The rhythmic ticking of the wall clock echoed through the small, one-room apartment in Gwanak-gu. It was a cramped space, the air faintly scented with cheap laundry detergent and the lingering spice of instant ramen. The ceiling seemed lower than it truly was, the walls closer than comfort allowed.
At 188 centimeters tall, Lee Han often felt like a giant trapped inside a dollhouse.
He sat on the edge of his thin mattress, its springs long past their prime, staring at his reflection in the darkened window. The city lights outside shimmered faintly, turning the glass into a dim mirror.
He was twenty-three.
In a world where the "Great Cataclysm" had occurred fifteen years ago, twenty-three was an anomaly. Most people awakened their classes at eighteen—the peak of physical and mental transformation. That was the age when potential ignited, when ordinary youths stepped into extraordinary destinies. They became the celebrities of the new era, idols worshiped on screens and praised across networks.
Lee Han was not one of them.
He was just a young man with a part-time job at a logistics warehouse, hauling crates that weren't quite heavy enough to require an Awakener's power—yet heavy enough to break the backs of ordinary workers. Day after day, he traded sweat for survival, his muscles forged by necessity.
The window reflected his only inheritance—his appearance.
A thick mane of silver-purple hair framed his sharp features, falling carelessly over his forehead. His eyes were a deep, earthy brown, but they carried a certain emptiness, like soil long deprived of rain. His tall, muscular physique was the result of endless labor
"Just one more year…" he whispered, his voice low and hoarse in the quiet room. A faint, bitter smile tugged at his lips. "If nothing happens by twenty-four, I'll sign the permanent contract at the warehouse."
Han Lee stretched his arms, his joints letting out faint cracks, and rose from the mattress. The cold floor pressed against his bare feet as he walked to the bathroom. He washed his face with slow, movements, the chill of the water biting into his skin. He brushed his teeth while staring at his reflection in the small, slightly cracked mirror.
The young man staring back at him looked tired.
Not physically—his body was in peak condition—but tired in a way that ran deeper. A lifelessness in the eyes. A quiet resignation.
"Sigh…"
The sound lingered in the narrow bathroom before dissolving into silence.
After finishing, he returned to his mattress and lay down. He pulled the thin blanket over himself and closed his eyes. The ticking of the clock grew louder in the darkness, each second deliberate, merciless.
Tick Tick Tick
In the gloom of Han Lee's apartment, where the shadows pooled thickly in the corners, something stirred.
A spark of blue light flickered into existence above his body.
It was small—no larger than a coin—yet it radiated an indescribable depth, as if within it lay a distant, starless sea. The light rotated slowly, silently, its glow neither warm nor cold.
Then—
A whisper.
So faint it was almost indistinguishable from imagination.
The sound carried an ancient cadence, as though a forgotten language was being recited by something that did not possess a throat, nor lungs, nor even a physical form.
The blue light spun faster for a brief moment.
And then—
It vanished.
As if it had never existed at all, only the ticking of the clock remained.
....
The sun rose over Seoul on a Monday morning, pale light filtering through the narrow window of Han Lee's apartment. The city stirred awake—distant traffic, the low hum of life resuming its routine—but inside the cramped room, the air remained heavy with silence.
Han Lee was already awake.
Years of habit had carved discipline into his bones. Before the alarm could ring, he was sitting up. He moved toward the bathroom with familiarity and turned on the shower. Steam soon filled the cramped space, blurring the cracked mirror and dampening the chill that clung to the tiles.
Fifteen minutes later, he stepped out, water trailing down his broad shoulders. He wrapped a towel around his waist and wiped the fog from the mirror with his palm.
Just as he reached for his working clothes—
A shining blue light erupted into existence, flooding the room without warning.
It did not glow like sunlight, nor did it flicker like electricity. It radiated coldness—an unnatural, suffocating cold that seemed to reject warmth itself. The walls, the floor, the air—everything was swallowed in that pale azure brilliance.
Lee Han stood at its center, there was no time to react.
A piercing sensation exploded in the center of his chest.
It felt as if a frozen icicle had been driven straight through his sternum—slowly, deliberately—its jagged edges grinding against bone and nerve. The cold did not merely touch his flesh; it invaded him. It seeped into his bloodstream, spread along his veins, and coiled around his heart.
"Ghk—!"
His breath shattered into fragments.
He collapsed to his knees, one hand clutching his chest as if he could physically tear the pain out. His pulse hammered violently against his ribs—too fast, too heavy—like a beast trapped inside a cage of bone, desperate to escape.
The air thickened.
Each inhale felt like dragging shards of glass into his lungs. The atmospheric pressure seemed to rise unnaturally, pressing down on his shoulders, forcing his spine to bow. His vision blurred at the edges, streaks of blue cutting through his sight like cracks in reality.
Seconds stretched unbearably long.
The pain did not fade—it deepened.
It was no longer merely physical. Something was prying him open from the inside, as though invisible fingers were peeling apart layers of his existence. Flesh. Blood. Memory. Soul.
Then—
A mechanical chime echoed in his mind.
[ System Synchronization: 1%... 15%... 60%... ]
The words manifested in midair.
Blue holographic text flickered before him, unstable and distorted, glitching like a dying television screen. The letters trembled, fractured, then reassembled themselves.
lee han's breathing came in ragged gasps. Sweat mixed with the lingering droplets from his shower, dripping onto the floor beneath him. His heart felt as though it would rupture at any moment.
The pressure intensified one final time—
Then abruptly stabilized.
[ Soul Affinity Confirmed: The Dimensional Wanderer. ]
[ Class Awakening: The Traveler's Soul. ]
[ Rank: Unknown. ]
The light slowly receded, retreating like a tide pulled back into some unseen abyss. The crushing pressure dissipated, leaving behind a chilling emptiness.
han fell forward, catching himself with one hand against the tile floor. His chest still throbbed, but the unbearable agony had faded into a dull, echoing ache.
Then—
A weight materialized in his right hand, He froze.
It had not fallen from above. It had not formed gradually. It simply "existed".
A book.
It was not made of paper. Nor leather. Nor any material he could recognize. The cover was void-black—so dark it seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Faint, almost imperceptible patterns swirled across its surface, like distant stars swallowed by a moonless sky.
It was cold to the touch, not the chill of winter air.
But the cold of something mysterious, something that had never known warmth.
Han Lee swallowed hard. His breathing slowly steadied, though his fingers trembled faintly. With cautious hesitation, he opened the book.
The pages turned smoothly.
Blank.
Every single page was empty.
"A book?" he muttered, then let out a dry, hollow laugh. "I waited five years… for an empty book?"
Bitterness laced his voice, but as his thumb brushed against the first page—
Something changed.
A deep crimson began to seep through the paper, it did not drip from above, it bled from within.
The ink spread outward like veins beneath skin, twisting and branching in intricate patterns. It pulsed faintly, as if alive, staining the blank page with deliberate strokes.
han's breath caught.
The lines did not form a rank, nor a stat sheet, They formed a map.
[ Current Location: Earth-0 (Home) ]
[ Status: Idle ]
[ The Traveler's Soul is weary of the mundane. Do you wish to embark on the first scenario? ]
[ Notice: Time in Earth-0 will be suspended during the scenario. Death in the scenario is absolute. ]
han stared at the floating blue text, its glow reflecting faintly in his eyes.
For a brief moment, he was taken aback, his gaze slowly shifted away from the text.
He looked around his apartment.
The narrow bed, the chipped bathroom door, the faint stain on the ceiling he had never bothered to clean.
There was no one to call. No parents waiting for his return. No siblings relying on him. No lover who would notice his absence.
If he disappeared, perhaps the warehouse supervisor would curse his sudden resignation.
That would be all.
He was a man who had grown accustomed to solitude—so accustomed that loneliness had long ago become ordinary.
Han exhaled quietly, then he reached out, his fingers passed through the cool air and touched the glowing text.
"Yes," he said, his voice firm despite the faint tremor in his chest. "Take me."
The moment his finger brushed the page—
The crimson ink on the book twisted violently, it darkened, then it transformed.
The ink rose from the surface like living tar and morphed into writhing black thorns. They coiled around his wrist in an instant—cold, barbed, and merciless.
Before he could even recoil—
They pulled downward, as if gravity itself had inverted.
The apartment shattered into fragments of light as Han was dragged headfirst into a depthless void.
When he opened his eyes—
He was no longer in his apartment, he stood upon a wasteland of shattered obsidian, The ground was black and jagged, fractured like broken mirrors stretching endlessly toward the horizon. The air carried a stench of old blood and ozone, metallic and suffocating. Each breath scraped against his throat.
Above him, the sky churned in a violent vortex of violet clouds. They spiraled endlessly, as though circling an unseen abyss at the center of existence, the ground beneath his boots hummed, a slow rhythmic vibration, like a dying heart.
[ Scenario 1: The Graveyard of the Unsung ]
[ Objective: Slay the "Memory of a Fallen Vanguard." ]
[ Penalty: Failure to complete the objective will result in death. ]
The words faded, Han looked down at himself, he was no longer wrapped in a towel.
A set of brown leather armor now covered his torso—worn, scarred, but sturdy. Black trousers hugged his legs, tucked into hardened black boots fit for a battlefield.
His hands were empty, no weapon, no shield, no blessing, only his body.
Then—
A sound.
A screeching metallic drag tore through the air, sharp enough to stab into his eardrums, Han turned.
From the shadow of a jagged obsidian pillar—
It emerged
A Seven feet tall hollowed-out suit of plate armor, ancient and scarred, its metal dulled by countless unseen battles. It dragged behind it a rusted, jagged claymore so large it carved a deep groove into the obsidian ground with every step.
It had no face, where a helmet's visor should have been—
There was only flickering blue flame.
"You've got to be kidding me…" Han whispered, his heart slamming violently against his ribs.
The Vanguard did not roar, It did not posture, It move with terrifying speed, the massive claymore rose— , then descended in a vertical cleave
Han threw himself to the side, The blade struck where he had stood a fraction of a second earlier. The shockwave alone ripped through the air, nearly tearing the leather armor from his body. The obsidian ground exploded into fragments, shards slicing past his face.
He rolled, scrambling to his feet, he was completely outclassed, His eyes darted desperately.
Then he saw it , a shard of obsidian near a crater. Razor-sharp. Heavy. Crude, he lunged for it, the Vanguard's blade swung again in a brutal horizontal arc.
Too slow, the claymore's edge grazed his shoulder. It was shallow , White-hot agony detonated through his nervous system. It felt as if lightning had been injected directly into his bones. His vision went white for a split second, and his arm nearly gave out.
He did not scream, Instead he used the force of the strike, he let himself fall, he rolled with the momentum, teeth clenched so hard his jaw creaked, fingers closing around the obsidian shard.
The Vanguard advanced, Han surged forward, with a desperate roar, he drove the shard into the gap of the armor's knee joint.
Car-ACK.
The sound of fractured metal echoed across the wasteland, The Vanguard staggered, Han did not hesitate, he climbed Like a madman, his muscular frame strained as he leapt onto its back, wrapping his arms around the hollow helmet. The metal burned cold against his skin.
He jammed the obsidian shard into the narrow seam at the neck.
Twisted.
The blue flame inside flared violently, It burned—not with heat alone—but with something corrosive. His hands blistered instantly. The scent of charring flesh mixed with blood and ozone.
[ Warning: Physical Integrity at 40% ]
The notification rang inside his mind.
"Die… you… bucket of bolts!" Han roared, veins bulging across his temples. His vision blurred with red as he poured every ounce of strength into his arms.
He twisted again, and again, metal shrieked in protest.
Then—
Snap.
The helmet separated from the body, the blue flame burst outward like a dying star—
and vanished
The massive armor collapsed, the claymore slipped from its grasp and struck the ground with a dull, final clang.
Silence returned.
Han fell backward onto the obsidian ground.
His hands were blackened and bleeding. Blisters had burst. Skin hung in torn patches. His shoulder throbbed violently, warm blood soaking into the leather armor, his chest rose and fell in ragged gasps.
He had won, barely.
Before him, the void-black book materialized once more, floating silently in the air.
A single drop of his blood fell from his trembling fingers, it struck the blank page.
[ Scenario 1 Cleared ]
[ Extracting Soul-Essence… ]
[ Skill Acquired: "Vanguard Callousness" (Rank E) ]
[ Current State: Raw / Unrefined ]
[ Evolution Quest: "The Path of the Butcher" ]
- Condition: This skill cannot be used until you kill 50 monsters with a bladed weapon.
- Current Progress: 0 / 50.
- Reward Upon Completion: The skill will manifest as permanent physical enhancement.
Han lay there, staring at the floating text.
Fifty monsters, with a blade, he let out a weak, breathless laugh.
Then—
The world trembled, a deep crack split across the violet sky, another followed.
The vortex fractured like shattered glass, spreading in jagged lines across the heavens. The obsidian ground beneath him crumbled into drifting fragments of black light.
The wasteland began collapsing inward, the sky peeled away, the air dissolved, everything—
Turned black.