The warmth of the sun had vanished.
In its place lingered a dim, shadowy twilight, seeping from the very air like a silent fog. There was no sky overhead—only a canopy of twisted, gnarled trees with pale, leafless branches, reaching like skeletal fingers through the darkness.
Wein stood motionless on a glowing white platform. Runes pulsed faintly beneath his feet, casting a ghostly light that barely pushed back the gloom.
Behind him loomed a black void—vast, silent, and absolute.
Before him stretched a narrow passage, no more than twenty feet wide. A hallway carved through the unnatural forest. Its "walls" were formed from rows of brittle trees, their bark dry and cracked, limbs creaking with even the faintest breeze. The ground was coarse, cracked soil, lifeless and dry, its dull brown hue blending into the desolate scenery.
Wein scanned his surroundings, tension slowly coiling in his chest.
This was the second level.
The setting looked exactly as it had in the game—a self-contained labyrinth crafted from the familiar design of the Second Beast Realm.
Suddenly, a voice echoed across the realm—deep, resonant, and otherworldly. It didn't come from any direction, but from the very air itself, as if the forest itself had spoken.
[Welcome, Challenger. You have entered Level 2 — Skitter Realm.]
Wein froze. The voice rolled through the dead trees like thunder muffled beneath water.
Was it the spirit of the Beast Tower? Or perhaps the guardian of this realm?
[To conquer this level, you must eliminate all one hundred Skitter Beasts and reach the end of the realm within one thousand seconds.]
One thousand seconds.
It's only sixteen minutes.
Wein's eyes narrowed. That wasn't much time—not when you were being hunted through a maze by monstrous predators.
Good thing I've been training, he thought grimly. If this were a week ago, I'd probably drop dead just from running alone.
[If you wish to surrender, return to the starting platform. The trial will end, and you will be expelled.]
Then—silence. Thick, heavy, absolute.
No more voice. No more guidance.
Only the eerie stillness of the forest and the distant echo of something crawling through the trees.
Fortunately the rules were the same as in the game: kill the beasts that dwelled within, survive, and find the exit.
Wein exhaled slowly, drawing his sword with a low metallic hiss. The steel glinted under the realm's filtered twilight, its edge catching the faint pulse of the glowing platform behind him.
Around him, the dead woods were still—but he knew they wouldn't stay that way for long.
He already knew the beasts that lived here.
Skitters.
A four-meter-long centipede-like beast with twelve razor-sharp legs, capable of moving vertically across trees and walls. Their reddish-brown exoskeletons shimmer with a sickly sheen, hardened like armor, resistant to most direct attacks.
Wein tightened his grip on the sword hilt.
"Let's see how I fare in a real fight with them," he muttered.
He stepped off the glowing platform. Behind him, the light flickered once… then vanished into the surrounding darkness.
Above, a massive timer materialized—glowing with ethereal blue light. It hovered silently in the air, its numbers shifting and pulsing as it began to count down with quiet urgency.
There was only the path ahead now.
Wein had barely taken four steps when he heard it—a sharp scrrrk, like claws dragging against bark.
Wein halted, body still.
They're coming.
About eight feet away, something long and sinuous slithered down from the branches of a tree. Legs clicked against wood, its movements both fluid and unnatural—like poured oil spilling down a trunk. The creature was massive, its body segmented and twitching, flexing with an eerie rhythm.
A chill crawled down Wein's spine.
Its plated hide shimmered with a greasy sheen, and its mandibles flexed as it tasted the air. Watching it move made his skin crawl—as if he could feel its dozens of legs dancing across his own back.
"Ugh. Disgusting," he muttered, grimacing.
More rustling came—one from above, two more from the brush, more from behind trees.
Six Skitter.
Wein didn't hesitate anymore. His hand dove into his pouch and pulled out a small, silver bell—cold and smooth to the touch.
Let's see if the trick still works here like it did in the game.
He hurled the bell toward a patch of cracked soil.
It struck a stone—clink!—bounced once—ting! ting!—then rolled, the high, clear chime echoing through the stillness.
All six Skitters froze. Then, as one, they jerked toward the sound, mandibles clicking rapidly. In the next instant, they lunged—an insectile mass of legs and armor descending on the bell like wolves on meat.
Now.
Wein sprinted forward, blade low.
He didn't aim for their heads or bodies—that would be useless.
Instead, he dove behind them, targeting the thin gap beneath the last plates near their tails.
"Let's call this the ass-stabbing technique," he whispered.
The sword pierced the gap cleanly. The first Skitter shrieked—a horrible, chittering cry—and dissolved into shards of pale blue light.
Fortunately, he still remembered the Skitters' weakness from the game.
These beasts lacked eyes.
Instead, they relied on ground vibrations and ambient noise to locate prey. That's why the bell worked perfectly—its metallic ringing had drawn them in like moths to flame.
Wein also knew exactly where to strike.
The rear segment—just beneath the final plates where the armored exoskeleton thinned—held a narrow gap: the creature's one true weakness.
He twisted, slipped between two of the writhing creatures, and struck.
Second down.
The beasts didn't notice. Still mindlessly tearing into the bell, their mandibles grinding against metal, trying to chew what they couldn't digest.
Whenever he killed a beast, a number would appear in a flash of blue light, marking his progress.
Third. Fourth. Fifth.
Each one dropped, dissolved into motes of light. Only one remained.
It paused—twitching. Sensing something was wrong. Its head jerked up, mandibles spread wide in alarm. But Wein moved first—dropping low, blade flashing upward.
The last Skitter let out a sickening screech before vanishing like the rest, bursting into a shimmer of fading light.
Wein exhaled slowly.
He picked up the bell on the ground, it was now dented, scratched, but intact.
Then he heard it.
Click-click-click—
The unmistakable sound of countless legs scraping bark and soil echoed in the distance.
More were coming.
But this time, he wouldn't wait for the beasts to find him.
He would hunt them first.
Wein turned and sprinted down the hallway of trees. His boots thudded softly against the dry earth, each step light, swift, and deliberate. His breathing remained steady. Every movement was focused, efficient—born of practice and adrenaline.
Thanks to his memories from the game, he had already mapped this realm in his mind. Every turn, every false path, every shortcut was etched into his thoughts from the countless hours spent grinding this level.
He wasn't running blindly. He was navigating with precision.
Six down. Ninety-four to go.