Chapter 5 The Calm Before the Storm

Three weeks.

That was how long Kaelvren had spent in this wretched world—three weeks of carving out a fragile existence in a land that showed no mercy. Three weeks of endless survival, of hunting and being hunted. His only companions were the bones of creatures long dead and the silence of the endless wasteland.

If civilization existed, he had yet to find it. If there were others like him trapped here, they remained nothing more than ghosts on the edge of his awareness.

For now, this place belonged to him.

The colossal skeleton of an ancient titan, a remnant of something so monstrous that its very existence hinted at horrors beyond his understanding. Yet, despite the eerie aura it radiated, this giant husk had become his home—a shelter from the monstrosities that roamed the night. It wasn't perfect, but in a world where safety was a luxury, it was the best he could get.

Kaelvren sat outside the skull, his sharp gaze fixed on the horizon as he absentmindedly sharpened his newest creation—a pair of gloves embedded with the claws of a monster. Crafted from the remains of the Doom Wyrm—the Rank 5 beast he had slain weeks ago—the gloves were his greatest work so far. The creature's bones were unnaturally tough, infused with an unknown energy that made them harder than steel. Normally, carving through them with his bare hands would have been impossible.

But persistence was key.

That, and his little cheat—the obsidian dagger he had obtained from the beast.

It was slow, agonizing work, but he had nothing but time in this seemingly endless trial.

The fire crackled weakly beside him, casting flickering shadows against the titan's skull. It was small, deliberately so. Fire was warmth, but it was also a beacon, and in this world, attention meant one thing—death. The wind howled across the barren wasteland, carrying with it a bone-chilling cold that seeped into his very bones. Kaelvren adjusted his coat, pulling it tighter around himself. The coat was crude, stitched together from the hides of lesser beasts he had slain, but it did its job. Out here, survival wasn't about looking good—it was about staying alive.

Yet, as he sat there, sharpening his gloves and watching the flames flicker, a thought crept into his mind—How much longer could he keep this up?

The cold still gnawed at his skin. Not even the height of the titan's skull could shield him from its relentless bite. He exhaled, watching as his breath misted in the frigid air. His gaze drifted toward the horizon—nothing.

No signs of life. No movement. Just the endless expanse of dead trees and cracked earth stretching toward eternity. It was a sight he had grown familiar with, yet each time, it left a deeper weight in his chest.

A slow sigh escaped his lips. Plain weak. Still nothing.

Three weeks in this godforsaken world, and he had no clue how to end this trial. There was no gate, no clear path, no answer. Just an endless, barren wasteland. He had hoped—hoped—to find something. A city, a village, hell, even a ruined temple. Anything that would tell him he wasn't alone in this damn place.

But this world had nothing to offer him. Nothing except monsters and an unending abyss of darkness.

Yet, survival was his goal. And survival required strength.

In these three weeks, he had accumulated around fifty cores, stored carefully in the depths of the titan's skull. Alongside them, he had stocked up on food—scarce as it was. The bones and remnants of the Doom Wyrm had been repurposed, carved into tools and weapons. He had made progress, but…

Was it enough?

With that, he turned his attention toward his dagger and realized he hadn't checked his Nexus for a while. With a thought, the translucent screen materialized before his eyes, displaying his current stats.

---

[NEXUS]

Name: Kaelvren Stormborn

Soulname: No Soulname

Title: No Title

Rank: Unawakened / Lesser

Level: 0

Attributes:

Strength: 5

Agility: 7.5

Vitality: 10

Endurance: 4

Perception: 4

Luck: 7

Bloodline: Undiscovered

God's Blessings: None

Artifacts: 2

Abilities: 0

Summoning: 0

---

His lips curled in frustration.

"Still nothing."

Despite fighting powerful creatures and narrowly escaping death multiple times, his level remained at zero. It was as if something was missing. Some requirement he had yet to fulfill.

"Maybe I forgot to check the details of this artifact."

With a flicker of thought, information on the dagger appeared in front of him.

---

Name: Soulbound Dagger

Rank: Harbinger(Rank 4)

Type: Weapon (Dagger)

Effects:

Soul Devour: Absorbs the life force of slain enemies, temporarily enhancing the wielder's strength, speed, and regeneration.

Blood Oath: Once bound, the weapon cannot be discarded, stolen, or destroyed. It will always return to the wielder.

Veil of Shadows: When held, the user's presence becomes harder to detect in low-light conditions.

Flaws:

Cursed Hunger: The dagger must kill frequently, or it will begin consuming the wielder's vitality instead.

Bound by Fate: If another soul attempts to wield it, they will be permanently marked as an enemy by the dagger's original owner.

---

Kaelvren's grip tightened around the dagger as he read through its description.

Cursed Hunger.

A weapon that fed on the life force of his kills—yet his level remained at zero. That meant one thing: he wasn't getting stronger.

His hands clenched into fists.

He had survived brutal fights, hunted powerful creatures, yet his efforts had led nowhere. It wasn't just that the dagger was absorbing his enemies' life force—it was hoarding it.

So where was it all going?

His mind raced. Nexus had yet to acknowledge his growth. Despite weeks of battle, he remained unawakened. Was it the dagger's fault? Or was it something more?

His gaze flickered back to the translucent screen.

If leveling up wasn't an option, then there had to be another way. Something he was missing.

Kaelvren exhaled slowly, forcing down his frustration.

Not yet.

Not here.

If this trial had rules, then breaking them wasn't an option. Not yet. If he wanted to survive long enough to reach the end of this damned test, he needed to change tactics.

For now, there was only one path forward:

Keep killing. Keep surviving. And find the exit.

Kaelvren stood up, stretching his sore muscles as he walked toward the gaping maw of the Titan Skull—his so-called bedroom. The wind howled behind him, a mournful wail that carried the whispers of the dead. He ignored it. He had heard worse.

Inside, the space was crude yet secure. A pathetic excuse for a bed—woven together from dry grass, stitched monster hide, and brittle leaves—lay in the corner. It wasn't comfortable, but it was warm. The colossal bones overhead provided an impenetrable shield, keeping out the harsh winds and the piercing gaze of nocturnal predators. Most monsters wouldn't dare squeeze through the narrow entrance.

One of the safest places he had found.

Kaelvren dropped onto his makeshift bed, staring up at the jagged ceiling of bones. His fingers twitched, his mind restless. Sleep would come eventually—if he let it.

But his thoughts wouldn't shut up.

Nonsensical things. Things that shouldn't matter anymore.

The castle spires. The clinking of silver goblets. The polished floors where power-hungry men bowed so deep their noses nearly touched the ground.

"Hah. Bootlickers."

With a flick of his fingers, the illusion came rushing back—glorious halls, velvet drapes, empty smiles. They all followed him once. Laughed when he laughed. Nodded when he spoke. Scrambled for his approval like mongrels fighting for scraps.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

Here, he was no prince. No noble son of a grand house. No heir to anything except this corpse-littered wasteland.

Here, he was nothing.

No titles. No followers. No bootlickers.

Just him and the monsters.

A chuckle slipped past his lips—low and dark, curling into the shadows like a whispering ghost.

"And yet... I've never been more free."

His fingers traced the edge of his dagger. This place had stripped away all the pretenses, all the illusions. What remained was simple: Kill or be killed. No politics. No betrayals. No fake smiles hiding sharp knives. Just blood and survival.

"Maybe this place isn't a punishment after all."

Maybe it was a gift.

Kaelvren smirked, his crimson eyes gleaming in the darkness.

"Let's see who breaks first—me, or this world."

Kaelvren exhaled slowly, pushing those thoughts from his mind. It didn't matter. The past was irrelevant. Survival was all that mattered.

His body ached from the day's training, muscles screaming from endless repetition, but exhaustion dulled the pain. His breath slowed, his vision blurred. Sleep crept in, pulling him under.

And with it—dreams of blood, shadows, and thunder.

Outside, the world began to shift. Dark clouds rolled across the solid sky, swallowing the stars whole. The wind howled through the titan's remains, a haunted wail that echoed through the dead land.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the skeletal remains of fallen beasts. The air grew heavier—electric, alive.

Something was coming.

Something ancient.

The ground trembled. The storm was approaching.

But Kaelvren drifted deeper, unaware of the chaos about to unfold.

And then—darkness.

A vast, endless void.

And in that darkness, two glimmers of red eyes shone—burning like an infernal flame.