The air stank of copper and ash. Hae-won's lungs burned with every breath, as if smoke had already claimed his chest. Around him, the battlefield writhed—fallen cadets groaning like broken instruments, the sound of debt-born monsters crawling over stone, and the maddening chorus of "Payment due, payment due" in a hundred distorted voices.
The cursed sword pulsed in his grip, a heartbeat not his own. It whispered without words, a hunger that gnawed at the back of his mind.
Arin was screaming.
"Hold on! Please, just—someone grab him—!"
Hae-won turned. One of their group—Nam Do-hyun, the quietest cadet in class, the one who used to hum while sharpening practice blades—was pinned beneath a Debt Walker. Its talons dug into his chest, already slick with blood.
Do-hyun's lips moved. Not a scream. Not even a plea. Just a whisper of something unfinished.
Hae-won surged forward. Too slow.
Seo's blade flashed once, cleaving through the monster's head—but not before Do-hyun shoved Hae-won backward with a strength that wasn't his own. The talons went deeper. A wet sound. Do-hyun coughed blood into his palm and smiled at Hae-won with crimson teeth.
"You… survive… Author."
And then his eyes dimmed.
The world split open.
The cursed sword shrieked—not aloud, but inside Hae-won's skull, a vibration that rattled his bones. The metal drank. Not just blood. Something denser, heavier—story, memory, life itself.
[ The Cursed Sword of the End resonates. ]
[ First Title Unlocked: Collector of Silent Deaths. ]
Hae-won's knees buckled. His vision bled red. He tasted iron and grief together, metallic and bitter, coating his tongue. The sword's hunger poured into him, and for a heartbeat, he couldn't tell if he was wielding it—or if it was wielding him.
Arin collapsed beside Do-hyun's body, sobbing.
"No… no, not him, not—"
Seok's voice cut through, harsh as steel.
"Get up. He bought you seconds. If you waste them, he died for nothing."
"Shut up!" Arin snapped, tears streaking her dirt-smeared face. "He wasn't a pawn—he was one of us!"
Seok didn't even flinch. His gaze was fixed on Hae-won, sharp and calculating.
"That power… it reacts to death, doesn't it? Every loss feeds it. Every body you step over makes you stronger."
Hae-won gritted his teeth. The sword pulsed again, craving more. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from the temptation.
Seo grinned, blood running down her cheek like war paint.
"There it is. About time you stopped pretending to be human."
Her words cut deeper than any blade.
Hae-won wanted to deny it, to spit in her face, to say he was still himself. But his chest burned with a hollow fire, and in that emptiness echoed Do-hyun's final whisper.
Survive.
The cursed sword throbbed, delighted.
[ Synchronization with The End: 9%. ]
The battlefield trembled. Corpses twitched, threads of black debt weaving them together into something larger, hungrier. A colossal shape began to rise from the heap of cadavers—limbs sewn from classmates and enemies alike, a grotesque abomination.
Its voice was not a roar but a ledger spoken aloud:
"Missed assignment: five points. Broken promise: ten points. One life… unpaid."
Arin covered her ears. Seok's expression tightened. Seo only laughed, low and feral.
Hae-won raised the sword. Its edge shimmered with the weight of Do-hyun's death, keening for more.
For the first time, he wondered—
Was survival worth the price the sword demanded?
The battlefield stilled, if only for a heartbeat.
Do-hyun's body lay sprawled across broken stone, blood soaking into cracks that would never forget it. The Debt Walker was already dissolving into smoke, leaving behind nothing but the cadet it had crushed beneath its claws.
But the sword hadn't let his story fade.
Hae-won could still feel it: a thread of warmth curling in his chest, Do-hyun's last breath caught between the steel and his own heart. He had been quiet, unnoticed by most, but in death his presence was louder than thunder.
Arin knelt beside the corpse, trembling hands trying uselessly to press blood back into the wound as if sheer willpower could reverse time.
"Don't go. Please… you can't just…" Her words broke into hiccups. "You were always there—always humming, always smiling—and now—"
Her voice cracked, sharp as glass.
Hae-won couldn't look away. Every fragment of his fragmented memory screamed that this had happened before, in some regression lost to time. He couldn't recall the details—just the crushing familiarity of loss. Always someone dying. Always him too late.
He swallowed, and the taste of blood lingered on his tongue. Not his blood. Do-hyun's.
Seo leaned casually on her sword, eyes narrowed, tone biting.
"Crying won't bring him back. Get used to it—this won't be the last corpse we step over."
Arin rounded on her, grief sharpening into fury.
"Shut your mouth! He wasn't just—just another number! He was our friend!"
The words hung heavy.
Even Seok, who usually cut emotion down without hesitation, remained silent. He didn't look at Do-hyun. He looked at Hae-won. Watching. Calculating.
Hae-won's hands tightened on the cursed sword. It pulsed again, pleased, as though mocking the tragedy it had just fed on. The weapon had no respect for tears or silence—it wanted more.
He whispered, voice hoarse.
"…I'll remember."
Arin turned toward him, eyes red, wet, searching for something—anything—that could anchor her in this nightmare. Hae-won didn't meet her gaze. He couldn't.
Instead, he spoke to the body. To the silence.
"I'll remember you, Do-hyun. Your humming. Your smile. The way you sharpened practice blades like it actually mattered. I'll carry it… even if no one else does."
For the first time since awakening in this nightmare, the cursed sword went quiet. The hunger didn't vanish, but it stilled, listening.
Seo's smirk faltered. For a flicker of a moment, her eyes softened—not pity, not sympathy, but recognition. Then it was gone.
Arin finally broke, clutching Do-hyun's still hand to her chest, sobbing into the fabric of his sleeve.
And in that fragile silence, Seok spoke. Low, clipped.
"If you waste what he gave you, then he really will be gone. His death has to buy us something. Otherwise, it's worthless."
Hae-won hated him for saying it.
But he knew it was true.
The cursed sword pulsed once more, faint as a heartbeat beneath the grief.
[ Collector of Silent Deaths accepts its first offering. ]
[ Synchronization with The End: 9%. ]
Hae-won stood slowly, his shadow falling across Do-hyun's body. The world around him groaned—the ground, the fissures, the still-twitching corpses. Something bigger was coming. But for now, there was only one truth he could cling to:
Do-hyun would not be forgotten.
Even if the rest of the world turned to ash.
The air in the academy grounds felt heavier than stone. No one moved. No one breathed too loud.
The crackling fissures that split through the courtyard glowed faintly red, as though the world itself was bleeding. But no monster leapt out, no claws reached forward. The silence itself became unbearable, pressing against their ears like a scream they couldn't hear.
Arin still knelt by Do-hyun, her sobs growing softer until they turned into shallow gasps. She looked smaller than ever, curled around his lifeless form, as if shielding him from a cruelty that had already consumed him.
Seo shifted her weight, her usual grin faded into something unreadable. She glanced at Hae-won, then at Arin, then away—restless. For all her sharpness, for all her bloodlust, she wasn't mocking anyone now.
Seok finally crouched down, resting one arm on his knee. His voice was calm, but too controlled, like a blade pressed flat against skin.
"We need to move his body."
"No!" Arin snapped, clutching tighter at the cadaver. "We're not leaving him here—"
"We don't have a choice." His eyes were unyielding, cold steel in the dim light. "If another wave hits, he'll only slow us down. Corpses don't deserve strategy. The living do."
Her head whipped toward him, rage sparking, but before she could speak, Hae-won stepped forward.
"I'll carry him."
Everyone turned.
The cursed sword pulsed once in his hand, as if objecting, but he ignored it. He sheathed it across his back, then bent down, lifting Do-hyun with slow, deliberate care. The weight wasn't much compared to the burdens already carved into his bones, but it was enough to ground him.
Seok narrowed his eyes but didn't stop him. Seo tilted her head, lips twitching faintly, as though entertained by the choice.
Arin's tears spilled fresh. "Thank you…" she whispered, barely audible.
Hae-won didn't answer.
As they walked through the broken courtyard, every footstep echoed like a funeral drum. The academy—once proud, once buzzing with laughter and lessons—was nothing but shadows and ruin now. Cracked walls. Splintered desks. Blood smeared like chalk across shattered tiles.
The survivors followed, a thin, trembling line of cadets who looked like ghosts even while they breathed. None dared speak of Do-hyun. None dared speak of the sword, or the fissures, or the debt that was slowly tightening like a noose around all their necks.
But Hae-won's mind wouldn't stop.
Fragments of memory flickered at the edge of his vision. Faces he couldn't name. Deaths he couldn't fully recall. The sensation of carrying bodies before—friends, strangers, enemies—blurring together until every corpse felt the same. Yet this one cut deeper.
Do-hyun had hummed when he worked. Off-key, annoying at times, but grounding. And now the silence left behind was unbearable.
His chest tightened. His breath grew shallow. The cursed sword pulsed again, feeding on the grief, whispering promises he refused to hear.
They reached what remained of a lecture hall. Seok raised a hand, signaling for the cadets to stop.
"This will do. A choke point. We rest here until the next attack."
Seo scoffed, leaning against the cracked doorway. "Rest, he says. Like we've got the luxury of breathing."
Seok ignored her, turning instead to Hae-won.
"Lay him down. The living need space more than the dead."
Hae-won hesitated, then gently lowered Do-hyun onto the floor, folding the boy's arms over his chest. He tore a strip from his own uniform and placed it across the cadet's eyes. A gesture of respect in a world that no longer had any.
Arin knelt again, whispering something too soft for anyone else to hear. Her hands shook, but she stayed by his side.
And for a moment, the survivors just sat. In the ruin of what had once been their academy, listening to the faint crackle of the fissures outside. The air smelled of iron and ash, and every breath tasted like blood.
No one cried out. No one spoke. The silence was heavier than battle.
Hae-won pressed his palm against the hilt of the cursed sword, closing his eyes.
If this is what it takes… If this world wants to eat us alive… Then I'll feed it. But not him. Not Do-hyun. Not again.
The sword vibrated faintly, like it was laughing.
And then the ground rumbled.
A deep, groaning sound tore through the earth, rattling the broken walls of the lecture hall. The fissures outside widened, crimson light bleeding brighter, pulsing in rhythm with something massive.
The silence shattered.
Arin gasped. Seo's smirk returned, sharp as a blade. Seok stood, hand raised again, barking orders to form ranks.
But Hae-won already knew. He could feel it before it surfaced.
The ground convulsed—splintering open—vomiting out a mass of limbs, bone, and flesh stitched together from fallen classmates, debt-born wraiths, and corpses that hadn't even cooled.
It rose higher, higher, until it blotted out what little light remained. A grotesque titan of debt and despair, its body inscribed with glowing fragments of every vow ever broken within these walls.
A collector. A boss born of everything the academy owed.
And at its core, faint but unmistakable—Do-hyun's voice. Humming. Off-key.
Hae-won's blood froze.