The first thing he noticed was the screaming.
Not his own—though that came a little later—but the chorus of voices that clawed at his ears. Shouts, war cries, the high-pitched screeches of something inhuman.
The second thing he noticed was the smell. Blood. Sweat. Metal. Smoke. And something sharp and sour, like rotten eggs cooked under the sun.
And the third thing—the one that truly broke his brain—was that instead of his desk, his computer, and his overpriced gaming chair… he was standing in the middle of a battlefield.
"...huh?"
The word slipped out of his dry throat as he blinked rapidly, trying to reboot his brain like a laggy PC.
A goblin the size of a child but uglier by ten levels charged at him, green skin slick with grime, jagged spear raised high. Behind it, a wave of armored soldiers clashed against the tide of monsters. Arrows rained down from somewhere unseen, whistling past his ears.
He looked down.
A rusty sword was clenched in his trembling hands. His fingers felt like wet noodles barely able to hold on. His arms shook so hard the blade rattled against his own dented breastplate. The armor looked like something bought on clearance from a thrift store—thin, scratched, and about as protective as cardboard.
Then a sound pinged in his ears.
Ding!
A glowing blue rectangle popped up in front of him, crisp and clear despite the chaos.
[System Notification]
Welcome, Player!
You are NPC #999.
First Quest: Die to unlock potential.
He stared at it. Then he reread it. Then he stared some more.
"…Excuse me, what?"
The goblin didn't wait for him to process. It screeched, lunging forward.
"W-Wait! Time out! I don't even have a tutorial yet—!"
He swung the sword with all the grace of a toddler flailing a stick. By some miracle—or maybe the goblin was just too dumb—the blade actually smacked the creature's spear aside. Sparks flew. His arms rattled from the impact.
For half a second, hope lit up in his chest. Maybe he could actually survive this. Maybe this was the cliché where the protagonist awakens hidden skills at the last second—
SHNK!
"GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The goblin's spear drove straight through his chest. White-hot pain exploded in his body, stealing the air from his lungs. His legs gave out. His sword clattered to the dirt. The world tilted sideways as he collapsed, vision tunneling into blackness.
The last thing he saw was the goblin pulling its weapon free, his blood spraying like a fountain.
The last thing he heard was the cheer of soldiers in the distance—though whether they were winning or losing, he never found out.
And then… nothing.
He gasped awake.
"—HAAAUGH!"
Air tore into his lungs like he'd been drowning for hours. His chest heaved, his hands scrambled across the ground, clawing at dirt and grass. No wound. No blood. No spear sticking out of him. Just… nothing.
His heart hammered against perfectly unbroken ribs. His armor was still shabby, but intact. His sword was sheathed at his hip, not lost in the mud. His body… fine.
"…What."
He staggered upright. Around him stretched not the bloody battlefield, but a wide open camp. Rows of tents. Soldiers walking back and forth with supplies. The crackle of campfires.
It was quieter here, though still buzzing with activity. The battlefield was nowhere in sight, but the sound of distant clashing carried faintly on the wind.
And then another window popped up.
[System Notification]
Respawn Successful!
New Save Point Established: Army Camp #3
Reward: Buff Unlocked → Pain Resistance I
"…Pain Resistance?!" he choked. "That was painful on purpose?!"
The system did not reply. It just blinked cheerfully before vanishing.
His legs gave out and he slumped to the dirt. Sweat soaked through his hair, dripping into his eyes. His chest still remembered the pain—phantom echoes of the spear tearing him open. He touched the spot where the wound had been, half expecting his hand to come away bloody. But it was just smooth metal and a racing heartbeat.
He laughed. It was the wild, high-pitched laugh of someone who had officially snapped.
"Hah… ha… I died. I actually died. And I'm… back? Respawn? Like some trash mob in a video game?!"
Several nearby soldiers turned to look.
One of them, a guy with a scar across his nose, frowned. "Oi. Rookie. You alright? You look like you saw a ghost."
He snapped his head up.
They were looking at him with confusion, not horror. No one screamed, 'You just died!' No one pointed and shouted, 'Undead!'
Instead, the scar-nose guy clapped him on the shoulder.
"Thought you were a goner back there, kid. Can't believe you slipped away from that ambush in one piece. Fast feet, eh?"
The others nearby nodded. One even gave him a thumbs up.
"Lucky bastard."
"Goblins swarmed half your squad and you still made it out? Damn."
"Should've bet on him."
His mouth opened and closed like a fish.
He wanted to scream: I didn't make it out! I got skewered! I was kebab meat!
But the words stuck in his throat.
If they didn't know he'd died… maybe he shouldn't tell them.
Because if word got out that he could come back from the dead? Best case, they'd call him cursed. Worst case, they'd tie him to a stake and see how many times he could burn.
He forced a shaky laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. "Y-Yeah. Lucky me. Hahaha. Totally ran away super fast. Yup."
The scarred soldier smirked. "Don't be embarrassed. Survival's survival. Only fools die trying to be heroes. Remember that."
He nodded weakly. I wasn't trying to be a hero. I was trying not to pee my pants.
The soldier walked off, and the rest returned to their tasks. Just like that, the conversation was over.
He sat there, numb, the camp alive around him.
Hours passed.
Or maybe just minutes. Time blurred as he sat cross-legged outside a tent, trying to piece things together.
He wasn't dreaming. The pain was too real. The dirt under his hands was too gritty. The air too cold.
He'd died. He was sure of that. He could still feel the spear tearing through him if he closed his eyes.
But instead of staying dead… he was here. Back at camp. Safe point. Respawn.
Like some… background character with extra lives.
A nobody soldier.
NPC #999.
His jaw clenched. "Why not the hero? Why not even a named sidekick? No, of course not. I'm literally cannon fodder. Respawning cannon fodder."
The system didn't answer, but in his mind, he could almost hear it laughing.
As the day dragged on, soldiers swapped stories about the battle. The squad he'd been with earlier swore up and down that he'd dodged death with "inhuman luck."
"He tripped at the exact right time so the goblin missed!"
"No, no, he pretended to be dead until they passed over him!"
"Didn't you see? He blinded one with dirt! Classic rookie trick!"
Each explanation was more ridiculous than the last.
Meanwhile, he sat stiffly in the corner, face pale, hands trembling.
If this was his "new life," he already hated it.
Because if dying once gave him Pain Resistance I… that meant the system wanted him to die again. And again. And again.
And the worst part? He didn't think he had a choice.
By the time the sun sank and the campfires flickered to life, he was curled up near the edge of camp, staring into the flames.
The laughter of soldiers echoed behind him. They toasted, drank, celebrated surviving another day.
But his mind was trapped in a loop, replaying his death over and over.
The look on the goblin's face. The spear sliding in. The sound of his own scream.
He hugged his knees tighter.
"This isn't character growth," he whispered to the fire. "This is workplace harassment."
Ding!
Another window blinked to life.
[System Notification]
New Quest Assigned: Survive Tomorrow's Battle.
Bonus Objective: Die at least once for growth.
His eye twitched.
"…I'm suing."
The fire crackled. The soldiers laughed. The system stayed silent.
And NPC #999 realized, with the weight of dread sinking in his gut, that this nightmare was only beginning.