The light portal at the end of Zone 3, where a part of Lasron's humanity had been buried, faded and vanished. He took a deep breath, the frigid air of the new land filling his lungs, bringing with it a chilling silence. He tried to push back the haunting memories of the Village of Last Hope, of the cries, the smell of blood, and the betrayal. He didn't know what awaited him ahead; after three Zones filled with trials beyond imagination, perhaps nothing could surprise him anymore. Or at least, he tried to convince himself of that, though a deep part of his soul still trembled before the unknown.
As his vision gradually cleared after the blinding light of the teleportation gate, a cold gust of air, carrying the distinct, pungent smell of death and the damp, decaying earth of untended graves, assaulted Lasron's nostrils, making him cough violently and cover his nose. The scene that unfolded before his eyes was more desolate and deathly than anything he had ever imagined, even in his worst nightmares. He was standing on a vast, flat expanse, stretching as far as the eye could see, a plain covered with the white bones of countless creatures and crooked, moss-covered graves, their tombstones cracked or completely shattered.
In the distance, the ruins of ancient fortresses, collapsed walls, and broken watchtowers were shrouded in a thick, heavy, lead-gray fog, making the space even gloomier and more oppressive. The sky above had no sun or moon, not a single ray of natural light, only a bleak, sickly ash-gray firmament, occasionally streaked with eerie, phosphorescent green lights that flashed and disappeared, leaving behind a suffocating silence. The wind whistling through the piles of dry bones and the cracks in the ruined structures created mournful, creepy sounds, like the lamentations, the whispers of countless souls eternally imprisoned here.
This was the Undying Domain, Zone 4 of the S+ Trial.
The familiar System notification appeared again, the cold, blood-red text standing out against the gloomy backdrop, like a welcome to hell:
[Welcome to the S+ Trial - Zone 4: The Undying Domain!]
[Zone Difficulty: S+]
[Mission: Survive the waves of the undead army and eliminate the Undying Overlord.]
[Note: A safe zone is designated at the starting point. If injured, returning there before death will result in full recovery. Upon returning to the safe zone, all progress (including the state of the Overlord if it has appeared) will be reset.]
[Reward for completing Zone 4: +20 basic stat points and one special Hidden Form.]
"S+ difficulty..." Lasron muttered, a chill running down his spine. Unlike Zone 3, which had an undetermined difficulty, this time the System had clearly stated S+. This meant that what he was about to face would be even more horrific than his previous nightmares, perhaps on par with or even exceeding the Monster Arena he had just escaped. The mission was to "survive" and "eliminate." Survive the relentless waves of attacks, and then eliminate an Overlord. And the cruel reset mechanism was still there, ready to drag him back to the starting line after each failure, erasing all effort, leaving only pain and despair.
SCRAPE... GRIND... SWISH... SWISH...
Ghastly sounds began to echo from all around, breaking the deathly silence. From beneath the earthen graves, bony, desiccated hands began to emerge, clawing at the ground. From within the ruins, crooked, deformed figures began to gather. Dozens, then hundreds of Skeleton Soldiers, wielding swords and spears so rusty they looked like they could shatter at any moment, their empty eye sockets two black abysses yet glinting with an infernal blue light, were staggering towards Lasron. They didn't move quickly, but their numbers were suffocating. Following them were lumbering Zombies, their flesh putrid and tattered, revealing rotting bones and decaying innards, oozing a foul slime, their mouths ceaselessly emitting bloodthirsty growls from deep within their throats.
Lasron clenched his fists, cold sweat beginning to form on his forehead. With his current 30 basic stat points, he knew he would have to fight incredibly hard, even with the Berserk status and the hidden Resistance stat. He immediately activated Berserk. A familiar surge of violent energy welled up within him, his senses sharpened, his strength and speed increasing slightly, dispelling some of the frigidness of this land.
The first wave of attack crashed down like a monstrous tide. Lasron had no choice but to charge into the midst of the undead. He dodged the clumsy but menacing slashes of the Skeleton Soldiers, using the initial power of Berserk to shatter their brittle skulls. He also tried to maintain distance from the slow but resilient Zombies, aiming for their heads, the weak point Monster Scan had indicated after quickly scanning the first enemies. The sound of cracking bones and tearing rotten flesh echoed continuously.
But their numbers were too great, like an inexhaustible sea of the dead. For every one he killed, two or three more swarmed in from all sides, giving him no respite. Their rusty weapons, though wielded clumsily, could still inflict painful wounds if they connected, especially when he had to face so many targets simultaneously. The Resistance stat helped mitigate some of an undetermined amount of the damage; the cuts weren't as deep, the blows didn't leave him as stunned as before, but the pain and gradual blood loss couldn't be entirely negated.
After about fifteen minutes of frenzied combat, as the Berserk status began to noticeably enhance his strength, Lasron had taken down several dozen undead. The ground around him was littered with piles of broken bones and scraps of rotten flesh. But he himself was also covered in wounds, his breathing heavy and ragged, his chest heaving violently.
And then, the situation worsened. From afar, atop high mounds or the ruined walls of ancient fortresses, bone arrows began to rain down. Skeleton Archers had appeared. They stood in concealed or hard-to-reach positions, coldly raining down arrows carrying death.
Lasron had to simultaneously deal with the melee attackers closing in and watch out for the cold arrows flying from all directions. He spun, dodging an arrow aimed at his chest, but left his flank exposed to a Skeleton Soldier's slash. A moment's carelessness, another arrow grazed his shoulder, causing a deep gash, fresh blood staining a patch of his already tattered clothes. The sharp pain made him lose focus for an instant, and immediately, a Zombie had grabbed his leg, its cold, bony fingers gripping like steel vices.
"Damn it!" Lasron roared, yanking his leg free with all his might, but that created an opening for other lurking Skeleton Soldiers to swarm in. He was surrounded. Dozens of rusty swords and spears thrust at him from all directions. The claws and gaping maws of Zombies also relentlessly sought to attack. Though he fought desperately, using all his strength to create a small opening, he couldn't escape the tightening encirclement. Finally, a rustier, sharper sword than the others pierced through his chest, near his heart. Excruciating, mind-numbing pain and a terrifying coldness spread throughout his body. Lasron collapsed, his consciousness slowly fading into darkness.
The white light of the safe zone enveloped him once more. The fatal wound on his body vanished as if it had never existed, his body whole again. But the feeling of failure, the helplessness, and the haunting memory of death remained, clear and bitter. He looked out at the battlefield, where the undead had returned to their original positions, shambling aimlessly like soulless ghosts, as if his life and death meant nothing to them.
"No..." Lasron gritted his teeth, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. "With my current strength, even with Berserk and Resistance, I can't fight such large numbers, especially with ranged attackers. They're too many, too resilient." He had tried, he had fought with everything he had, but the limitation of his basic stats was too obvious. He needed to be stronger, faster, more durable.
He looked at his status screen. The 40 reserve stat points lay dormant, a reminder of the agonizing achievements of the previous two Zones. He had intended to save them for more critical situations, for challenges in later Zones of the S+ Trial, or even for the final Boss of this Zone 4. But perhaps, that critical situation had already arrived, right from his first steps into this Undying Domain. If he couldn't overcome these basic waves, how could he even dream of surviving to eliminate the Undying Overlord? Waiting would only bring more meaningless deaths.
A strong resolve appeared in Lasron's eyes, already hardened by suffering. He couldn't continue dying and reviving so uselessly. He needed strength, right now.
"System," Lasron called silently in his mind, his voice carrying an unshakeable determination. "Use 20 reserve stat points."
A familiar interface appeared before him, allowing him to allocate the precious points. He had thought about this carefully during the horrific days in Zone 3, when he had been turned into a "meat farm." He had analyzed his weaknesses, what he needed most to survive and fight more effectively. He needed strength to attack (STR), agility to dodge and move (AGI), and stamina to endure prolonged battles and maintain Berserk (STA). Intelligence (INT) was also important, it helped Monster Scan function more effectively and increased his ability to analyze situations, but perhaps it wasn't as crucial as the other three in these direct life-or-death battles, especially since Monster Scan didn't consume too much of his mental energy.
After careful consideration, recalling every dangerous moment, every failure, Lasron decided to allocate these first 20 points as follows:
[Strength (STR): 14 (+7 points)]
[Agility (AGI): 18 (+8 points)]
[Stamina (STA): 13 (+5 points)]
[Intelligence (INT): 5]
As soon as he confirmed his choice, a warm, powerful energy, much stronger than when he had leveled up or recovered before, surged through his body, spreading to every cell. His muscles felt as if they were pumped with new strength, visibly firmer. He felt his body become lighter and more agile, every movement carrying a new grace and hidden energy. His chest also felt full of vitality, his breath deeper and more even. His total basic stats now reached 50 points (14 STR, 18 AGI, 5 INT, 13 STA). Compared to the initial 10 points when he first Awakened, this was a quantum leap, a qualitative change.
"Let's see," Lasron muttered to himself, clenching his fist, feeling the new, intense power coursing within him. "This time will be different." A cold glint flashed in his eyes, no longer holding despair or fear, only an iron will.
He stepped out of the safe zone again, Berserk activating almost instantly, a violent aura emanating from him. The undead, as if sensing stronger prey, roared once more and charged.
But this time, everything was completely different. With 14 STR, Lasron's punches carried significant force. A Skeleton Soldier's skull shattered into pieces after a single direct hit, white bone fragments flying everywhere. He could even send a charging Zombie reeling back with a powerful kick. With 18 AGI, he moved much faster, like a wind weaving through the enemy ranks, easily dodging their attacks, even managing to evade most of the arrows from the Skeleton Archers with sudden leaps or changes in direction. And with 13 STA, he could maintain Berserk longer, fighting much more persistently without feeling exhausted as quickly as before.
Lasron charged into the enemy encirclement like a true whirlwind. He was no longer just passively defending; he actively attacked, seeking out and eliminating the weakest or most dangerous targets. Monster Scan operated continuously, providing him with information about the weaknesses of each type of undead that appeared. He learned that the Ghouls, which appeared after the first few waves, though agile and possessing sharp claws coated with a mildly paralyzing venom, were very vulnerable to strong direct hits to their soft and easily damaged bodies; a sufficiently powerful punch from Lasron could make them buckle and lose their combat ability. He also discovered that the hovering Wraiths, with their ability to slowly drain life force and induce fear, were extremely weak against attacks carrying strong willpower, and Berserk, with its fury and heightened focus, seemed to have inadvertently amplified that element, allowing his punches to connect with and dissipate these ethereal entities.
The battle was still incredibly fierce, without a moment's rest. The number of undead seemed inexhaustible. Every time he cleared a wave, another, even larger and stronger, with newer types of undead, emerged from the ground or from the ruins, as if this Undying Domain were an endless corpse-producing machine. But Lasron no longer felt as helpless as before. His newfound strength gave him confidence, though he still had to pay the price with wounds and retreats to the safe zone for recovery, the number of those instances had significantly decreased. He could fight longer, eliminate more enemies each time he stepped out.
He fought relentlessly, losing track of time. Day after day. Twenty days, then thirty days passed in this Undying Domain. Lasron no longer remembered how many undead he had destroyed. Thousands? Or tens of thousands? He only knew that each battle, each encounter with death, made him a little stronger; the wounds, though fully healed, left painful memories that helped his Resistance adapt better. His unarmed combat skills, though never formally trained, became more proficient through countless real battles. And his control over Berserk also became more refined; he could sense its limits, knowing when to push it to its peak, when to hold back.
But after thirty days of continuous fighting, despite being much stronger, Lasron also realized something important. Stat-based strength wasn't everything, especially when facing an endless army. He needed to learn to fight more effectively, more intelligently, not just relying on superior strength or speed to crush weaker opponents. He needed weapons, and the skills to use them. His punches were strong, but their range was short, and they consumed a lot of stamina when he had to break through the bones or flesh of the undead.
During a brief respite in the safe zone, after a battle that had lasted nearly an hour against a particularly strong wave featuring several Skeletal Knights - larger skeletons, clad in armor and wielding sharper longswords - Lasron looked at his calloused hands, covered in faint scars. He was used to fighting bare-handed, but he knew that to deal with stronger, more diverse enemies, especially the Undying Overlord awaiting him at the end of this road, he needed weapons, and more importantly, the skill to wield them proficiently.
A new thought sparked in his mind, a flash of insight amidst his exhaustion. These undead, they also used weapons. Rusty swords, broken spears, rotten shields... Perhaps, he could start from there. Take the enemy's weapons to fight against them.
The next chapter of his hellish training had just begun. Lasron looked out at the deathly land, where the soulless phantoms still roamed ceaselessly. He had the foundational strength; now it was time to find skills and a true fighting style of his own.