The massive doors of the Hall of Peace creaked shut behind me. The King's words still echoed in my mind.
"You can rest. Forever. Here."
Rest? That wasn't rest. That was surrender, dressed up in nice words.
Two knights stepped to either side of me, swords drawn—not in hostility, but as if they were escorting a noble back to their quarters.
"I'm going to offer you some advice," I said, cracking my neck. "Don't point swords at someone who's died nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine times."
They paused. The taller one glanced over at the other.
I grinned.
And kicked the closest pillar.
A surge of energy exploded from the blow, vibrating the chamber. Crystalline pods shook but didn't shatter. The knights staggered—just enough.
In a flash, I dodged—swerving under one blade, disabling the other with a flick of his wrist. My movements were swift, calculated—like muscle memory hammered out in a thousand battles.
"I'm not some half-baked newbie from a fairy tale," I growled. "I've earned my paranoia."
Magic circles whirled around me, symbols from several worlds stacked on top of one another—fire, wind, even quantum sigils from that science fiction world with flying dolphins. A burst of flame propelled ahead of me, setting the floor aflame in a whirl of misdirection.
And then I fled.
Not in fear—but with panache.
I leapt off a statue, flipped over a decorative archway, then kicked a wall to redirect my momentum midair. Somewhere in the back, I heard a confused knight mutter, ".Is he trying to style his escape?"
Yes. Yes, I was.
As I dashed through the corridor, I heard a soft chime in my mind.
[SYSTEM: Survival Protocol Engaged.]
I skidded to a halt.
".Excuse me?"
A blue, translucent screen flickered to life before me. It floated silently, waiting.
I blinked. "Since when do I have a system?! I've never had a system!"
[You have now.]
[Would you like to teleport to a random location?]
One glowing button materialized under the message.
It pulsed.
".You know what? Screw it. Why not?"
I slapped the button.
A flash of white enveloped me.
The world reformed itself around me with a cold breeze and the scent of damp moss. I staggered, falling poorly onto soft dirt and leaves.
Trees.
A forest—thick, silent, and old. Before me, a cave hung, half-hidden by vines and mist. The air was stagnant… but not vacant.
I sensed it.
Eyes.
Presence.
I grabbed the hilt of the sword I'd pilfered from a knight—too large, ever so slightly chipped, but it'd work.
"Come out," I said quietly, not shouting.
No answer.
Then I felt it. The smallest ripple of magic. Someone, no—many—hidden behind the trees and high grass. Watching. Closing in.
The forest wasn't a battlefield.
It was a test.
From the entrance of the cave, a figure emerged. Tall. Cloaked. His aura weighed down like a stormfront—heavy, powerful, old.
He didn't say anything.
Neither did I.
Because after 999 worlds, I'd learned one thing:
When you break out of one prison… you generally run right into another.