The arena dissolved into black mist. The runes dimmed, leaving only the harsh chill of the hall. The Demon Lord rose from his throne, a towering figure draped in shifting shadows.
"Seven days," he said. His voice was calm, deliberate. "Survive, and you may call yourself my disciple. Fail, and you return to ash. This is not training. This is the stripping of weakness."
With a sweep of his arm, the ground yawned open beneath the MC.
He fell.
The air whipped against his face as darkness swallowed him. For a moment, panic seized him, then he slammed into the ground hard enough to rattle his teeth. The world spun. He coughed, tasting grit and iron.
He was in a cavern, its ceiling lost in shadows. Torches burned in brackets, though the flames were black and unnatural. The air was heavy with sulfur and rot.
A single path stretched forward. The walls writhed with faint movement—shapes shifting just out of sight.
[System Notice: Trial Progression — Day 1]
[Objective: Endure the Furnace Path]
[Details: The path is long. The enemies endless. Only through persistence will survival be achieved.]
[Warning: No external aid available. System support conditional upon sacrifice.]
The MC dragged himself to his feet. His ribs still ached from his phantom fight, his body weak. He glanced behind—there was no way back. Only forward.
The first enemy came silently.
A beast lunged from the shadows—its form twisted, more bone than flesh, its eyes pits of crimson fire. Its claws scraped against stone as it snarled, jaw unhinged far too wide.
Instinct screamed at him to flee. He had no weapon but the crude blackfire blade pulsing in his hand.
The beast struck.
He parried, sparks scattering as claw met flame. Pain shot up his arm as the impact nearly tore the blade from his grip. He staggered, but the beast pressed forward with feral hunger.
[System Prompt: Host strength insufficient.]
[Emergency Protocol: Sacrifice required. Select one memory to reinforce weapon.]
Another list flickered before him:
The sound of his comrades laughing around a fire.
The warmth of holding his first sword, the pride of being accepted into the Sect.
His mother's face—blurry, fragile, the memory of her embrace before he left home.
He faltered. His chest tightened.
No… not her. Anything but her…
The beast roared and swiped again. He raised his blade, too slow. Claws raked across his side, tearing flesh. Pain exploded, hot and sharp. Blood soaked his shirt.
If I don't… I'll die again.
His hand trembled.
[Memory Offered: The pride of acceptance into the Sect.]
[Confirmed. Power allocated.]
His chest hollowed. The warmth of that day. the cheers, the weight of the Sect robe draped over his shoulders, was gone. He remembered the fact of it, but not the feeling. Another piece of himself carved away.
The blade flared, burning brighter. He swung.
Blackfire cleaved through bone and sinew. The beast shrieked as it split apart, dissolving into ash.
The cavern was silent again, but only for a moment. More eyes glimmered in the dark.
They came one after another. Hulking, clawed, mindless. He fought until his arms trembled, until every breath tasted of copper. Each time the system demanded sacrifice. Each time he obeyed.
The laughter of comrades..... gone.
The taste of roasted chestnuts on winter patrol.... gone.
The memory of the captain's first praise... gone.
By the time the twentieth beast fell, his blade was a roaring furnace of black flame, his body covered in cuts and bruises. But his heart… felt hollow.
He leaned against the cavern wall, chest heaving. His memories were tattered threads now. Each sacrifice left him colder, emptier, more alien to himself.
[System Notice: Trial Progression --- Day 1 Complete.]
[Reward: Endurance increased.]
[Penalty: Emotional instability heightened.]
He dropped to his knees, sweat soaking through his clothes. This… this is what it means to grow stronger? To lose everything I am?
A voice echoed through the cavern, cool and merciless.
"You hesitate at every choice," the Demon Lord said, though his figure was nowhere visible. His presence filled the space regardless, pressing against the MC's skin like molten weight. "And yet, you chose each time. That is what matters. Choice, not obedience. Your Sect denied you that. Here, choice will kill you… or save you."
The MC's throat burned. He wanted to scream, to demand why strength demanded so much, why this path stripped him of everything but rage and emptiness. But the words died. The system pulsed within him, indifferent.
The Demon Lord's voice continued: "Remember this: loyalty to me is not servitude. I require not dogs, but blades. And a blade must be tempered in fire until only steel remains."
The torches flared, black fire washing over the cavern.
[System Notice: Rest Period Initiated --- 6 hours remaining until Day 2.]
The MC collapsed to the ground, body twitching with exhaustion. His wounds burned, his mind echoing with absence. He closed his eyes, but sleep did not bring peace. Dreams were fractured things: phantom laughter, broken faces, a sunrise he could no longer remember.
When he woke, the cavern floor was warm beneath him. The torches still burned. His body ached but held together.
[System Notice: Day 2 Beginning ---- Trial Escalation Pending.]
The words seared themselves into his mind. He pushed himself upright, clutching the blackfire blade. His reflection glimmered faintly in the stone wall. His face looked the same, yet not. Eyes darker, hollower.
"I will survive," he whispered. His voice echoed against the cavern walls, quiet but firm.
He took his first step forward.
The shadows stirred.
And the furnace awaited.