Chapter One: You Have Already Died Once
The wind was cold, like ice water slowly seeping into his bones from the back of his neck. When Shen Yan woke up, all he could hear was the wind—and his own heartbeat.
He opened his eyes to a dim, dusky sky.
At his feet lay a crumbling tombstone, its inscription nearly worn away.
—The Grave of Shen Yan.
He froze for a second. Instinctively, he took a step back, the soil beneath him making a sticky, squelching sound. He looked down at himself—he was dressed in a coarse, dark grey tunic, like a scavenger from some forgotten wasteland town.
His mind was blank, yet something churned beneath the surface, like memories that had been violently torn apart.
Then, a cold and emotionless voice echoed in his ear:
[Welcome to the Tower of Realms – Floor One: "Bellgrave Town."]
[Your objective: Survive until Day Thirteen.]
[This level has no designated enemy. Beware of all "gazes" and "emotional fluctuations."]
[You currently possess no system abilities.]
[You have died once.]
[Would you like to extract your "Death Record"?]
Shen Yan's heart skipped a beat.
In the next moment, it was as if his consciousness had been torn open—a blurred, searing memory forced its way into his mind.
He had stood in this same place, surrounded by a group of expressionless townsfolk.
A fat man pointed at him and shouted, "He's not right! He's not afraid! He must be hiding something!"
The crowd stirred, as if some invisible threshold had been crossed.
Then the bell rang. At the seventh toll, a train whistle sounded in the distance. A locomotive approached, its engine adorned with a string of shattered bells.
He remembered the instant he was struck.
Bones shattered. Organs burst. Pain surged across his entire body like a flood consuming the land. It wasn't just pain—it was his very consciousness being shredded into a thousand pieces.
[Extraction complete.]
He crouched, gasping for breath, and after a long while, slowly stood back up.
He couldn't pretend he wasn't afraid. Every nerve in his body still remembered that despair.
But… he knew he was alive.
And somehow, he had brought something back with him from that death.
A vague, lingering thought surfaced in his mind:
[The townspeople's gaze determines whether you are "allowed to live."]
"It's not about who's stronger," he murmured. "It's about who doesn't make people uncomfortable."
He chuckled softly, almost mockingly—at himself, perhaps, for once being so naïve.
"So that's the rule."
He looked off into the distance, toward the center of town. The crowd, the saloon, the church, the sheriff's office—all bathed in dim yellow light, like a place buried too long in dust and time.
In a low voice, he said:
"Then... dying again doesn't matter."
And with that, he took a step forward—into the town.