PRELUDE


    What’s happening? Why did everything suddenly go dark?


    Just a moment ago, I was in my small bedroom, minding my own business. And now—this. An empty void, silent and lackness of light. My mind scrambled to make sense of the situation, trying to recall what had just transpired. But something felt wrong.


    I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even feel my body. There was no weight, no sensation—just a strange, eerie lightness, as if I were floating in midair.


    Then, from the distant darkness, tiny specks of light began to emerge. Slowly, they drifted toward me, illuminating the void.


    Damn it, have I gone insane?


    Yet, for some inexplicable reason, this sensation felt… familiar.


    Before me stood six figures, lined up in perfect formation. No, not people—characters. Characters from Dreadspire. The very ones I had painstakingly played with for the past twelve years.


    My breath caught in my throat as memories surged back.


    Dreadspire. A single-player roguelike RPG, unique in its unforgiving nature. When it launched twelve years ago, it had skyrocketed in popularity—only to plummet within months. The reason? Its brutal difficulty.


    The game’s premise was deceptively simple: form a team of five and ascend the Tower to reach the top floor. But unlike most roguelikes, there were no second chances. If a character died in the Tower, they were gone forever—no revivals, no stat boosts upon death. And if the main character perished, it was game over.


    Every battle was a brutal struggle. Even low-level monsters could annihilate a character who had been meticulously trained for months if you let your guard down.


    I vividly recalled my first time reaching the fourth floor—only for my entire team, built through blood, sweat, and sleepless nights, to be wiped out in an instant by a single misstep.


    I let out a deep breath unconsciously, remembering the countless characters I had lost to this merciless game.


    But despite its overwhelming difficulty, Dreadspire was a masterpiece. Its deep and intricate skill system allowed for thousands of character build combinations, demanding precise strategy and tactical decision-making. The game’s stunning artwork and compelling storyline had made it an instant hit.


    Yet, it was its secrets that kept me hooked. Dreadspire was filled with branching storylines, hidden lore, and cryptic mysteries waiting to be uncovered. In its early days, players were buzzing with theories and strategies, but even then, most only made it as far as the third floor.


    It had taken me two years to break past that point, to finally reach the fourth floor. And from there, I had dedicated the next decade to unraveling every secret the game had to offer.


    And then—there was the final moment I remembered.


    The giant golden door.


    The entrance to the final boss.


    I could still picture its grand, ornate carvings, exuding an aura of both majesty and dread. I had hesitated for only a moment before reaching out, heart pounding with anticipation.


    After twelve years of grinding, strategizing, and sacrifice, I had finally reached the Tower’s summit. My mind raced with possibilities.


    What kind of monster awaited me beyond that door?


    Was my team strong enough to handle it?


    What instant-kill move would it have? How many phases would I need to survive?


    I had to focus. There was no way I would defeat it on my first attempt, so I needed to gather as much intel as possible.


    Then, as I clicked on the golden door, an unfamiliar message appeared.


    [Do you wish to proceed?]


    [You may not be able to return.]


    A warning I had never seen before.


    Without hesitation, I clicked [Yes].


    I had been waiting for this moment for twelve long years. I had poured thousands of hours into this game, devoting myself to mastering every detail. My hands trembled with excitement. Sweat beaded on my forehead. And despite myself, a faint smile curled at my lips.


    Then, the screen flickered.


    [Welcome to Dreadspire.]


    [Reach the top floor and claim your wish.]


    A blinding light erupted from my monitor, so intense that I instinctively tried to shield my eyes. But even with my eyes shut, the searing brilliance pierced through my eyelids.


    A sharp, dizzying sensation overtook me. The world spun violently, my ears ringing with a deafening noise.


    And then—


    Silence.


    When I opened my eyes again…


    I was here.


    <hr>


    Chapter 1 - Weakling (1)


    What must I do to survive in this brutal game?


    I quickly forced myself to focus, my mind racing as I tried to process the impossible truth—somehow, I had entered the world of Dreadspire. Just moments ago, I would have dismissed such a thought as pure fantasy, a hallucination born from exhaustion. But this was real. Unmistakably real.


    Before me loomed the character selection screen, its eerie yet familiar glow casting long shadows across my vision. I had spent years mastering Dreadspire, memorizing its mechanics, perfecting every strategy. But none of that prepared me for this.


    A flood of questions filled my mind, but one stood out among the rest: What happens if I die?


    A few possibilities surfaced in my head. The first—and most hopeful—was that I would simply wake up, returning to the real world as if this were all just an elaborate dream. The second was that I’d be forced to restart from the beginning, trapped in an endless cycle of death and rebirth until I completed the game. Annoying, but manageable.


    The third option, however, was the most terrifying and realistic. What if death here meant death, for real?


    Some believed in an afterlife. I wasn’t one of them. The thought of complete oblivion sent a cold shiver down my spine.


    But now wasn’t the time to dwell on fear. Survival came first.


    As a veteran player, I had an advantage. I knew the game’s mechanics, the monsters, the traps, the hidden secrets. That knowledge might keep me alive—at least for a while.


    Taking a deep breath, I focused my will and let my consciousness drift toward an obvious choice: Dragonian.


    Dragonians possessed the highest base stats, making them the most formidable choice for survival. From my extensive experience, they had the highest chance of enduring the challenges ahead.


    [Insufficient Status] [Minimum Vitality: 12] [Minimum Strength: 20] [Minimum Agility: 20]


    What? I was stunned. I had successfully moved toward the Dragonian character, but just as I was about to enter it, an invisible force repelled me, flinging me out of it. In the game, all I needed to do was click on my desired race.


    I tried again. And again. Each time, the result was the same. Frustrated, I decided to attempt a human race instead. Humans were the most balanced race in the game and had numerous advantages due to their sheer population. With their versatility, I should have a better chance of survival.


    [Insufficient Status] [Minimum Vitality: 10] [Minimum Strength: 10] [Minimum Agility: 10]


    "Gosh darn it!" I cursed under my breath. My frustration mounted. Determined, I attempted to enter the other races, only to face the same result each time.


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    Why does the world hate me? I thought bitterly.


    Only one race remained.


    One of my favorites in the game, yet the most difficult to survive as early on. It had the lowest starting stats and was the least populated race, making it an unpopular choice among players. Even at the game''s peak, only a handful of players had chosen this race, and none had made it past the second floor. I had only mastered it after countless failed attempts, employing unconventional methods to increase my early survival chances.


    I sighed, accepting my fate. With a deep breath, I entered the body of a Druid. Druids resembled humans but bore deer-like antlers on their heads. Clad in robes and wielding wooden staves, Druids commanded nature-based magic and were incredibly versatile—a true jack-of-all-trades in this game.


    [Druid Selected Successfully.]


    [?????]


    [Soul Level: 1


    Vitality: 2


    Strength: 3


    Agility: 3


    Wisdom: 21


    Willpower: 134]


    The moment I opened my eyes, I found myself trapped in a small, dark space. My body felt stiff, as if it hadn’t moved in years. A strange sensation ran through me—discomfort, curiosity, and an unshakable awareness that something was different.


    I reached out, my fingers pressing against the wall beside me. It was solid yet damp, its surface fibrous like aged wood. As I traced the rough texture, my hand brushed against something unusual—softer, thinner, almost membranous. Instinct took over. Without hesitation, I tore through it.


    A blinding light pierced through the opening, forcing me to squint. A rush of fresh air filled my lungs as I crawled forward, emerging from the confinement into the open world.


    This… this is real.


    The first thing I did was examine my body carefully. It was exactly as I remembered from the game—except now, it was far more detailed, more vivid, more real, and more naked. Moving my limbs felt strangely natural, as if I had inhabited this form my entire life. There was no awkwardness, no resistance—just a seamless connection between thought and motion.


    Next, status window.


    In the game, checking my character’s status was as simple as pressing a button. But now… things were different. I tried everything—verbal commands, closing my eyes and focusing, even specific gestures. Nothing worked.


    Looks like I’ll have to figure this out later.


    I quickly picked up and put on the clothes laid out in front of me. I stretched my stiff limbs, loosening the lingering rigidity in my muscles. As I turned, my gaze fell upon the place from which I had emerged.


    There, standing tall and majestic, was a Sacred Willow—its thick, curved trunk marking it as a Druidic birthplace. The branches stretched high into the sky, adorned with cascading leaves that shimmered in the sunlight.


    So this is where I was born...


    Druids were unlike humans. Their lives followed a vastly different rhythm, shaped by nature’s ancient cycles. While humans experienced rapid growth, druids matured slowly, their bodies and minds cultivated through a sacred rite. For ten years, they slumbered within the embrace of a Sacred Willow, their consciousness growing in a deep meditative state. When they finally emerged, they were not infants but fully aware beings—possessing the appearance, wisdom, and maturity of a late adolescent human.


    And unlike humans, who were lucky to live past a century, druids could live for centuries, well beyond 150 years in most cases. Their lifespan was a testament to their connection to the natural world, their essence intertwined with the very forces of life that sustained it.


    As my eyes adjusted, I noticed something remarkable.


    Scattered across the grove were dozens of Sacred Willows, each one standing tall and majestic. And from each of them, one by one, figures began to emerge—other young druids, just like me.


    Before I could process the sight, a deep yet gentle voice called out, resonating through the grove.


    "Welcome, newcomers.”


    The language was unfamiliar, yet somehow, I understood every single word.


    Turning toward the source of the voice, I saw an elderly druid approaching. His presence radiated wisdom, his movements calm and measured. He had been expecting us—waiting for this very moment.


    “Line up quickly and follow me,” he instructed.


    Without hesitation, we obeyed.


    I moved into formation with the others—thirty, maybe forty druids in total—all newly born into this world. As we marched in silence, I observed my surroundings carefully, analyzing every detail, committing them to memory.


    Before long, we arrived at a large open courtyard dominated by a long ceremonial table and an ornate throne at its far end.


    Several elder druids sat upon the thrones. Their majestic antlers gleamed, radiating an aura of raw power and authority. Unlike our small, budding horns, theirs had grown into towering, intricate structures, shimmering with natural energy.


    “Congratulations, young druids!” The elder sitting at the center—the one with the largest horns—spoke in a deep, commanding voice.


    I narrowed my eyes. Could he be the Archdruid? The leader of our people?


    “Today marks the day of your birth—and the beginning of your journey to becoming true druids,” he declared.


    This is it. The tutorial phase.


    In the game, this was the moment when the Archdruid would recount the history of our people, followed by a brief tutorial. This introduction covered essential survival skills—potion brewing, basic spellcasting, and the necessary preparations for the Tower.


    But instead of a simple tutorial, what awaited us was something far more intense.


    For five grueling days, we underwent rigorous training. We were taught everything—from the core principles of druidic knowledge and sacred traditions to the harsh realities of survival within the Tower. Unlike the others, who eagerly conversed and bonded, I remained focused, absorbing every lesson, every detail.


    I don’t need to waste time talking to NPCs.


    In the game, interacting with NPCs often led to side quests, lore, or clues about hidden secrets. But I didn’t need additional guidance—I already knew this world inside out. Instead, I dedicated every free moment to something more valuable: planning and preparation.


    Whenever I had time, I would venture into the surrounding forest, gathering herbs and materials for potion-making.


    And so, the days passed.


    On the final evening, we were summoned to a sacred gathering place. One by one, we stepped forward—to receive the blessing of the Archdruid.


    "State your name," an elder commanded as the first druid stepped forward. Just like in the game, druids were free to choose their own names once they were born.


    “O-Orin Sylvas,” she murmured hesitantly—looking anxious.


    “Orin Sylvas. May the blessings of the Sacred Forest guide you” the Archdruid intoned. A faint golden light surrounded Orin before fading away.


    In the game, this gesture had no mechanical impact. It was merely a ceremonial step in the tutorial.


    “Riven Greenthorn.”


    “Sable Thornveil.”


    “Kaelen Mosshear.”


    One by one, the others stepped forward, declaring their chosen names.


    “Elowen Nymaril.”


    “Fenric Mirelthas.”


    The blessing ritual continued until it was finally my turn.


    “State your name.”


    I took a deep breath. “Erynd. My name is Eryndor Leafshade.” This is the name I’ve always chosen when using druid.


    One second, two seconds, five seconds passed. The Archdruid remained silent, his sharp gaze locked onto me. A wave of unease washed over me. Did he know I wasn’t from this world? My mind raced, conjuring worst-case scenarios.


    Then, to my surprise, he stroked his long beard and murmured, “It has been decades since I last felt this... Not since Centrius Eldertide, the great hero of our people—the Keeper of the Grove.”


    The words hung in the air, resonating in ways I couldn’t fully understand. I had heard about legendary figures in druidic history, but this one—Centrius Eldertide—was a name that held no meaning to me. It wasn’t in the game. Who is he? My mind spun, desperately trying to connect the dots, but the pieces didn’t quite fit. There was no record of this hero, no mention of the ‘Keeper of the Grove’ in any of the game''s lore or histories. A strange unease crept up my spine. Something was off.


    The Archdruid seemed to catch the confusion flickering in my eyes. With a quiet chuckle, he continued, his voice rich with knowledge and experience. “I can sense something unusual about you. There is a power within you, something rare... an exceptionally high Willpower stat, a trait I’ve only seen in heroes.”


    I blinked. Willpower? That didn’t make sense.


    Dreadspire had four primary stats: Vitality, Strength, Agility, and Wisdom. There were also secondary stats like Dexterity, which affected things like movement speed and evasion. But never—not once—had I encountered ‘Willpower’ as a stat.


    "What exactly is Willpower?" I asked, my voice laced with both curiosity and caution. The weight of the word itself felt heavy, as if it held far more significance than I could comprehend.


    The Archdruid regarded me with a contemplative gaze, his aged eyes reflecting the wisdom of centuries. He let out a slow breath, as if carefully choosing his words. "It is not something easily explained in mere words," he admitted, his tone carrying both patience and reverence. "Willpower is... the essence of one''s determination, the unyielding force that drives a being to survive, to push forward even in the face of despair. At its core, it is the strength to defy fate, to carve one''s own path, and to create change where none seemed possible before."


    His words hung in the air, their weight settling deep within me.


    The moment he said that, everything clicked.


    I thought back to my life in the real world—the endless misfortunes I had endured. The accidents, the betrayals, and, lastly, the physical limitations I was forced to live with. No matter how much the world pushed me down, I kept moving forward. I fought to survive. And in the end, I had clung to Dreadspire as my escape from reality.


    It all made sense now.


    My physical and mental condition in the real world is reflected in this realm, as if my very essence has been transcribed into this new existence.


    And that was why—out of all the races—I could only choose to be a druid.


    “…the hell?” I muttered under my breath.