A few minutes later.
"Hhh... Hahh..."
Arzael panted, his body covered in wounds and blood, so of it his, so not. The ground of the First Layer of Hell trembled beneath the steps of feral beasts lurking in the darkness.
The air burned his lungs, reeking of sulfur, while distant screams echoed like an unending nightmare.
[System: Pain detected – Minor lacerations. Pain Conversion bonus active: 12% damage]
"So... this is hell?" Arzael murmured, eyes fixed on the starless red sky. "No rcy here, huh? Fitting..."
He moved through winding caves, avoiding the larger monsters, hunting the small ones. A young Hell Hound lunged at him, he blocked it with a rock and drove Shadow Pierce into the creature’s skull.
[You have slain a Feral Hell Hound. 64 EXP]
[Shadow Pierce proficiency increased.]
His body was still trembling.
But within the blood and pain... there was peace.
’Every wound... makes stronger,’ Arzael thought. ’They threw here to die. But they gave sothing they never realized, a chance.’
In the midst of his exploration, Arzael encountered a Crimson Wailer, a humanoid demon with wings and a twisted, skeletal fra. One strike from it nearly halved his HP.
[Skill Activated: Pain Conversion Lv. 1]
With that brief surge of power, Arzael slashed and stabbed... but his victory ca within a breath of death.
[You have slain a Crimson Wailer. 132 EXP]
[Level Up!]
[New Active Skill unlocked: Gatewalk]
[Gatewalk (Lv. 1) – Active Skill]
Allows instant teleportation between Overworld and Underworld (Layer 1 only). Cooldown: 1 hour.
Arzael let out a faint laugh, blood trickling from his lips. "Now... I can go back."
He stood atop a jagged cliff, blood still dripping from open wounds.
He stepped into the black light.
[Gatewalk activated. Destination: Overworld]
The light swallowed him whole.
Arzael erged within a ruined temple, far from the Alzareth Empire. His crimson eyes gazed across the horizon, not with weakness, but with cold hatred and a new purpose. "You threw into hell...
Now I’ve returned to burn it down."
"I will have my revenge."
The sky above wasn’t as dark as the Underworld, but to Arzael, even the morning sunlight felt foreign.
After hours of wandering aimlessly from the ruins where he had erged, he finally found a place to sit, a large boulder on the edge of a cliff, overlooking a vast forest. There, he paused to reflect.
The system... the voice still echoed clearly in his mind:
[System Note: "The more you suffer, the stronger you beco. Return to the surface, or descend deeper. Hell is your forge."]
Arzael looked down at his hand, still stained black with demon blood.
"Leveling up? Getting stronger through pain? Through killing enemies? Is this... sothing only I have?"
His hand clenched, trembling, not from exhaustion, but from a mixture of fear and exhilaration.
Once, he was just a cursed child. Shunned. Unwanted. Cast out by the Alzareth Empire for a bloodline they couldn’t understand.
Thrown into the Underworld, a final gift from the gods who had long since stopped caring.
But now... everything had changed.
Arzael stood up. Minor wounds on his body were slowly healing, but the claw marks from the demons still burned across his back. That pain... was power.
He began descending into the valley below. His purpose now was clear: find civilization, gather information, and... adapt. But sothing whispered in his heart: he was no longer part of this world. Not fully.
Three hours passed. Through thick woods and across a shallow stream, he moved silently, until signs of life appeared. A burned-out campfire. Human footprints. The sll of old smoke. Still, he didn’t rush. The Overworld had its own kinds of danger.
Then, from the brush, a beast erged. Dark fur, tallic tusks, a Boarfang, as tall as a man’s chest, its breath ragged and dripping with foam.
"A monster? Not a demon... weaker. But still able to kill."
It charged.
Arzael didn’t move.
He drew the rusty dagger at his waist, the last physical weapon he had.
"Shadow Pierce."
A lance of cursed energy exploded from his hand, piercing the Boarfang’s forehead and nailing it to the ground.
[You have slain a Boarfang. 10 EXP]
EXP: 62 / 180
Arzael stood over the corpse. "Still gaining EXP... but slow. Too slow."
He kicked the beast’s body aside. "If this is the normal world, then... hell really is the best place to grow."
He clenched his fist.
[Gatewalk cooldown: Ready to activate]
A bitter smile spread across his face.
"So I really can go back anyti I want. Hell... isn’t a prison anymore. It’s a training ground."
A few kiloters later, Arzael stood atop a grassy ridge. Smoke curled up from chimneys in the distance, a town, maybe a village. Too far to make out details, but close enough to confirm one thing:
Civilization still existed.
But before heading there... he had to test sothing.
He drew his dagger, and stabbed himself in the thigh.
A sharp pain shot through his leg. Blood dripped.
A mont later
[Pain Conversion active: 12% bonus STR]
"Pain... is no longer punishnt. It’s a tool." Arzael let out a quiet laugh.
He used to fear pain. Used to dread mockery, rejection, solitude.
Now?
"I’ll surpass them all. The gods... the Alzareth Empire... everything in this world."
As the sun dipped low in the sky, he followed a dirt path toward the town of Kareth, a quiet settlent of farrs, carpenters, and lightly ard guards. Ordinary people.
But to Arzael, they were strangers.
They laughed. They lived without systems. Without pressure to beco stronger.
And that... was their weakness.
While they slept, he could return to hell. Train. Kill. Level up. Leave this world behind.
"I don’t belong with them. But I’ll pretend. For now."
Cloaked in tattered robes and carrying only his wounds and power, Arzael stepped into the village, the only person in the world with a system forged by suffering.
Status
Na: Arzael
Race: ???
Level: 9
EXP: 62 / 180
HP: 760 / 760
MP: 500 / 500
STR: 34
AGI: 30
VIT: 38
INT: 26
LUK: 7
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