hair. His struggles were futile, his fate sealed. The shattered remains of my weapon were stained with the blood of those who had dared to challenge me. With a swift, merciless motion, I drove the shattered edge into the swashbuckler's throat, feeling the resistance as the blade tore through flesh and sinew.

“Fuck! Fuck! Stop!”

A twisted grin played on my lips as I began to twist the man's head, relishing in the sickening sound of bones cracking and the gurgling desperation of the dying swashbuckler. The screams reverberated, reaching the ears of his comrades, who tried to rush to save their comrade.

“Crazy bastard!”

Panic and fear danced in their eyes as they witnessed the gruesome demise of their companion. It wasn't the first time I had claimed a human life as Roland, the HighBreed I reincarnated into and I was hoping it wouldn’t be the last.

The ripped head still in my hands, I turned to face the 6-men party that surrounded me. "You think, you bastards were enough to stop me?" I taunted, the words dripping with contempt. Their resolve wavered, shaken to the core by the gruesome death of their companion. Two more lifeless bodies lay strewn about, forgotten casualties of my relentless onslaught.

With a casual disregard, I threw the swashbuckler's head to the ground with just enough strength to have his brain matter scattering in all directions. My eyes locked onto the trembling party before me. "I will kill you all!" I screamed, attempting to instill fear in their hearts. Despite the bravado I currently displayed, I knew the truth—I was weakened, all my attributes depleted. Winning this head-on confrontation seemed unlikely. Right now, Death is the most probable outcome.

Death, huh? How ironic, I was supposed to come to this world with a power that would allow me to never feel fear of death yet here I am: Without that power and stuck in a situation with a very thin hope for survival.

Sigh.

I still don’t know where I’ve lost that authority, perhaps it was truly lost, perhaps it remained to the others' side. I couldn’t tell at all. What I could was that things were what they were, there was changing it. The best I could do was do with what I had—which is nothing and I guess what I’ve managed to secure these past 27 years: experiences.

Right now it was clear to me that my only chance at survival lay in convincing them that victory was still within my grasp, so long as I can do that I can have them scramble away without a fight, granting me the opportunity to recover.

With a defiant stance, I requisitioned the swashbuckler's sabre, its weight unfamiliar in my hands. "Isn’t avenging your friends, what you bastards snuck on me? Come, I’ll send you all to them!"

I roared, hoping to mask the fatigue that clung to my every movement.

The fear in their eyes told me they were considering retreat, and that was the only victory I sought tonight—the victory of living to fight another day.

The moon's pale light cast elongated shadows as tension hung in the air. The remaining members of the party, their faces a mix of fear and determination, hesitated at the brink of retreat. My gaze focused on their collective unease, but just as the whispers of withdrawal spread among them, a level 31 warrior stepped forward.

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"Don't fall back, he's weakened, boss wore him down for us, we can win this," the warrior declared with conviction, rallying his comrades. My eyes narrowed, recognizing the strategic mind behind their decision. Through my Lvl.3 Appraisal skill, I could discern the warrior's status, though his specific skills and abilities remained hidden due to the limitations of my appraisal level. He likely possessed the same skill as I did, allowing him to read the basic details of an opponent.

"Tsk, fuck!" I muttered under my breath, frustration welling up within me. Their confidence, or more accurately, their resolve, bolstered by the warrior's words, shattered any hopes of a victory through intimidation. They abandoned the idea of retreating, a spark of defiance igniting in their eyes.

I shouldn’t have fought those two level 38 bastards, I should have seized the opportunity to escape when it presented itself. The realization dawned too late as the remaining members of the party squared their shoulders, preparing for the impending confrontation.

I clutched the swashbuckler's sabre tighter, its unfamiliar weight in my hands a stark reminder of my depleted state.

"Come, I'll tear you all to pieces," I declared, my voice dripping with feigned confidence. The reality was that I stood on the precipice of defeat, my reserves drained and fatigue gnawing at my every movement. As the party advanced, a sense of regret washed over me – the regret of underestimating the resilience of my adversaries and overestimating my own capabilities.

The skirmish resumed, and I fought with the last ounces of strength I could muster. Each clash of blades, each parry, and strike, pushed my limits further. Despite the odds stacked against me, I fought on, unwilling to succumb to the inevitability of defeat.

Pain seared through my body as the clash of blades continued. I fought on, my movements becoming sluggish, and my reactions delayed. The relentless assault wore down my defenses, leaving me vulnerable. Just as I swung my blade in a desperate attempt to counter an incoming attack, a sudden, searing pain erupted from my back.

I staggered forward, the world spinning as the blade of a knight skewered through me, penetrating from my back through my chest. The intensity of the pain was overwhelming, but through gritted teeth, I adjusted my grip on the swashbuckler's sabre. With a surge of defiance, I drove the blade into the head of the knight who dared to strike me from behind. His lifeless body crumpled to the ground, as I sluggishly removed my blade from his skull.

However, victory was short-lived as another assailant lunged at me from the opposite side, impaling me with a vicious thrust of a spear. "Aaaargh!" I couldn't contain the scream, the pain was so intense that I felt none of the effects of Berserker Fury which allowed me to mitigate damage to a lesser extent.

My vision blurred, and I felt my strength waning.

With what little S.P I had left, I sought to retaliate against the one who had impaled me with the spear. But before I could muster a counterattack, I saw the level 31 warrior advancing, his sword raised. Fury boiled within me—this was all his fault. In a desperate act, I hurled the swashbuckler's sabre straight into his face. The warrior fell, his life extinguished in an instant. And I watched as my experience went up.

But yet again, the victory was fleeting. The assailant who had impaled me with the spear withdrew it, only to thrust it back into me repeatedly. The pain intensified with each brutal thrust until, finally, my body crumpled to the ground. Through bloodshot eyes, I gazed up at the starry dark blue sky, now painted in the red hues of my own blood.

A vague silhouette loomed over me, blocking the view. I wanted to say my final fuck you, but at that moment I wasn’t able to do so, all that escaped my mouth was the gurgling of blood pooling within. The figure raised a sword, his words cutting through the dimming consciousness, "This is for everyone," he declared, bringing the blade down in a final, merciless strike.

The sword descended with a sickening thud, bringing an end to the agonizing ordeal. Darkness swiftly enveloped my senses, and the pain that had tormented me slowly faded away.

I guess this is the end… The end of Roland the warrior, the man I’ve had to be for the past 27 years. As my consciousness teetered on the precipice of oblivion, a realm free from the suffering that had defined my final moments, I couldn’t help but feel fear. While being sent back to hell was undoubtedly the thing I was most afraid of, right now, lucid as I was and thrusting with Mighty K.R.U.L, I felt no fear of being sent to that place again, for he promised I wouldn’t. So, in that moment, being lucid, I was afraid of what would become of me, whatever, other than hell, it might be.

Twenty-seven years ago, I reincarnated into the body of the boy that would be named Roland. While at first, I didn’t notice it, it didn’t take me long to realize that Greed and Resurgence, the authorities that should’ve accompanied me, allowing me to bypass death, weren't with me. Since that day, I dreaded this day—the day of my death, for I really didn’t know what would become of me after my death.

However, I must admit the worst part of it wasn’t exactly the fact that I knew death might one day come to claim me permanently. After all, I still had a mission to dedicate my remaining time to, and that was enough for me. But rather, as I was finally surrounded by fellow "human" beings, I felt ironically very lonely. It was especially the case in the first two years of my life as Roland; I really missed the Dungeon Master. I missed the nonsensical talk, them going against one another in spite of having literally the same train of thoughts. I missed all that.

That being said, loneliness wasn't going to stop me. After all, I still had a mission that was expected of me. While I was very much aware of the fact that I might not be able to carry out that mission without Greed and Resurgence, I understood that the logical course of action was to do what could be done, learn what could be learned, and bring what I learned to the other Dungeon Masters so that my life as Roland wouldn't account for nothing but a waste of time. And yet here I was, dead by a stupid death before I could accomplish anything.

As my consciousness faded into the abyss, I wondered if the silence surrounding me was the fate Mighty K.R.U.L promised me. Not wanting to sound ungrateful, but at my death, I wanted one where my soul or whatever part of me that burned in that hellish place would be simply annihilated. Now, while it’s silent and sensory-less, I still feel like I exist in one way or another. Though I guess this is better than being sent to that place again.

Realizing disrespectful thoughts I just harbored, “Forgive me, oh mighty K.R.U.L, this poor soul was ingrate and foolish,” I prayed.

It was in that moment as I prayed that I heard voices echoing amidst the silence. For some reason, the voices were similar to my own, but as the echoes continued, I realized that the voices were not echoing at all. They were simply exchanged among other voices, each similar to my own. They were talking about a topic that I couldn’t imagine a logical reason to be brought up but was somehow on the table.

“Do you guys think that if Dungeon Master 07 survived and is truly out there, do you think that in all his 'hard work,' he tapped into one of the natives?"

"Oh, come on!"

"What? That's a legit question, right? One that deserves to be asked."

No more doubt, where I was, I was at home.