The chains rattled before his feet touched the ground.
At first, the others thought it was just the Trial's scenery—the endless black links that hung from the towers like bridges of bone and steel. But then they saw it.
The chains weren't moving on their own. They were answering him.
Every step Hae-won took made them tremble, made them bow. Some even slithered toward him across the stone, like serpents desperate to coil around their master.
Do-hyun swore under his breath. "Tell me I'm not the only one seeing that."
Arin didn't answer. Her hand was already gripping her staff so tightly that her knuckles bled white. Her eyes never left Hae-won's back.
Because she understood.
This wasn't a gift.
It was recognition.
The chains didn't see him as a wielder. They saw him as their origin.
—
The system stuttered into being, its text fractured, unstable:
[ Regression Anchor Detected. ]
[ Binding Entity: Cha Hae-won. ]
[ Chains of Iteration – Authority Confirmed. ]
Warning: Subject stability… compromised. ] —
Hae-won lifted his hand, and the nearest length of iron leapt into it with a hiss of fire and smoke. The weight was perfect, almost too perfect—like holding a memory instead of steel.
The memory of his deaths.
He could feel them inside the chain. Every scream, every fracture of his skull, every moment his lungs burned out. Each link was a scar, hammered into permanence.
His lips trembled. For a second, he almost dropped it.
But then another thought came—dark, heavy, undeniable:
If these are my deaths… then what happens when the chains break?
—
The first one cracked in his grip. Just a hairline fracture of glowing red across black steel.
And the ground shook.
The others staggered as the air turned molten. Do-hyun's aura nearly collapsed under the pressure, Seo Ha-young fell to her knees, gagging as if drowning.
The chain screamed. Or maybe Hae-won did. For a heartbeat, no one could tell.
Then it stopped. The crack sealed. The silence returned.
But in that silence, Arin whispered, horror soft in her voice:
"…It's not holding something else. The chains… they're holding you."
Hae-won froze.
For once, even he didn't have the words.
The silence stretched too long.
It wasn't the quiet of allies catching their breath. It was the silence of people asking themselves the same question—how long until he stops being one of us?
The chains pulsed faintly in Hae-won's grip, each link glowing as if mocking him. He could almost hear them whispering. Not in words, but in raw sensations—floods of regret, shame, and pain, begging to be remembered.
Do-hyun broke first. "You're telling me every time you die… those things grow stronger?" His jaw was tight, his sword trembling in his hand. "Then what the hell are you becoming, Hae-won?"
"I'm not—" Hae-won tried, but the words caught. His throat burned like iron pressed against it. "…I'm not sure."
Seo Ha-young barked out a humorless laugh, standing shakily with her ribs bound by makeshift cloth. "That's the problem, isn't it? You don't even know what you are. And you expect us to just—what? March behind you while you… collect deaths like trophies?"
Her eyes flicked to the chain, to the faint fracture across one link. "Or worse—wait around for whatever's on the other side when one of those finally breaks?"
Arin stepped forward before Hae-won could answer. Her voice shook, but her staff glowed bright, steadying her.
"Stop. He isn't the chains. He's—" She faltered, searching Hae-won's face. The hollows beneath his eyes, the tremor in his hands, the way his lips still curved as if hiding something even from himself. "…He's still Hae-won."
Seong-wu's voice cut sharp through her defense. "No. He isn't."
Everyone turned. The golden protagonist's aura blazed around him, hotter than it had in hours. His gaze pinned Hae-won like a knife.
"The system doesn't give power without cost," Seong-wu said coldly. "And the deeper the power, the greater the debt. You think those chains serve him? Look at them. They own him."
The ground hummed beneath their feet as if agreeing.
Hae-won wanted to deny it. To tell them they were wrong. But when he closed his eyes, he didn't see freedom. He saw black chains coiled around his heart, around his bones, dragging him somewhere he couldn't name.
And behind those chains—something vast. Something older than gods.
The thought slithered into his mind, unbidden:
Every broken link brings me closer.
Arin gripped his arm, desperate. "Don't listen to him. You're not a weapon. You're not—"
Her words faltered. Because she could feel it too, humming beneath his skin.
Do-hyun swore again and turned away, kicking a loose stone. "Hell. This scenario isn't about fighting Titans anymore. It's about deciding if we can even survive each other."
The system must have been listening. Because at that exact moment, new script burned across the ruined sky: [ Scenario Progress Update. ]
[ The Trial of Chains continues. ]
[ Warning: If the Leader of Chains falls, the timeline collapses. ] The text seared into all of them. Not Leader of the party. Not Leader of their group.
Leader of Chains.
And everyone's gaze—slowly, unwillingly—shifted back to Hae-won.
The wasteland shifted.
The black towers groaned, chains grinding against their jagged spires as if the entire realm was alive. The ground cracked beneath their boots, red light spilling through the seams like molten veins.
The system's words still lingered above them: [ Warning: If the Leader of Chains falls, the timeline collapses. ]
Hae-won clenched his fists, the chains tightening around his arms as if they recognized the command. He could feel them pulling—not toward the enemy, not toward safety, but deeper. Toward the thing that waited at the end of all links.
Arin stood beside him, her staff glowing faintly, her voice small. "You don't have to lead. Not like this. We can—"
But the world didn't give her time.
The first wave struck.
From the rifts in the stone poured creatures bound in rusted shackles—twisted, half-formed beings with skin like melted wax and jaws stretched too wide. Their chains clattered as they lurched forward, dragging broken links that rang against the floor with each step.
Do-hyun cursed and raised his blade. "Figures. Monsters made of chains to test the 'Leader of Chains.' Perfect damn irony."
Seong-wu didn't answer. His golden aura flared, and without hesitation he cut down the first two that lunged toward him. Yet even as he fought, his eyes never left Hae-won. Watching. Measuring.
"Don't hesitate!" Ha-young shouted, her own dagger flashing as she severed the wrist of a lunging creature. "If the system already marked him, then the only way through is forward!"
Her words had weight—more than even she realized. Because the Trial wasn't about numbers or strength. It was about control.
The monsters weren't attacking blindly. Their chains clattered with purpose. They swarmed in patterns, circling the group, their movements synchronized by some unseen rhythm.
And Hae-won—he heard it.
The chains on his arms vibrated in harmony with theirs. Each clash of link against link beat into his skull like war drums, pulling him into their rhythm.
He staggered, clutching his head. "No—stop—"
Arin caught him, panic flashing across her face. "Hae-won!"
But the voice in the chains whispered louder, drowning everything else out:
Command them.
Bind them.
Or be bound yourself.
Something inside Hae-won snapped. He thrust out his hand without thinking, and the chains coiled outward like serpents. They lashed around one of the monsters, crushing it until its body shattered into shards of black stone.
The other creatures froze. For a single heartbeat, their chains hung motionless.
And then—they bowed.
Do-hyun's sword faltered mid-swing. "What the hell—"
Arin's grip tightened on his sleeve, her voice trembling. "You… you're controlling them."
Hae-won's breath came ragged, sweat dripping down his face. The power wasn't natural. It wasn't his. The more he pulled, the more he felt the weight of countless deaths behind him—his own, and those of others who had worn these chains before.
But the Trial gave no mercy.
The ground split again, more rifts opening. Dozens—hundreds—of chained horrors crawled out, their clattering chorus deafening.
The system roared its command:
[ Trial of Chains: Establish your Dominion. ]
[ Command or be consumed. ]
Hae-won swayed on his feet, madness creeping in at the edges of his mind. He had always tried to rewrite the story. Always tried to twist fate. But now the story twisted back, demanding something monstrous.
Arin grabbed his hand, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her voice broke but held steady. "If you fall into it completely, you won't come back. So I'll be your anchor. Do what you have to—but don't forget who you are."
For a moment, her words cut through the whispers.
And then Hae-won raised the chains.
The battlefield screamed as links shot out, coiling around monsters and dragging them to their knees. For the first time, the Trial bent—not to the system, not to the script, but to him.
But in the pit of his chest, he knew the truth:
Every chain he commanded was another step toward the being waiting at the end