How long had it been?
Antares didn't know. It mattered not.
He sat alone in darkness on a throne made of polished obsidian and flame-kissed bone, conjured from sheer will and high magic. It was a crude mimicry of the one he had once ruled from in the Age of Destruction—but it sufficed. In this liminal prison where the currents of magic bent to his whims, the Dragon King could forge whatever he pleased, save for one thing: escape.
For all its emptiness, the void was rich in one thing—mana. Here, his dominion stretched far beyond the constraints of mortal comprehension, yet it was a dominion without land, without sky, without subjects. He was king of absence. Lord of Nothing.
How he longed for sky.
There are sensations beyond description to those who have not tasted them. The rush of air screaming past obsidian scales. The shattering roar of thunder that echoes with the rhythm of your wings. The power of diving from the stratosphere to obliterate armies in one fell breath. If you have not known such flight, then you cannot truly grasp what it means to be grounded—caged.
So he sat, ancient eyes closed, waiting through endless silence broken only by the slow, patient beat of his draconic heart.
Until, one day, the silence broke.
It was not a loud sound. Just a shiver in the dark. A whisper in the mana. The faintest vibration, like a ripple brushing against the walls of his exile.
A dream was forming.
And within it… a thread. A soul.
A boy.
The boy.
Sung Suho.
Antares opened his eyes. Vertical pupils gleamed with flickering emberlight. A slow smile, more fang than kindness, stretched across his lips. He leaned forward on his throne, sensing something he hadn't felt in an eternity:
Permission.
This dream was not sealed off to him. The barrier between his prison and the boy's System-born mindscape… it was thin. Permeable. Jinwoo had designed it that way. The fool.
Antares stood.
"This… is a beginning," he murmured.
With a simple motion of his clawed hand, the void bent to his will.
⸻
Part II: Trial of the Flame-Wrought Beast
Suho stood alone in the dream-scape, his breaths shallow, his hands clenched. The sky above was swirling ash. The ground beneath him was cracked, glowing dimly with molten veins. He looked around in confusion, his instincts screaming.
Then came the ping.
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
The message flickered in the corner of his vision. It had been appearing ever since this nightmare began—over and over, with no clear cause. He hadn't fought anything yet. He hadn't even moved. And yet…
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
Again.
And again.
Suho's fists tightened. "What is this place…?"
The answer came not in words, but in flame.
The air split apart with a shriek, a rift in reality forming ten meters ahead. Crimson light spilled from the fissure, and from within it, something monstrous emerged. Claws like serrated blades. Scales darker than void. Eyes—eight of them—burning with infernal cognition.
A dragon.
But not just any dragon.
A Denison Dragon.
Suho stumbled back as the System's prompt appeared before him in a hue he'd never seen before. Blood-red. The window pulsed ominously.
{ Warning: An Unprogrammed Entity Has Entered the Tutorial }
{ Threat Level: Immeasurable }
{ This Entity is NOT Simulated }
{ This is a Trial. }
{ Survive. }
{ Reward: Unique Passive Skill (Unknown) }
{ Failure: Death }
He barely had time to read it before the beast lunged.
What followed was madness.
Suho ducked and rolled as obsidian claws slammed into the earth where he'd just stood. He ran on instinct, no weapons, no armor, no certainty of anything but the need to move. Flames burst from the dragon's maw, chasing him like a tidal wave of annihilation. Stone turned to slag beneath the monster's steps.
And still—
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
—ping after ping.
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
—stacking, layering, taunting.
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
He screamed—not in fear, but in defiance—and grabbed a shattered spear from the ground. Where it had come from, he didn't know. He didn't care. He hurled it into the beast's eye, and when that didn't stop it, he ran up the creature's forearm and punched the other one.
It wasn't logic. It wasn't bravery. It was something older.
Something deeper.
⸻
Part III: The Instinct Awakens
Antares watched from behind the veil of Suho's perception. He could feel it clearly now. The boy's mana was primitive, untempered—but it was growing. With every scream, every near-death, every drop of adrenaline, Suho was changing.
No… evolving.
The Denison Dragon, a true beast of nightmare, was pushing him past human thresholds. Past mortal thought.
Antares's plan was simple: break the vessel now, or temper it to hold him later.
And the boy didn't break.
When Suho finally brought the dragon down—battered, scorched, half-mad—it was not because he had the strength to win.
It was because he had refused to lose.
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
At last, the body of the dragon faded into ash.
And the System responded.
{ You Have Survived the Unprogrammed Trial }
{ Calculating Reward… }
{ You Have Gained: Rune Stone [Primordial Instinct] }
{ Passive Skill: Primordial Instinct (Dormant Tier – 1) Acquired }
The stone hovered before Suho's chest, glowing with muted gold. When he touched it, it vanished into his skin like ink into parchment. Instantly, his senses sharpened.
He could feel the next encounter forming before it appeared. He could taste the aggression in the air.
{ Passive Effect: You can now detect incoming danger in Tutorial Trial zones. }
Antares grinned.
His foot was in the door.
⸻
Part IV: The Shadow of the Dragon
Suho took a breath, chest heaving. His entire body ached, yet he was more alive than ever. The System notifications were relentless.
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
He had gained dozens of levels in moments. His soul had been tempered. But he didn't know that what had truly changed was not just his level.
Something else had seeded within him.
A second skill icon blinked in the corner of his mind:
{ ??? Passive Detected }
{ "Draconian Shadow" – Locked }
[Condition: Unknown]
In the void, Antares leaned back against his throne. "Grow, boy," he murmured. "Grow strong enough to carry me."
The Draconian Shadow pulsed softly, like a heartbeat in the dark.
And far ahead, more trials awaited
The world dimmed again.
Ash, like the soot of dreams burning out, sifted through the air in weightless spirals. Suho stood at the edge of a now-ruined battlefield—stone cracked beneath his feet, and the still-warm corpse of the Denison Dragon smoldered behind him. Its death had brought silence. Not peace. Not yet.
The System had offered him no celebration. No triumphant fanfare. Only one sound pulsed now.
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
Again.
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
Again.
It came like breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Level up.
His limbs trembled, though not from fatigue. His body was changing. Faster. Stronger. More honed. But the deeper change was beneath the skin—burrowing inward. Somewhere far away, something had taken interest. Something that had always watched. Now… it leaned in.
Antares stirred in satisfaction. The dragon he had conjured had died well. And more importantly, Suho had lived well. The seal, so long an unbreakable prison, had allowed a single crack. A breath of possibility. His magic—his will—had made itself known.
And the boy had survived it.
Now, Antares could whisper again.
And whisper he would.
⸻
Darkness still wraps around me like the old scales of a shed skin. I am the silent witness beyond all veils. I am that which lingers when the echoes have died.
Yet something stirs.
The boy has survived.
Not just survived—he has changed.
The moment the Denison Dragon's roar split the void, I felt it: that tiny defiance, that impossible flicker of resolve. In the marrow of his fear, the boy stood. Trembling, yes. Bleeding, yes. But upright. Alive. The System tested him, but it was my will that shaped the trial. And he met it not with the instincts of a prey creature, but with something ancient. Something… forgotten.
I did not expect this.
It is not only his endurance that surprises me. Many mortals endure. That is their curse and their gift. But this one learned as he suffered. He studied his death, memorized its shape, and struck before it could come again. There is a coldness to that—an edge that reminds me of the one I once carried before the fire, before the war, before the throne.
When did I last feel that?
There was a time—before Monarchs, before Names, before Destiny took up arms and turned us all into archetypes—when I was like him. No crown yet forged, no armies yet sworn, no Dragon Legion roaring across ruined skies. Just a boy with crimson eyes, abandoned to silence, locked in a world that feared what he would become. I clawed upward, not to destroy, but to be. I learned to survive not because it was noble, but because I refused to vanish.
He is the same. That refusal—his core—sings to me.
I had thought myself buried beneath centuries, ossified beneath the weight of annihilation. But he awakens old things. Dormant instincts. Forgotten hungers. The boy reminds me of the first time I held power—not as a weapon, but as a question: What now?
He holds that question now. I saw it the moment he clutched the rune stone with blistered fingers, breathing as though he'd drowned in eternity and just surfaced.
Primordial Instinct.
I gifted it through the System. A whisper. A suggestion. But it grew into him as if it had always waited for a vessel. He is still so far from understanding what it means. It will torment him before it guides him, twist him before it crowns him. But the seed is there. And unlike the others, he did not reject it.
I have seen many rise, and many fall. Too many. In every age, there is a Chosen: one who inherits the mantle, the power, the ruin. Jinwoo was that to Ashborn. And now—Suho to Jinwoo. But the cycle is not the same. Jinwoo molded himself through shadows and solitude. Suho is being forged, and I—I—am the flame. Ashborn guided. I test.
Strange… I was meant to be the enemy.
Yet now I find myself… watching.
Not passively. Not with the cold disdain I once reserved for mortal attempts at valor. But attentively. As a sculptor watches marble take the first shape. As a dragon might watch its child claw free from the egg.
He is not mine. Not yet. But the likeness is uncanny.
His eyes—when they burned during the final strike against the Denison Dragon—I recognized them. Not Jinwoo's darkness. Not Ashborn's sorrow. But mine: the furnace of will before it becomes war. The fire not yet taught to scorch the world.
I remember when I had that fire.
Before I was the Monarch of Destruction.
Before they named me Tyrant, Dragon King, Scourge of Heaven.
I was a being who wanted. That is all. Wanted to rise. To know. To become.
This boy still wants. Not out of greed. Not ambition. Not yet. But out of something purer: to protect. To understand. To matter. And that makes him more dangerous than even he knows.
Because one day, he will realize that wanting is not enough.
And then—then—he will begin to take.
And when that day comes, the world will shift again.
The System believes this is a test.
Jinwoo believes this is guidance.
But I… I am beginning to see it as memory.
Watching him walk, fall, rise, and bleed—it is as if I am walking through the ruins of my own beginning. But Suho does not yet bear the burden of certainty. That is his advantage. He does not yet believe himself worthy or damned. He moves through instinct alone.
And instinct, untempered, becomes evolution.
That, too, is why I survive. Why I endured the Abyss when it devoured all else. I did not merely destroy. I adapted. Every death I delivered taught me how to die slower. Every scream I heard hardened me. Every betrayal carved out another piece of doubt. Until only one truth remained:
Power survives. Nothing else matters.
But now…
I watch the boy and wonder: is that still true?
He has no power yet. Not truly. No army. No throne. Only the System's shadows and the stubborn refusal to fall.
And yet he lives.
He endures.
He grows.
Could it be…?
Could this boy prove that something besides destruction has the strength to outlast time?
No.
No, I will not entertain that hope. I know what he will become. Or what he must. This path—his path—leads through ruin. Through endless death and deeper solitude than he can yet imagine. If he is to survive it, he must shed all doubt. He must earn what was gifted to Jinwoo. Not through prophecy. But through pain.
And so, I will be the fire.
I will be the edge.
I will be the voice that tests his every step.
Let him face the sword next.
Let him meet Igris.
Let steel remind him that instincts alone are not enough.
But I will be watching.
Not as Monarch.
Not as ghost.
But as something far older:
A shadow of who I once was, waiting to see if I might exist again—through him.
———
Across the broken landscape, a figure emerged.
His armor gleamed like dried blood under moonlight. His sword was longer than a man, and no less sharp than fate. A crimson cape fluttered behind him, not in wind, but in memory.
Suho turned.
The System sang once more.
}{ [Boss-Level Enemy Detected] }{
}{ Beginning Challenge: Duel in Crimson Silence }{
}{ Defeat the Silent Knight }{
Then came the pulse.
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
It would not stop. It would not stop.
"Igris," Suho murmured aloud. He did not know the name. But something in his bones remembered it.
⸻
From the throne of voidlight, Antares watched. And pondered.
This shade of a knight—this relic of Jinwoo's soul—was no mindless construct. It was loyalty personified. A warrior built of will and waiting. To defeat him would not merely be a test of power—it would be to strike at the memory of the Shadow Monarch's most faithful.
So be it.
Let him fall. Let them all fall.
⸻
Igris charged with no cry, no roar. Just speed—pure, fluid, death-bound speed. Suho met him with a flurry of instinctive movement, Primordial Instinct guiding his limbs before he knew where to place them.
Clash. Step. Parry. Dodge.
Again and again.
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
Steel shrieked against summoned steel. Suho's arms screamed from the shock. But Igris never tired. Never slowed. A phantom loyal to a monarch who no longer fought—but still commanded.
And in this command, Igris would not fall easily.
Suho bled. His shoulder tore open from a glancing blow. But the System chimed.
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ Wound has healed. Passive Regeneration: Stage 1 }{
New? No. Earned.
Suho felt it now. Each level brought more than strength—it brought permission. Permission to become. Permission to remember.
With a roar, he countered.
Their blades clashed one final time—and then silence.
Igris stood a moment longer, blade raised.
Then, with a nod not of defeat—but of recognition—he dissipated into light.
}{ Challenge Complete: Duel in Crimson Silence }{
}{ Reward: +5 Levels, New Rune Stone: Draconian Shadow (Locked) }{
⸻
Antares laughed, low and thunderous in his prison.
The first echo of his power had reached Suho. The rune was a seed. And seeds, he knew, grew into dragons if watered with enough blood.
Soon.
Soon the boy would burn with it.
Silence returned. Not peace, again. Merely the breath between storms.
Suho stood still, the weight of Igris' defeat echoing in his bones. The ghost-knight had vanished without a word, but the impression of him remained—like a fingerprint burned onto the soul.
And still:
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
It persisted. The System's voice—a ceaseless whisper. A heartbeat in red text. Suho no longer questioned it. He had accepted the absurdity of the dream. No—tutorial, the crimson prompt had called it. And yet, he did not awaken.
———
Steel remembers.
It remembers how it was forged. The heat. The hammer. The intent.
And when wielded by one such as Igris, it remembers war.
The boy faced it. My creation—no, Ashborn's, yet it bears the discipline I once respected in my enemies. Igris does not hesitate. He does not falter. He does not show mercy. In that crimson knight, Suho faced not a test of instinct, but a trial of precision. Tactics. Resolve sharpened into action.
And again—he did not break.
I watched as the sword carved lines across his skin. As the shield cracked his ribs. As the armored gauntlet threw him into shadowed dust again and again. His bones cried out, his muscles failed—but his eyes… his eyes burned hotter.
Not with rage. Not with fear.
With understanding.
He was learning again.
That, more than anything, is what binds him to my memory. That unyielding hunger to improve—not for glory, but for survival. I, too, was once a student of pain. I, too, learned how to breathe between blades and move in the rhythm of slaughter.
Before the armies.
Before the crown.
Before the power to split worlds with a thought—I was nothing but flesh, fang, and defiance.
And now, watching him… I remember that time.
I remember the uncounted duels of youth, the first time my talons scraped against hardened scales, the sensation of a broken wing dragged through the dirt as I learned how to fight those stronger than me—and win. Not with strength. But with clarity.
That's what the boy gained here.
Clarity.
He learned the cost of every hesitation.
He learned that instinct may drive you forward, but precision is what keeps you alive.
And still, he rose.
Each time, slower. More battered. But wiser.
He even began to anticipate Igris' strikes. To flow with them. To become water in a world of iron. That is not a trait one simply acquires—it is earned. Through failure. Through humility. Through fire.
I watched him fall, again and again.
And each time, I leaned closer.
Not out of cruelty. But curiosity.
Would this be the moment he gives up?
Would this be the moment he pleads for mercy the System will never offer?
But no. The boy has no concept of surrender. He is still learning how to kneel, and I suspect when the lesson comes, it will be the hardest of his life.
Still, what he accomplished today… there is no mistaking it.
He has become a warrior.
Crude. Imperfect. But no longer just a survivor.
When he finally knocked Igris off balance—not with brute force, but with a feint and a rising kick that stole the breath of even this timeless void—I felt something ancient stir within me.
Pride?
No.
Recognition.
I have seen that maneuver before.
I remember using it myself against a rival dragon who once taunted me for dreaming of rule. I broke his jaw with that very motion. It was the first time I realized that evolution did not mean growing stronger—it meant growing smarter.
The boy has tasted this now.
He will seek it again.
That, too, is dangerous.
For knowledge, once hungered for, becomes an addiction.
And when power and knowledge intertwine, what is born is no longer mortal.
It is a Monarch.
Or something worse.
Is that where he is headed?
Would Jinwoo have sent him down this path if it did not end in such coronation?
And me—what am I becoming, guiding him like this?
I meant only to test. To punish. To remind the boy of his place.
But the more he ascends, the more I see a reflection I cannot turn away from.
He stands alone, as I once did.
He earns every breath.
He does not yet know what it means to command, but he understands what it means to endure.
And that, more than power, is the foundation of dominion.
Perhaps Jinwoo knew this. Perhaps this was always the plan: to set me beside the boy, not as an executioner, but as an echo. As a shadow. A mirror of a self long buried beneath annihilation.
I find I do not hate it.
This liminal role.
This… mentorship, unspoken and veiled beneath trial and suffering.
Igris nearly broke him.
But because of that, Suho is stronger than he has ever been.
His movements are no longer reactive—they are calculated.
His mind no longer seeks to survive—it seeks to overcome.
He has begun to think like a predator.
Like I once did.
And still, he bleeds.
Still, he doubts.
Still, he hopes.
He is not me. Not yet.
But he could be.
If fate sharpens him just a little further… if pain hones him just a little more… he might one day step where even I once faltered.
That thought should worry me.
And yet—I find it almost welcome.
Because in this boy, I am not just seeing my past.
I am seeing a path I never took.
A chance to shape something new. Or to reclaim something old.
But first—he must face chaos.
Not the elegance of the sword.
Not the tyranny of flame.
But the madness of the swarm.
Let him meet Beru.
Let him understand what it means to be hunted—not by a single blade, but by devotion twisted into feral love.
Let him taste the terror of being surrounded by that which cannot be reasoned with.
And let me see if he still walks forward after that.
Because if he does…
Then perhaps—
Just perhaps—
He is not only a shadow of who I once was.
He is a spark of what I might become again.
———
How deep did this dream go?
The air grew colder.
And thicker.
A shadow fell from above, skittering and vast. The earth groaned, cracked, and then gave birth to sound—clicking, layered and predatory.
Then he saw it.
The creature moved with grace and cruelty, half-elegant and half-horrid. Black carapace gleamed like obsidian under starlight. Wings folded like blades. And when it landed, the ground shook.
}{ Warning: Apex Entity Approaching }{
}{ New Boss Detected: The Insect King – Beru }{
}{ Objective: Survive }{
}{ Reward: +7 Levels, Rune Stone (Unlocks "Draconian Shadow: Destructive Mirage") }{
Suho's throat went dry.
Beru bowed low, in mocking ceremony.
And then the world exploded.
⸻
From the void-throne, Antares leaned forward.
Now this—this was something delicious.
Beru was chaos, but not wild. He was a king. A servant. A monster who had known death and begged for rebirth—and gotten it. As a shadow, he had once bowed to Jinwoo. Now, as an echo of that will, he would test Suho not just in combat—but in fear.
Fear that clawed the brain. That whispered:
You cannot win this.
Perfect.
Antares said nothing. But his will hummed in the background of the dream, watching Suho's body adapt with every flinch and dodge.
⸻
Beru's voice clicked and hissed.
"You… are not worthy. Not yet. But I will break you into something useful."
Suho had no reply. Only motion. His instincts surged. The rune from before—Primordial Instinct—throbbed inside his chest.
His body moved before his mind could decide. Dodge. Counter. Retreat.
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ Skill Activation: Adaptive Flow (Passive, Temporary) }{
They danced.
It was not graceful. It was survival.
Each strike Beru launched could have killed. Each scream from his mouth came laced with mana that peeled the air like bark from a tree. And yet—Suho moved.
He bled. He gasped.
And then… he struck.
Once. Then again. Not killing blows. But earned ones. Each connected hit bought him another fragment of understanding. The System glitched—trembled—and then let him see.
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ New Insight Gained: Combat Recognition (Tier 1) }{
Finally, Beru paused.
He tilted his head.
"You… are not what I expected."
The King of Insects did not fall. He yielded.
And dissipated into vapor, wings first, like ash unraveling in wind.
}{ Boss Survived }{
}{ Reward Unlocked: Rune Stone – Draconian Shadow (First Stage) }{
}{ Passive Skill Gained: Destructive Mirage (Draconian Shadow – Stage I) }{
⸻
A dark rune burned its way into Suho's hand.
He didn't remember grabbing it. But it was there.
And its name spoke into him—not aloud, but through presence.
Destructive Mirage
Your movements leave behind echoes of power. Your shadow may strike once more.
Suho staggered.
What the hell is this dream?
He barely noticed the screen fading to black once more, or the heavy words that followed:
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
⸻
He was devoured.
Not by teeth. Not by stingers or claws.
But by devotion.
That was Beru's true strength—not his wings, not his speed, not even the searing resonance of his screech—but the unrelenting madness of loyalty. The way he worships. The way he clings. The way he protects with the same violence he kills.
The boy could not understand that.
Not at first.
He struck, and struck well. He moved like the swordsman he had become, like the brawler I watched him evolve into. But each time he landed a blow, Beru screamed his joy to the heavens and pressed closer. Each wound became an offering. Each strike, an embrace.
I had forgotten how unbearable Beru can be when unchained.
Suho tried to keep his distance. Tried to find rhythm, to calculate angles. He used tactics he had forged against Igris, the ones I had admired—sliding steps, counter-grapples, rapid feints. But Beru is not Igris. Beru is not a knight.
He is a storm in insect form, a swarm condensed into one fervent body.
And Suho was not prepared.
I watched him scream, watched him claw at Beru's limbs as they encased him, watched the panic bloom like frost across his mind. No longer just the desperation of a trial—this was the terror of being loved by a monster.
There is no logic in that.
No footing.
No clean duel.
And so, he nearly lost himself.
I saw it. That moment when his breath caught, and his fists fell still. The moment when his mind retreated, and the primal cry of prey began to surface. Even here—yes, even here, in this sacred dream shaped by power and memory—he almost broke.
Almost.
But he didn't.
Because he screamed back.
Not in fear.
In fury.
The boy struck Beru with an elbow that shattered his own joint.
Then again.
Then again.
He reclaimed himself through pain.
And for the first time, I saw Beru hesitate.
Just briefly. Just long enough.
Enough for Suho to rip himself free, collapse into the dust, and rise again with no breath in his lungs—but with a fire in his gaze I had not seen before.
That fire…
It reminded me of my first rebellion.
Not against a foe. Not against fate.
But against attachment.
I, too, once faced something like Beru. Not in shape—but in purpose. I once inspired that kind of devotion in one of my own. A wyrmling who followed me through the skies even when I cast him away. Who burned villages I had spared. Who wept when I did not acknowledge his triumphs.
He loved me too much.
And I punished him for it.
Because I believed such affection to be a chain.
That's what Beru is, in truth. Not just a monster, not just a test. He is a chain—forged from adoration, wrapped in flesh and carapace.
And the boy?
He broke it.
Not by killing Beru. Not even by defeating him.
But by refusing to become what Beru wanted him to be—someone protected.
Someone possessed.
He chose solitude.
He chose sovereignty.
Even as Beru screamed, "My King!" and tried to wrap him once more in those crushing limbs, Suho turned his back and walked away. Not in cowardice. But in rejection.
He will not be owned.
He will not be claimed.
That is where he differs from so many others. From Jinwoo, even, in his early days. Jinwoo accepted Beru's loyalty, shaped it, grew with it. But Suho…
Suho fears what love becomes when it is mixed with violence.
He knows what monsters will do in the name of loyalty.
He knows, perhaps better than he should, the cost of being someone else's reason to live.
And I…
I find that familiar.
Painfully so.
I have worn the crown of a million deaths. I have heard my name screamed in reverence by legions who would raze continents at my whisper. I have seen the horror in the eyes of those I ruled—not because I oppressed them, but because they loved me too much to disobey.
It was intoxicating.
It was lonely.
It was the beginning of the end.
So when I saw Suho reject Beru—not with cruelty, but with the weary finality of someone choosing his own path—I felt something settle within me.
Not pride.
Not nostalgia.
But relief.
Because if he continues like this…
If he keeps choosing to walk forward alone, even when surrounded by affection masquerading as chains…
Then perhaps he will not make my mistake.
Perhaps he will remain his own.
But what comes next…
Ah, what comes next will challenge that resolve more than any creature of loyalty or blood.
Bellion.
The blade that bends.
The shadow that judges.
He is neither loyal like Beru nor honorable like Igris. He is something older. Something closer to the will of the System itself—shaped by Ashborn's intent, but no longer bound by it.
He will not smother Suho.
He will not charge him.
He will measure him.
And Suho will feel, for the first time, the gaze of someone who is not testing him for power or pain—but for worth.
And that…
That is the trial I fear most.
Because it was Bellion's eyes I failed to meet, once, long ago.
When I was still a King among ruins.
When I was still pretending to be more than I was.
Let us see if the boy walks taller than I did.
Let us see if the judgment of the blade cuts true.
In the void between, Antares narrowed his eyes.
The shadow was growing. His shadow.
Piece by piece, rune by rune, it would bloom within Suho like a flower carved of fire.
He need only keep guiding… gently.
Soon the boy would reach Level 100
And then?
Then the real messages could begin.
No rest. No pause.
The moment Beru's wings faded into memory, the world around Suho twisted once more.
A new sky replaced the blackness. Bronze clouds churned. Columns rose, impossibly tall, as if heaven itself had been built into a fortress.
The prompt came first—unforgiving.
}{ Warning: Elite Boss Detected }{
}{ The Blade of the First Shadow is watching you }{
}{ Bellion has entered the field }{
}{ Objective: Endure. Learn. Survive. }{
}{ Reward: +9 Levels, Rune Stone (Unlocks "Draconian Shadow: Pulse of the Ancients") }{
Suho didn't breathe.
He couldn't.
Because Bellion was already there.
Towering. Wingless. Sword unsheathed.
The first of Ashborn's soldiers. Commander of the Shadow Army. Crafted by the monarch's own hand in ancient war. His presence radiated order—not chaos. But it was the kind of order that ground cities into sand and called it peace.
And he moved with the dignity of a god.
Suho lowered into a stance.
The air between them froze.
And then Bellion struck.
⸻
This fight was not like the others.
Where Igris had tested Suho's will, and Beru had tested his fear, Bellion tested his conviction.
Every swing of the great curved blade tore through the ground like paper. But what chilled Suho was the clarity—how each strike was calculated. How each movement offered a window. A choice.
Bellion was not trying to kill him.
He was trying to teach him.
Suho realized it halfway through their second exchange.
The blade spun—but just wide. A strike came close—but stopped just short of tendon. It wasn't mercy.
It was discipline.
And in this rhythm, Suho learned to read the wind. To move not faster, but better.
⸻
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ Combat Proficiency Increased }{
}{ Adaptive Flow → evolves → Draconic Cadence (Temporary) }{
Antares watched in stillness.
He said nothing. Did nothing.
This one… Bellion. He could almost respect him.
Bellion would never betray Jinwoo—not even as an echo in a dream. But his method, his control—it was excellent. Antares could use that. Borrow it. Reshape it in shadow.
Learn from the enemy, as the mortals said.
⸻
The battle continued.
Strike. Counter. Parry. Fall.
Again. Again.
Suho's body was shaking, slick with sweat that evaporated too quickly in the surreal heat of the dreamscape.
And then—finally—he was knocked down.
Hard.
The sword stopped inches from his throat.
Bellion's voice came through the mask.
"You move like someone searching for purpose."
He withdrew the blade.
"You may yet find it."
He vanished.
}{ Trial Ended }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ Passive Skill Gained: Pulse of the Ancients (Draconian Shadow – Stage II) }{
⸻
The rune burned again—brighter than the last.
It pulsed at his spine. A deeper rhythm. One he could feel in his bones.
Pulse of the Ancients
You carry echoes of the dragonblooded past. Your strikes gain weight beyond time. Enemies may feel the fear of memory.
Suho clenched his fists.
He didn't know what all this meant. Not yet.
But he knew it was leading somewhere.
And somewhere above—beyond the sky of this dream—Antares smiled with something ancient in his grin.
Because the boy had leveled again.
And soon, very soon…
The final trial would begin.
———
It is a strange thing.
To be seen.
Not as a monster. Not as a god. Not as an enemy or savior.
But as a mirror.
That is what Bellion was for the boy.
Not a challenger.
A reflection.
I watched him stand in silence beneath Bellion's shadow, and for the first time—he did not strike first.
He waited.
He watched.
It was not fear.
It was something heavier. Something quieter.
Recognition.
Suho knew, somehow, without ever having met him in life, that Bellion was not like the others.
That Bellion did not exist to teach him pain, or resilience, or wrath.
Bellion exists to judge.
To evaluate.
To determine.
I felt it, too, as I once did in the old throne halls where Ashborn would stand silent, and Bellion would kneel behind him—never speaking, yet seeing everything.
Bellion is not the strongest.
He is not the wisest.
But he is the most enduring.
The shape of patience made flesh.
The edge of history that has never dulled.
And Suho… Suho faced him like a prince approaching a throne that had always been his, yet never claimed.
He did not roar. He did not falter.
He bowed.
He bowed.
And Bellion nodded.
Not in deference.
In acknowledgment.
That was the moment I knew.
Suho is no longer a boy clawing at shadows. No longer a beast in training. No longer the frightened soul gasping through a dragon's trial, or the boy trembling beneath Beru's love.
He has become something other.
And Bellion saw it, too.
So their battle was not a duel of destruction.
It was a conversation.
Every strike was a question.
Every parry, an answer.
Bellion's blade bent like water, like time, flowing with elegance no monarch could mimic. And Suho—he danced with it. Not with grace, not yet. But with truth. His movements were jagged, imperfect, but earnest.
No tricks.
No screaming System pop-ups.
Just movement.
Just mastery.
For the first time, Suho fought as himself.
Not as the successor of Jinwoo.
Not as the subject of my observation.
Not as a vessel of the System.
But as Suho.
There was beauty in it.
Even Bellion—so ancient, so implacable—paused once. Just once. When Suho reversed a mirrored blade catch, not with brute force, but with understanding. With timing so precise it bordered on prescience.
And then—then Bellion smiled.
He rarely does.
But I have seen it before.
Long ago.
When Ashborn first raised his blade to teach me discipline. And I, too proud to listen, too young to yield, finally matched him after a thousand tries.
Bellion smiled then, too.
But I had not understood it then.
Now, watching Suho, I do.
It is the smile of a blade welcoming another into its truth.
There is no joy in it.
Only inevitability.
Suho belongs here now.
Among kings and ghosts.
Among shadows and gods.
And I…
I should be furious.
Because each step he takes forward, each truth he claims as his own, I feel the echo of my dominion slipping further behind me.
Once, I would have raged at such a thought.
Once, I would have scorched the sky to remind the world who I was.
But now…
Now I only wonder—
Is this what Ashborn felt when he watched Jinwoo rise?
Not fear.
Not regret.
But hope.
Hope that someone, finally, might walk a path neither we nor our enemies could have imagined.
Hope that someone might complete the legacy we all shattered with our pride.
Hope that this boy, in his own name, might finish the song of shadows that we could only howl in mourning.
Still…
There is one trial left.
And it will not be Beru.
It will not be Bellion.
It will not even be me.
It will be him.
Jinwoo.
Or rather, the image of him.
The boy does not know yet.
He cannot.
But the System, ever cruel, ever wise, has chosen to end this gauntlet not with a monster or a mirror—but with a memory.
Jinwoo, in the guise of a stranger.
Jinwoo, stripped of titles, of mercy.
Jinwoo, fighting not as a father, but as a test.
I cannot intervene.
I would not, even if I could.
Because this last battle is not one Suho must survive.
It is one he must fail.
Only through failure—true, shattering failure—will he shed the last skin of adolescence.
He must see what he is not.
He must feel what he cannot reach.
He must taste the dust of defeat and swallow it whole.
Only then will he understand the height of the throne he seeks—not as something to inherit, but as something to deserve.
And I…
I am afraid.
Because if he rises from what is to come…
Then Suho will no longer be a boy I watch.
He will be a king I answer to.
———
The field was quiet.
No monsters. No sky.
Just a wide, level plain — white as bone. Suho stood alone in the silence, breathing steady, waiting for the next prompt to arrive.
But none came.
Only stillness.
Then a footstep.
Behind him.
He turned, fast — fists up — and froze.
A man stood there, not cloaked in fire or shadow, not veiled in ancient armor or monstrous form. Just… a man.
Black coat. Black hair. Calm eyes.
Unassuming. Familiar.
The same face Suho had seen in pictures. The same face burned into his earliest memories.
Father.
But not.
Not quite.
This version felt heavier, older, deeper. Like the weight of worlds clung to his shoulders — and he wore it as easily as breath.
"Suho," the man said, smiling gently. "You've come far."
Suho's breath caught. "Are you…"
"No."
The smile widened — just slightly. "Not really."
Then his eyes darkened.
And Suho felt it.
Presence.
Crushing. Colossal. Like the skies were bending to kneel before him. It was more than mana. More than shadow. It was authority born of absolute victory.
The air folded inward.
A system message, reluctant, flickered:
}{ Final Trial Initiated }{
}{ Warning: Monarch-Class Entity Detected }{
}{ [UNKNOWN] has assumed combat form }{
}{ Survive if you can. }{
}{ Reward: [ ??? ] }{
And just like that, the man moved.
⸻
There was no warning.
One moment he was standing — the next, Suho was flying, breath ripped from his lungs, spine skidding across white stone.
He barely got to his feet before the next blow landed.
No sword. No claws.
Just impact.
Raw physicality, guided by flawless skill.
Suho swung in desperation — and the man caught his wrist mid-air.
"You're fast," he said.
The next moment Suho was on his knees, ribs cracked, vision swimming.
"But speed alone is not strength."
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
}{ You have Leveled Up! }{
Antares watched, and this time… he said nothing.
Not because he was silent.
But because he understood exactly who this was.
He'd known from the first step. The ease of it. The mercy of the violence. Jinwoo, even cloaked, even restrained, could never help but teach with every blow.
Just like Ashborn once taught him.
Suho roared and rose — again and again — blade cracked, armor flickering.
He bled. He burned.
And still, he stood.
⸻
Minutes passed. Maybe hours.
The man — Jinwoo, though unnamed — tilted his head. "You're stubborn."
"I get it from my dad," Suho muttered through bruised lips.
And for the first time… the man laughed.
And stopped.
"I think you've learned enough."
The weight lifted.
The field stilled.
Suho dropped to his knees — not in defeat, but exhaustion.
}{ Trial Concluded }{
}{ No reward granted. }{
}{ Return to Level: 10 }{
}{ Memory Seal Engaged. All references to inner presence… purged. }{
}{ "He must grow without knowing." }{
And then Suho's world went dark.
⸻
High above, Antares screamed — silently.
His tether dimmed.
The System was closing again.
The door, slamming shut.
Jinwoo's final act: mercy wrapped in chains.
But too late.
He had acted. Antares had acted.
He had conjured a dragon.
He had influenced the boy.
And now, his presence — faint as it still was — existed within Suho's leveling process.
It was only a matter of time.
Soon, the seal would erode again.
And next time… he would be ready.
With a final crimson System Prompt….the dream and the Tutorial concluded
}{ Congratulations! }{
}{ You have reached the End of the Tutorial! }{
}{ The Difficulty was set to Minimum! }{
}{ Caution: Real Life will NOT be like this! }{
}{ Until the appointed time…Farewell }{