Agony.
Raw. Unrelenting like a thousand white-hot needles stabbed into his flesh, tearing through nerves and sinew. Kael's body shuddered violently, his muscles spasming as the system's energy surged through him.
"ARGHHHHH!"
A rough scream tore from his throat. He couldn't hold it back—the pain was just too much for him to bear. His body was healing, but it felt as though he was being rebuilt from the inside out. Bones snapped and reset, torn flesh stitched together, veins reknitting with searing heat.
'This is much worse than being hit by a bullet'
[Partial Regeneration Complete.]
The system's cold notification echoed in his mind, but Kael barely registered it. His vision swam, the world tilting as his body thrashed against the ground once again.
"F-Fuck…"
The pain began to dull—slightly. Enough to stop him from blacking out, but the throbbing ache remained, a constant reminder that he was still on the brink of his mind collapsing from exhaustion.
Exhaustion wasn't the right word. What Kael felt went beyond mere fatigue. His mind had been pushed to its limits long before that bullet ended his life—years of navigating a corrupt world where one wrong move meant death. He had been a fixer, a puppet master in the shadows, pulling strings to keep the powerful satisfied. But surviving that life came at a price. His mind had been a battlefield, constantly working overtime, calculating risks, plotting outcomes—never resting. And when death finally came, it should have been the end. But it wasn't.
Fate was cruel. Instead of peace, Kael was thrown into a broken body on the brink of death, where pain tore through him with merciless intensity. Even after devouring a soul to claim this vessel, the agony didn't stop. His flesh knit back together in searing torment, bones resetting as if forged in fire. "Not even death granted me rest," he thought, bitterness curling in his chest. But Kael didn't wallow. He had endured worse. If this world wanted to throw him into the flames again, so be it. He'd survive. Adapt. Conquer. Rest was a luxury for the strong—and Kael was anything but strong.
[New Skill Acquired: Pain Resistance (Lvl 1)]
A faint notification blinked, but Kael's focus wasn't on that. Survival. His mind screamed it louder than the pain.
Move. Now.
But… he didn't stand. Standing was a death sentence.
His body was still too weak—his limbs barely able to support his weight. "Grabbing a weapon when I can barely lift my own body?" His breath came in ragged gasps. "That would be an act of desperation, not strategy. A fool may think flailing a sword makes him dangerous, but in the end, numbers and strength decide the outcome. And right now, I have neither."
"A weapon means nothing without the strength and skill to wield it. Without strength to wield it and the technique to use it, it's nothing more than dead weight. In the hands of the weak, it's not a tool of survival—it's a false promise that leads to an even quicker death. It can only e used if you possess both stre If you lack either, it's better to bury yourself in a hole and wait for the storm to pass. At least then, you'll die quietly… instead of making a fool's last stand."
Stay down.
Kael flattened his body against the blood-soaked ground, ignoring the filth and gore seeping into his wounds. Play dead. His senses sharpened as he focused on his surroundings. Screams. Footsteps. Metal clashing. But one sound cut through the chaos—
The thunder of approaching hooves.
Kael's heart skipped a beat. His ears caught the unmistakable sound—the distant thunder of hooves pounding against the blood-soaked earth, growing louder with each passing second. Fast. Relentless. Closer. The weight of approaching death echoed in the air, each beat hammering the grim reality into his mind. "Horses." Not just one or two—many. And they were headed straight toward him.
"If I stay here…" His mind raced, dissecting the situation with cold precision. The odds weren't kind. Trampled. Bones shattered. Organs crushed. The sheer force of hooves bearing down would reduce him to nothing more than blood and pulp, indistinguishable from the corpses around him. A pathetic end—not in battle, not by an enemy's hand, but as collateral in someone else's chaos.
And then, a whisper echoed in his mind. Words from his previous life.
"Adapt or die."
That had been drilled into him long ago—a truth carved into his bones through blood and betrayal. In his past life, survival wasn't guaranteed by strength alone. The strongest could fall if they failed to adapt. Situations shifted, alliances crumbled, and only those who could read the terrain, adjust their tactics, and seize the moment survived the chaos.
"The world doesn't favor the strongest… it favors the smartest. The most adaptable."
Kael had lived by that principle. It had kept him alive. And now, in this new world, it would keep him alive again.
"Survival isn't about strength or courage." Kael's thoughts cleared at once as he blinked back to reality. "It's about understanding the game better than anyone else. Seeing the board and moving before the other pieces react. And always being a step ahead of them."
"Assess. Analyze. Adapt."
The mantra had kept him alive in a world where betrayal was currency and trust was a weakness. Corporate sabotage. Black-market deals. Silencing problems before they grew too large.
Kael had done it all. Without hesitation. Without remorse.
"I was never a good person."
"And I won't pretend to be one now."
Good and evil? Those concepts didn't matter. Results mattered. Kael had learned long ago that survival came at a price—and he had been more than willing to pay it. He would act as a good person as long as it helps him reach his goals.
"Death doesn't ask if you're a saint or a monster." His lips curled into a faint, bitter smile as he dragged himself forward. "It only cares whether you're still breathing when the dust settles."
Crawl.
His body screamed in protest as he dragged himself forward. Inch by inch. His limbs felt like lead, his wounds threatening to reopen with every agonizing movement. But he didn't stop. Stopping meant death.
The stench of blood and decay filled his nostrils as he crawled between the lifeless forms of villagers. Men. Women. Children. Their eyes stared into nothingness, their bodies twisted in unnatural angles.
"A grave for the weak… but a shield for the living."
Kael forced himself deeper into the pile, burying his body beneath the weight of the dead. The perfect camouflage.
Minutes passed.
Kael's body screamed for relief, but his mind was sharp. He had survived—barely. But survival wasn't a victory.
"Assess. Analyze. Adapt."
"Old habits die hard, huh?" His lips curled into a faint smirk, the bitterness in his tone almost comforting. "Even now, I'm doing the same thing. Scanning for threats. Calculating exits. Plotting my next move."
But that's who he was. Not a hero. Never a hero.
"Just a man who knows the value of staying alive."
The scent of blood thickened as he crawled, clogging his senses with the stench of death. Bodies surrounded him—men, women, even children—all reduced to lifeless husks, their unseeing eyes staring blankly into the void that had claimed them. Their twisted mouths, frozen in eternal screams, spoke of suffering that no one would ever hear. But Kael wasn't here to mourn. He was here to live.
"The stench is vile… thick with rot, decay, and death—almost as if I were drowning in a pit of rancid dung—but if enduring this filth keeps me alive, then I'll breathe it in without complaint."
His breathing slowed, his heart pounding in his ears like a war drum. Survival wasn't about bravery or honor—it was about knowing when to disappear, when to become invisible. Kael had learned that lesson a long time ago. And now… it was keeping him alive.