The Coldness of Regressions

The Coldness of Regressions

The dim light from the flickering streetlamp outside filtered through the half-drawn blinds, casting a pale glow on the worn walls of Jihwan's apartment. He had just closed the Shop of Death window, still haunted by the temptation of its cursed items. There was something unsettling about that shop—about how it felt like the System was offering power through death, coaxing him into a darker path.

But for now, he resisted. The quest to survive was more important.

Jihwan stood, stretching his stiff limbs, trying to shake off the residual exhaustion from his previous death. His muscles ached, his body felt off, like he had pushed too hard, even though there had been no battle to speak of. Every time he regressed, every time he died, it felt as if his body was pushed to its limits, remade and reshaped into something less human.

His head pounded, the weight of it pressing against his skull as he exhaled slowly. He was alone. The System had him isolated in this cycle, offering rewards for death and promises of power. But was it worth it?

Then, the familiar notification flashed in front of him.

[New Quest: Pray for Your First Death]

[Objective: Pray for the death that brought you here.]

[Penalty: Failure will result in increased mental anguish and deterioration for 24 hours.]

[Reward: +5 DP]

Jihwan blinked at the message. Pray for your first death? The words struck him like a physical blow. It wasn't about surviving a dungeon. It wasn't about fighting or slaying anything. It was about surrendering to the very thing he feared most: that single moment when everything had ended, when death had claimed him for the first time. It was the catalyst for everything that had happened since. That first death had reshaped his reality, and now the System was forcing him to relive it mentally.

He could feel his pulse quicken, an unsettling cold creeping up his spine.

His hands clenched into fists. "This is insane," he muttered to himself. He had only died once, but that single death had changed him—had changed everything. The cold emptiness, the loss, the betrayal—his mind kept circling around that one death. It was more than just an event. It was a mark. A constant reminder that he was trapped in this cycle of dying and regressing, each time leaving a scar on his soul.

But there was no escape.

With a grim sigh, Jihwan sat down in the center of his room, crossing his legs and letting his eyes fall shut. The space around him felt too quiet, the silence too suffocating. He had no choice but to comply. If he failed, the consequences would be worse. He could already feel the weight of the penalty, the mental toll it would take. The System was designed to break him down.

He closed his eyes and began.

Pray for your first death. The thought was suffocating. A prayer for something so final, so irrevocable. His breath grew shallow, his thoughts spiraling. That first death—his death—had been the point of no return. He had been torn apart by the dungeon, betrayed by the very people who had once called him an ally. That moment of finality had changed him more than anything. It had reshaped his soul.

With every breath, his mind grew darker. He imagined the way death had come for him. The coldness. The suffocation. The finality. His body had been left behind, discarded like a broken tool. He could feel the old pain rising again—the betrayal, the loss, the helplessness. He had died once, but it felt like it had happened a hundred times. It was the death that defined him now, and this System was forcing him to relive it.

But then, he reminded himself: This is not real. This is just the System's game.

Still, his mind couldn't fight the mental anguish the quest imposed. His thoughts turned inward, spiraling into a dark place where all he could focus on was the emptiness of it all. Was there even any point to his existence in this twisted world of dungeons and death? He was nothing more than a puppet to the System. The thought felt like a weight pressing on his chest, suffocating him.

And then, the thirty minutes seemed to stretch on endlessly. He could hear the ticking of the clock in the distance, but every second felt like an eternity. His mind wandered further, darker, into a place where he wished for the end, not out of fear, but out of sheer exhaustion. The first death—his first death—had been the moment he truly understood the System's cruelty. It had been the moment he realized that no matter what he did, he would always be bound to it.

But just as he thought he couldn't endure any more, the notification rang in his mind.

[Quest Completed.]

[Reward: +5 DP]

[You have avoided mental deterioration for now.]

Jihwan's eyes shot open, his body trembling. He hadn't realized how deeply he had sunk into the darkness of the quest. For a moment, it felt like his soul had been teetering on the edge of something permanent. But the reward, small as it was, brought him back. The curse had not claimed him, at least for now.

He slumped against the floor, his breath coming in shallow gasps, his hands still clenched tightly in his lap. The room around him felt too bright, too loud after the suffocating silence. His body ached, but it wasn't the physical pain that weighed on him the most—it was the mental fatigue. The toll this quest had taken on him was more than just physical; it was a deep, insidious weariness that would linger long after he had completed it.

As Jihwan slowly stood up, the bitter reality of his situation washed over him. This was just the beginning. The System would continue to test him, to break him down, until there was nothing left.

And he would keep fighting.

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End of Chapter