The battlefield was quiet only in the way a slaughter could be—shuffling feet, wet tearing sounds, cadets crying out in ragged voices. Smoke from shattered walls stung the air, mixing with the sharp, suffocating tang of blood.
Cha Hae-won stood in the center, cursed sword trembling in his grip, shadows dripping from its edge. Every breath he took rasped with iron, every exhale felt like it belonged to someone else.
Arin crouched nearby, clutching her injured arm, wide eyes locked on him as though she didn't know if she should thank him or scream at him.
Seo Ha-young leaned against the broken railing, grinning like she had just witnessed something inevitable. "You felt it, didn't you?" Her voice was almost playful, but her eyes glowed dark. "That blade doesn't sing for victory. It sings for loss."
Hae-won clenched his jaw. He wanted to deny it—but the cursed sword pulsed in his hands, as if mocking him. Each heartbeat of the weapon sent cold hunger through his veins, gnawing, pulling.
Then the Debt Walkers screamed again.
The wave was thinning, their numbers halved, but they were still coming. Only now, their whispers weren't just about petty promises or broken notes. They had begun to echo deeper, darker.
"You couldn't protect me."
"You let me die."
"You failed. Again. Again. Again—"
Hae-won staggered. The whispers weren't theirs. They were his own. Fractured shards from regressions buried in his mind clawed free, dragging him into an abyss of guilt. Faces he didn't know but somehow remembered flickered in the crowd, each one staring at him with hollow, accusing eyes.
Arin's voice broke through. "Hae-won—don't listen to them! Please—"
But the cursed sword did. It thrived on his torment, its black edge flaring brighter with each shiver of doubt.
And then it happened.
A cadet—not a Debt Walker, not yet—screamed as one of the collectors tore into him. His blood sprayed hot across the tiles. He staggered toward Hae-won, hand reaching out desperately. "Help me—!"
Hae-won moved, but he was too slow. The collector's claw pierced the boy's chest.
Something in the sword howled.
The cursed steel surged, a black pulse ripping outward. The cadet's life ended in silence, swallowed by the blade before his body even hit the ground.
The sword shuddered like it had just feasted.
[ Synchronization with The End: 15% → 21% ]
[ New Title Acquired: Collector of Silent Deaths ]
The words etched across Hae-won's vision in cruel clarity. He gasped as the blade burned his palm, etching veins of shadow into his wrist. The hunger inside it roared, stretching to the edges of his mind until he couldn't tell where his grief ended and the sword's delight began.
Seo's laugh echoed across the hall, sharp and merciless. "See? I told you. This thing isn't a weapon. It's a ledger. Every death you fail to stop, every life you let slip—" She gestured lazily at the fallen cadet, whose body was already dissolving into black ash. "It belongs to you now. To it."
Arin shook her head violently, tears streaking her face. "That's not true! He didn't choose this!" She clutched her stave with trembling fingers, her voice breaking. "Hae-won, you're not—"
Her words choked off as another Debt Walker lunged at her.
Hae-won reacted without thought, the cursed sword cleaving through it in a blur of shadow. The creature collapsed instantly, its voice dying with a whisper:
"Receipt collected."
The synchronization surged again.
[ Synchronization: 21% → 24% ]
Hae-won stumbled back, the weight of the sword dragging at his very soul. The blade wasn't satisfied. It wanted more—demanded more.
And he realized with a sick twist of his gut: Seo was right.
The sword grew stronger not from his victories, but from every failure, every drop of grief and despair he carried. It didn't devour his enemies—it devoured him.
The scent of iron hung thick in the air, metallic and sweet, like the taste of biting into a coin and letting it sit on your tongue. It wasn't just blood anymore—it was the smell of debts burning, the air itself scorched by unpaid promises, every breath scraping like embers against the throat.
Cha Hae-won staggered back, his knuckles white around the hilt of the cursed sword. The blade pulsed like it had veins, veins that beat not to his heart but to some rhythm buried deep beneath the world. With each corpse that fell, the rhythm grew steadier, hungrier, pulling something from him.
[ Synchronization with The End: 9% ]
The system's voice was colder now, distant, as though speaking through a broken radio.
"Hae-won," Yun Arin's voice cracked. She crouched beside a collapsed cadet, pressing trembling hands against his chest, trying to stem the bleeding. "Don't just stand there—we can still save them."
Her eyes pleaded for him to move, to bend, to help.
But Hae-won could only see the system window flickering in the corner of his vision, that cursed percentage crawling upward. Every life that ended near him—whether by his sword or not—was being claimed by it.
Across the hall, Seo Ha-young let out a laugh sharp enough to slice bone. She had just cut down another Debt Walker, and her cheeks were splattered in gore. "Save them? Look around, Arin. They're already receipts."
The word dripped with venom.
Receipts.
The fallen weren't classmates anymore—they were balances being collected. Their debts incarnated into flesh and claws, their screams twisted into demands for payment.
Arin's shoulders shook. "You can't just say that!"
"Can't?" Seo tilted her head, grinning wide. "You want me to cry for the ones clawing your face off? Sentiment will get us butchered. If you hesitate, you die. If you treat monsters like people, you die." She flicked blood from her blade. "They're not classmates. They're ledgers with legs."
The words dug into Hae-won like hooks. He felt the cursed sword tremble in agreement, resonating with Seo's cruelty.
And then, across the blood-soaked tiles, Hyeon Seok stepped forward. Not rushing into battle, not screaming, but calm—eerily calm. His uniform wasn't spattered like theirs; he fought with precision, each movement calculated, each strike efficient. His eyes weren't on the monsters—they were on Hae-won.
"You realize it, don't you?" Seok's tone was quiet, but sharp. "That blade… it doesn't want victory. It doesn't grow from triumph. It grows from loss."
Hae-won stiffened.
Seo cackled. "Finally, someone else says it."
Seok ignored her. He studied Hae-won like a strategist looking at a piece on a board, weighing its value. "The sword grows from trauma. From death, from despair. That makes you dangerous—too dangerous to waste."
Arin's head snapped up. "Waste? He's not some weapon—"
Seok cut her off, voice like ice. "He is. That blade feeds on what kills others. If we want to survive this scenario, he's our trump card." His gaze sharpened. "Our tactical nuke."
The words slammed into Hae-won like cold iron.
Arin stood, fists trembling. "He's a person!"
Seok's lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. "People don't survive scenarios. Tools do."
Silence stretched, broken only by the shrieks of Debt Walkers smashing against barricades.
Hae-won wanted to deny it. To scream that he was human, not some monstrous bomb. But the cursed sword pulsed in his hands, answering for him.
[ Synchronization with The End: 12% ]
It was listening.
"Don't you dare reduce him to that," Arin spat, stepping between Seok and Hae-won. Her face was pale, blood smeared across her cheek, but her eyes burned with defiance.
Seok's expression didn't shift. "If you're done playing martyr, then understand this: we're surrounded, outnumbered, outmatched. Without him, the academy falls. With him, maybe we buy time. The math is simple."
"Math doesn't make life disposable!" Arin shouted.
Seo barked a laugh. "Gods, you're both pathetic. He's right, Arin. Stop trying to save everyone—you'll break your own neck first. Seok's a bastard, but at least he's useful. You?" She spat blood. "You're dead weight with morals attached."
Arin's hand shook as she reached for her sword. For a moment, Hae-won thought she'd strike Seo.
But before she could, the floor beneath them buckled. A new Debt Walker crawled through the fissure, its form more grotesque than the others. It had the face of a girl they had studied with—a face Arin recognized instantly.
"No…" Arin whispered. "That's Jina…"
The creature's mouth split open, syllables spilling out like a broken hymn.
"—you… borrowed… my notes… never returned…"
Arin froze.
Seo moved first. Her blade arced, swift and merciless, cutting Jina in half.
Arin screamed. "No!"
The cursed sword in Hae-won's hand pulsed violently.
[ Synchronization with The End: 14% ]
[ The cursed sword reacts to Debt-born termination. Growth accelerating. ]
Blood sprayed across the tiles. The monster crumbled into paper ash, fragments of unpaid ledgers scattering into the air.
Arin fell to her knees, shaking, tears streaking down her face. "You… she could have been—"
"Could have been what?" Seo's smile was cruel. "Saved? Wake up. She was already dead. All that was left was a bill to collect."
Arin's sobs echoed against the stone walls.
Seok spoke coldly over it. "You're proving my point, Hae-won. The sword's stronger when debts are cut down—when bonds are severed. It doesn't hunger for monsters. It hungers for us."
Hae-won's grip tightened. The sword thrummed, almost gleeful, at Seok's words.
And for a heartbeat, Hae-won felt it—the blade's desire sliding into his own veins. Not just the urge to kill, but the urge to erase. To wipe the ledger clean by cutting down everything connected to him.
Seo grinned like she saw it too. "There. That's more like it. Now let's carve this nightmare apart."
[ Synchronization with The End: 15% ]
The cursed sword was no longer just a weapon. It was becoming him.
The academy was falling apart around them. Walls trembled as cracks spread like veins, every fissure leaking smoke and whispers. The chandeliers overhead swung wildly, scattering sparks as if the building itself were shuddering beneath the weight of debts too ancient to ever be repaid.
Cha Hae-won stood in the center of it all, his breath heavy, chest heaving. The cursed sword in his hand was no longer just steel—it had begun to throb. Veins of blackness ran along the blade's edge, pulsing faintly in rhythm with his own heartbeat. Each time it pulsed, he tasted copper on his tongue, as if blood seeped not from his wounds, but from his memories.
The whispers grew louder. Debt Walkers were crawling over broken desks, scaling walls, emerging from fractures in the floor. Their mouths didn't just scream—they chanted.
"You promised to visit…"
"You said you'd come back…"
"You owed me…"
Every broken vow of the cadets, every word left unfinished, every forgotten kindness returned as a demand.
Yun Arin staggered to her feet, wiping tears with the back of her trembling hand. Her blade rattled as she raised it, though her eyes still carried the softness of someone who wanted to believe these monsters could be saved.
"Hae-won… they're still them. They're pieces of them. We can't just—"
Seo Ha-young interrupted with a cruel grin, slicing down a Debt Walker that lunged too close. "Not this again. Look at their eyes, Arin. There's nothing left but debt."
Her laughter rang hollow against the shrieks. "Keep crying for the dead, and you'll join them."
But then, something else moved in the chaos. A heavier step. A shadow looming larger than the rest.
One of the cadets who had fought alongside them earlier—Jung-min, a quiet boy with a crooked smile—rose from the floor, his chest torn open, blood staining his academy uniform. He should have been dead. Hae-won had seen him fall, throat crushed beneath a Debt Walker's claws.
But here he was, standing again. Except his eyes weren't human anymore.
They glowed faint red, his lips moving with words that weren't his own.
"Payment not received. Debt to be collected."
"Jung-min…" Arin whispered, her sword lowering. "No… not you too…"
Seo spat blood. "Stop hesitating. That thing isn't him anymore."
But before either of them could act, Jung-min lunged—not for Arin, not for Seo. For Hae-won.
The cursed sword sang.
It wasn't just a vibration—it was a roar in his veins, demanding he cut, demanding he feed it the debt that now wore Jung-min's skin.
Hae-won moved, blade rising almost on instinct.
But before the sword could fall, another figure threw themselves into the path.
A cadet Hae-won barely knew—a boy from another class, bloodied but still fighting. His name didn't even come to him in that moment. All Hae-won saw was the flash of his academy uniform as the boy shoved Hae-won back and took Jung-min's claws straight through his chest.
The sound was sickening. Bones cracking. Flesh tearing.
The cadet coughed blood, and for a brief second, his eyes locked with Hae-won's. There was no anger, no regret. Just a quiet acceptance.
"…live…" he whispered, before Jung-min tore him apart.
Blood sprayed across the tiles, hot and metallic, coating Hae-won's face and dripping into his mouth.
The taste of it—thick, coppery, choking—ignited something inside him.
The cursed sword howled.
[ Synchronization with The End: 21% ]
[ Condition met: Direct sacrifice witnessed. ]
[ The cursed sword awakens. ]
The blade burned in his grip, lightless flame crawling up its length, swallowing its old form. Where polished steel once glimmered, now jagged obsidian teeth jutted, veins of red and black pulsating along its edge.
[ New Title acquired: Collector of Silent Deaths. ]
[ Effect: The sword grows stronger when allies fall in your presence. Their deaths are recorded as your power. ]
Hae-won's vision blurred, not from exhaustion, but from the weight of the voices filling his head. The dead weren't silent—they whispered, echoing endlessly within the blade.
"Live…"
"You said you'd fight…"
"Don't waste me…"
They weren't just gone. They were inside.
Hae-won screamed, half in rage, half in despair, as he swung the blade through Jung-min. The cursed sword didn't just cut—it consumed. The boy's form dissolved into paper fragments, screams fading into the chorus already within the weapon.
And when the swing ended, Hae-won felt it. A surge of strength not his own. The dead cadet's sacrifice had not vanished—it had fused with him, a weight in his bones, a strength in his veins.
Arin's eyes widened, horrified. "Hae-won… your sword…"
Seo's grin stretched wide. "Oh, now that's beautiful. You feel it, don't you? That's not just killing. That's inheritance."
But Seok—the strategist—only watched silently, eyes narrowing like a chess player seeing his queen finally move.
"Yes," he said quietly. "Now I see the truth. You don't just kill. You collect."
Hae-won's breath rattled in his chest. His hands trembled on the hilt. The sword pulsed like a second heart, and with every beat, he felt the cadet's death replayed—his sacrifice, his final word, etched into the blade.
Arin shook her head violently. "This isn't right. This isn't what he wanted. He didn't die for this!"
But the cursed sword disagreed.
[ Collector of Silent Deaths: Active. ]
[ Strength increased by 20%. Agility increased by 15%. ]
[ Synchronization with The End: 25% ]
The blade throbbed in satisfaction.
And then, as though sensing the shift, the scenario escalated.
From the fissures in the academy floor, something massive began to crawl forth—a shape formed not from a single cadet's debt, but from dozens. A fusion of corpses, stitched together by ledgers, paper slips nailed into skin, eyes glowing with red fire.
Its voice was a cacophony, every unpaid promise screaming in unison.
"You borrowed… you broke… you promised… you owe…"
The abomination's body filled the hall, dozens of arms stretching outward, clawing at walls, crushing desks like paper.
Seok's voice cut through the panic. "Formation! Barricade the eastern wing! Anyone who slows us down—leave them!"
"Leave them?!" Arin's voice broke, her blade trembling.
Seo smirked, already moving. "You heard him. Pawns break so kings live."
The cursed sword pulsed violently in Hae-won's grip, hungry—thrilled.
For the first time, Hae-won felt it not as a weapon he held, but as something holding him.
And deep down, despite Arin's horror, despite the screams of the dying, he felt it too.
The hunger.