Malik's eyes snapped open, and his body jolted upright as if his lungs had forgotten how to breathe.
His gaze darted around, wild, chest rising and falling fast. Cold walls, high ceilings, faint blue light circling overhead. The familiar space hit him like a slap.
The Resurrection Hall.
The place where dead players got stitched back into life.
For a moment, his mind stayed blank. Then the memory hit him.
Striker.
His fingers tightened around the hilt of the sword on his hip. Before he even thought about it, he had drawn the blade, the cold steel reflecting the light overhead.
His heart was racing. His eyes scanned the room. Empty.
No one.
He stood there for a few seconds, frozen, half-expecting the Shadow Guild's vice leader to step out of the darkness, but all he heard was silence.
His grip loosened, his shoulders sagged, and he let out a slow, shaky breath.
I'm still alive. For now.
Sheathing his sword, Malik walked out of the hall, though his hands were still slightly trembling. His boots scraped against the stone floor as he stepped into the open streets, and the sight that met him pulled him out of his daze.
Everywhere he looked — players.
But not the ones he'd expected.
Everyone was low level. Tier 0s. Their names floated above their heads, their stats exposed for all to see. Most were wearing beginner gear. A few had reached Level 3 or 4. The highest he saw was a Level 5 player strutting past in common armor, as if that alone made him royalty.
What is this? Where the hell am I?
His mind drifted back to the system notification from earlier, but before he could piece it together, his feet almost collided with someone.
"Watch where you're going, trash," the player spat, shoving him slightly to the side.
Malik mumbled an apology, barely hearing the words himself. His head was still spinning, his thoughts tangled.
Another voice cut through the noise, this one sharp and mocking.
"Hey, newbie! Why you got your sword out in the middle of town?"
A burst of laughter followed, ringing out around him.
"I bet he skipped the tutorial before logging in."
"Or he thinks a Level 0 trash like him deserves attention."
"Looks like he's already getting it, hahaha!"
Malik's heart dropped.
Level 0.
The words echoed louder and louder in his mind, until his hands moved almost by themselves — pulling open his status screen.
---
[Player Status]
Name: Malik
Level: 0
Class: Swordsman
HP: 100/100
MP: 50/50
EXP: [.....]
[Attributes]
STRENGTH: 10
AGILITY: 6
ENDURANCE: 3
INTELLIGENCE: 13
[Skill Bar]
Slash
Block
---
His sword slipped from his fingers, hitting the ground with a dull thud.
Level 0.
His body slowly crumpled as he stumbled back and dropped onto the stone pavement. His mind couldn't even process the shock all at once. It was too big, too brutal.
Everything's gone. Everything. The hours. The grinding. The weapons. The coins. The strength.
He stared at his trembling hands. His throat felt dry. The world blurred around him.
How am I supposed to catch up now? Who would even take me into a guild? Who would even party with a Level 0 trash like me?
A bitter laugh broke out of him, sharp and cracked.
"So this is it," he muttered, wiping the tears from his face with the back of his sleeve. "I thought I'd get a stroke of luck... join a guild... maybe claw my way back up and make those Shadow Guild bastards pay."
His lips twisted into a crooked smile, the kind that only comes from hitting rock bottom.
"But to think I'd be killed all the way back to Level 0."
He sat there, unmoving, until his hands drifted to the system menu. His finger hovered over the Log Out button.
This is it. I'm done. Striker was right... There's no place for me here.
He pressed the button.
A notification popped up almost immediately.
---
[Error: Soul Debuff — 8 hours remaining]
---
The last thread of hope snapped.
Malik let out a humorless chuckle.
"Even the system's against me. Can't even give up if I wanted to."
Slowly, he pushed himself back to his feet, dusting off his pants, though the dirt was the least of his problems.
"Guess there's only one way out," he muttered. "Suicide."
He picked up his sword, sheathed it, and without looking back, started walking.
His feet carried him straight toward the Emerald Forest — the same place every player knew to avoid until they were strong enough.
But strength wasn't what he wanted.
The path was burned into his memory. He'd walked this road so many times before, grinding, hunting, leveling — back when he still believed he could win.
Players along the way turned to stare as he passed.
A Level 0. Walking alone. Into the Emerald Forest.
They whispered, but Malik didn't hear a word. His mind was blank, except for the same repeating thought.
It's over.
He moved deeper and deeper, until even the other players vanished behind him.
The forest grew darker, colder. His map started greying out. The auto-navigation couldn't even keep track anymore.
But still — no monsters.
Not a single one.
He walked for another few minutes, expecting at any moment to be ambushed, for some beast to put an end to his misery.
Nothing.
The silence wrapped around him, more suffocating than any monster.
"Why's there nothing here?" he whispered. "They should've found me by now. Maybe they didn't notice me."
His fingers twitched around the sword's handle.
Maybe I need to help them.
And then he tilted his head back and shouted into the sky — a wild, broken scream that echoed through the forest in all directions.
His voice faded.
Silence answered.
For a moment, he stood there, eyes closed, listening. Waiting for footsteps, for growls, for anything.
And then, at last — a sound.
But not what he expected.
A voice.
Soft. Weak. Terrified.
"Help... someone please help."
His eyes snapped open.
The despair clouding his mind scattered, instinct kicking in.
His feet moved on their own as he drew his sword. He spun toward the voice and sprinted into the woods.