Zarek kept running for his life without daring to look back. His legs burned with every step, muscles screaming, while sweat poured down his forehead, soaking into his clothes until they clung uncomfortably to his skin. Each breath tore at his lungs like fire. His body begged him to stop—just for a moment, just to rest—but Zarek knew the truth.
If he stopped, even for a heartbeat, that would be the end of him.
Dammit, just why?
Rage and despair churned inside his chest. Why couldn't anything good ever happen to him? Why was he always thrown into the worst possible outcome? Not just this time, but every time—every fucking time!
If there was a bad card in the deck, it always ended up in his hands. If the world could kick him down, it never failed to do so.
Zarek was damn sure that if it were anyone else who transmigrated, they would have landed in the arms of some shy beauty, probably a future heroine fated to change their life. But him? Of course not. He got a murderous mob howling for his blood.
Just as the thought flared bitterly in his mind, a shadow fell over him. One brute, a mountain of a man wielding a jagged sword, surged forward with terrifying speed.
A cold flash. The steel sliced through the air with a deadly whistle.
Zarek's instincts screamed. His spine went rigid, and without thinking, he hurled himself sideways.
Shhhhck.
Agony exploded across his cheek. The scent of iron flooded the air as warm blood trickled down his face. The sword had barely missed his skull, leaving a burning trail where it grazed him.
But Zarek didn't stop. He couldn't. He ignored the pain with sheer force of will and pushed his legs harder, bolting deeper into the wilderness.
Behind him, the brute skidded to a halt. He blinked at the blood now streaking his blade.
Jack the Brute. A pure fighter, level 10. He had broken bones with his bare hands, slaughtered monsters twice his size, and crushed weaker foes without lifting a sweat. An unawakened nobody like Zarek should have been nothing but a corpse beneath his feet.
And yet… that "nobody" had slipped through his strike.
Jack's disbelief quickly twisted into rage. Before he could roar, furious voices rang out behind him.
"This meathead! How can you let him go?!"
"Damn fool, don't slow down!"
The mob cursed him to hell, but none stopped their pursuit.
Zarek tore forward, lungs burning, vision blurring from blood loss. He didn't notice at first, but the forest was thinning. The towering trees slowly gave way to fractured stone and moss-covered ruins.
By the time he realized, the world around him had transformed.
What is this place?
Massive statues loomed in the distance—two titanic figures locked in eternal defiance. Each gripped a colossal sword that pierced the heavens, and their carved eyes burned with a fury that transcended time.
The moment Zarek drew near, a suffocating pressure crashed down upon him. Malice seeped into his mind like ice water down his spine, as if the statues themselves had awakened to judge him.
His teeth clenched. His coat was soaked in crimson now, his steps uneven. By all logic, he shouldn't have been standing—but fear and desperation drove him beyond his limits.
Behind him, the mob burst into the ruins.
"Ruins of Divine Battle!" someone gasped, voice trembling with awe and dread.
The legends said that two divine figures had once descended here, shattering the land in their clash. Few dared to set foot in this cursed ground.
Yet it wasn't the ruins that made the pursuers falter. It was what lay at the very heart of it.
A yawning gate, framed by jagged stone, glowing with an ominous crimson light.
Even from a distance, its aura was suffocating. It wasn't simply a doorway—it was a mouth waiting to devour all who entered.
The mob froze. Whispers broke out.
One young woman with phoenix-like eyes slammed her heel against the stone, her fury sharp enough to cut. "I should have known that good-for-nothing wanted to enter the Sacrificial Dungeon!" she spat, venom dripping from every word. "Damn it! I wanted to kill that bastard with my own hands!"
Her hatred burned so fiercely that even those beside her felt their skin crawl.
A jet-black-haired youth with a confident smile stepped forward, brushing sweat from his brow. "So what if we couldn't kill him? He'll die in there—a dog's death."
"But what if he doesn't?" another voice cut in, cold and sharp. The possibility froze the mob in place.
It was slim, impossible even, yet not nonexistent.
Another chimed in, "You guys think too much, with his state, he is a perfect target for those creatures."
Hearing the man's words the crowd fell silent for a moment remembering some terrible memories from their younger days.
The girl snorted, eyes gleaming like molten steel. "If he dares come out alive… no god, no man, no force in existence will save him from me."
Her words dripped with such venom that everyone who heard them shivered. They couldn't help but wonder—what in the world had Zarek done to earn such hatred?
Still, their bloodlust didn't falter. Slowly, resolutely, they marched deeper into the ruins. The towering statues glared down as if to mock them, but they pressed on, until they finally stood before the great crimson gate.
The Sacrificial Dungeon awaited.
Some time earlier…
Unaware of the mob's halt, Zarek had already stumbled deep into the ruins. His breath came ragged, every step leaving a red trail behind him. Relief flickered in his chest—he had finally shaken them off.
But before he could collapse and catch his breath, the world betrayed him again.
A cold, unnatural sensation wrapped around his limbs. The air rippled, and his perception twisted violently.
Dammit. Not again.
He had felt this before—the same pull that had dragged him from one reality into another.
The ground vanished beneath him.
When his vision cleared, Zarek stood in complete darkness. The air was damp and suffocating, the only light a faint glow from a distant, floating dot above.
A cave? he thought, uncertain.
But before he could explore, glowing blue text erupted across his vision, cascading one after another:
[You have entered the Sacrificial Dungeon of Divine Battle.]
[Your ability to speak has been sacrificed as the price to enter.]
[Clear the dungeon to regain your voice.]
[Congratulations, warrior, for awakening the First Sequence Ultimate Grade Class: Infinite Origin Summoner.]
[Check your status window for more information.]
Zarek blinked. His mouth opened instinctively.
Nothing.
No sound came out. His throat strained, but the silence was absolute. The system hadn't lied—he had been turned into a mute.
For a long moment, he simply stared, blank and dazed.
It wasn't until a monstrous roar echoed through the darkness—so loud it rattled his bones—that he finally snapped back to his senses.
His fists clenched.
So it's real. I'm in Beyond Good and Evil.
It was the world he had always dreamed of—terrifying, brutal, and vast beyond imagination.
And now that dream had swallowed him whole.
Zarek wasn't sure whether to laugh, scream, or curse the heavens.