The door creaked open slowly, dragging like it had all the time in the world.
Ethan didn't move. He didn't even blink.
He just watched.
Two sets of footsteps entered.
"…check if he's dead already."
"Yeah. No way that trash survived."
A low laugh followed.
Ethan's eyes cooled slightly.
So it's them.
The memories lined up instantly—two outer disciples. Bullies. Not strong in the grand scheme of things, but far stronger than the old him.
The door opened wider, and light spilled into the room, stabbing his eyes for a brief moment.
The tall, thin one stepped in first, wearing that same annoying smug expression. Behind him came the broader one, gripping a wooden stick.
They both froze when they saw him.
"…he's standing."
Silence stretched for a second.
Then—
"What the hell?!"
Ethan tilted his head slightly. No panic. No rush. Just calm—the kind that didn't belong here.
"You look surprised."
His voice came out steady. Too steady.
The thin one frowned. "You should be dead."
Ethan let out a small breath. "Yeah. I thought so too."
The man with the stick stepped forward, tightening his grip.
"Stop acting smart. We'll just finish it again."
Ethan didn't reply.
His gaze flicked briefly to the stick, then back to their faces.
Two people.
I'm injured.
Still weak.
But…
Something inside him sharpened.
I've got something now.
The system. The skill. A chance.
Small… but enough.
The man with the stick rushed first. Fast—faster than this body was comfortable with.
The swing came down hard.
Ethan tried to lean away—
Too slow.
The stick scraped across his shoulder.
"—ghh!"
Pain burst through him, sharp enough to shake his vision.
But his thoughts stayed clear.
Don't panic. Don't freeze.
The second swing came immediately, with no pause.
This time, Ethan stepped forward instead of back.
Straight in.
Closing the distance.
The attacker hesitated for just a second.
"Idiot—"
Ethan grabbed the stick.
The impact rattled his arms, his hands trembling from the force—but he didn't let go.
The man pulled.
Nothing happened.
"…what?"
Ethan stepped closer, invading his space, close enough to smell his breath.
Then—
BAM.
His forehead slammed into the man's nose.
A sharp crack echoed through the room.
Blood sprayed instantly.
"AAARGH!"
The man staggered back, screaming.
Ethan didn't hesitate.
He yanked the stick free, turned, and swung.
Hard. Too hard.
CRACK.
The stick smashed into the side of the man's head.
He dropped instantly.
No resistance.
No movement.
Just… gone.
Silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating.
The second man didn't move.
Didn't even breathe.
"…you…"
His voice shook.
Fear.
Real fear.
Ethan stood there, breathing hard, chest burning, vision slightly unsteady.
But he still managed a faint smile.
"Your turn."
The thin one stepped back quickly.
"No… no, this isn't right…"
"You were trash!"
Ethan took a step forward.
Slow.
Dragging slightly.
But every step carried weight now, like pressure building around him.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I was."
The man turned and ran.
Panic completely took over him.
Ethan threw the stick.
It spun through the air—
And missed.
"…shit."
His body lagged behind, still too weak, too slow.
The man reached the door, hope flashing across his face.
"I'll report—!"
Ethan lunged.
Everything he had left.
His hand caught the man's collar and yanked him back.
Both of them crashed to the ground hard.
The man struggled wildly.
"Le—let go! Let go!"
Ethan didn't answer.
His hands moved on instinct, locking around the man's throat.
And he squeezed.
Tight.
The man clawed at him, scratching, hitting, kicking—desperate.
Ethan's arms shook under the strain.
His grip almost slipped.
No.
If I let go… I'm dead.
His fingers pressed deeper.
The man's movements slowed.
Weaker.
More desperate.
Then—
Nothing.
The struggle stopped.
Silence returned.
Ethan stayed there for a few seconds, still holding on, breathing hard.
"…it's over?"
No response.
He slowly let go.
His hands trembled now, covered in warm, sticky blood.
"…I killed them."
It didn't sound like a question.
Just a fact.
And strangely—
He felt calm.
Then—
[Skill Activated: Blood Absorption]
Ethan stiffened.
"…now?"
The bodies didn't move.
But something else did.
A faint red mist began to rise from them, thin at first, then thicker, drifting toward him.
"…wait—"
Too late.
It rushed into his body.
Through his skin.
His chest.
Everywhere.
"AH—!"
Pain exploded inside him.
Burning, like his veins were on fire.
He dropped to his knees, clutching himself.
"What is this—?!"
His body trembled violently.
Muscles tightened. Bones cracked softly.
Rebuilding.
Forcing themselves into something stronger.
Time blurred.
Seconds… maybe minutes.
He couldn't tell.
Then—
It stopped.
Just like that.
Ethan gasped for air, sweat dripping down his face.
"…it's over…"
He looked at his hands.
Still shaking.
But stronger.
He could feel it.
Not a massive change.
But real.
His chest still hurt—
But far less than before.
He slowly stood up, testing his balance.
"…I'm stronger."
A real smile appeared this time.
Small.
But genuine.
"This is insane…"
His eyes drifted to the bodies.
Or what remained of them.
Dry.
Empty.
Like something had drained them completely.
His gaze darkened.
So this is power.
No training.
No waiting.
Just… take it.
A thought slipped in, quiet and dangerous.
If I keep killing—
He stopped himself.
"…careful."
He exhaled slowly.
"Don't lose it."
But his lips still curved slightly.
"…still."
"I like this."
Then—
[New Mission Assigned]
[Survive for 24 hours]
[Reward: Basic Cultivation Technique]
Ethan blinked.
"…that's it?"
Just survive?
Too simple.
Way too simple.
His eyes shifted to the open door.
Voices echoed outside now.
More than before.
"…yeah."
"They'll notice."
Two bodies.
Blood everywhere.
There was no way this would stay quiet.
Ethan bent down and picked up the stick again.
His grip felt firmer now.
More stable.
"24 hours…"
He stepped toward the door, slow and careful.
"Let's see who survives."
His heartbeat steadied again.
Cold.
Controlled.
Outside, a voice shouted—
"Hey! Why is the door open?!"
Ethan smiled.
And this time—
There was something hungry in it.
"Come in."