Leveling From Hell

The courtyard erupted in laughter. Every echo of mockery rang off the stone walls, bouncing across the perfectly trimmed hedges and marble fountains. No one moved to stop it; the sound of amusement was deafening. Arzael's jaw tightened.

Every laugh felt like a blow to his chest. His small, pale hands clenched into fists so hard that the knuckles turned white. The sharp scent of polished marble mixed with the faint aroma of roses from the gardens, creating a cruelly serene backdrop for the scene.

'Nonsense,' he thought. 'Damn you… all of you…' The words didn't leave his lips; they festered inside, coiling like a venomous serpent through his veins. Each mocking laugh etched itself into his mind, a permanent mark that refused to fade.

Neria rushed forward, her hands trying to hold him back, but it was too late. Arzael had already launched forward, his legs propelling him with raw determination, a fury that had been simmering for years, pent-up and unrelenting.

His eyes locked on Aelric, the boy who had made his life a living hell, whose cruel words and disdain had haunted every waking moment. Time seemed to bend as he moved, every second stretching into a slow, deliberate motion.

Aelric only smiled, an amused, cold smile, as if he had been expecting this. 'What will this demon do now?' he thought, tilting his head slightly, never breaking eye contact. The arrogance in Aelric's gaze was a sharp contrast to the storm brewing behind Arzael's red eyes.

Arzael's hand shot forward, striking with a precision and force that no one anticipated. The moment his knuckles met Aelric's face, a sickening crunch echoed through the courtyard. Blood spurted from the corners of Aelric's mouth and nose. It wasn't just a punch, it was years of humiliation, isolation, and pain manifesting in a single, devastating blow. The sound of it reverberated off the marble walls, mingling with the shocked gasps of the crowd.

For a heartbeat, the world went silent. Only Aelric's staggered, choking breaths filled the air. The courtiers froze mid-step. A young noblewoman stumbled backward, hands flailing as her wine glass toppled, red liquid spilling across the marble floor, droplets gleaming like rubies under the sun.

"Catch the kid!" one of the palace servants shouted, voice shaking with disbelief.

"Did he just hit Aelric?!" another cried, eyes wide, heart racing.

"Damn it… how could this happen?" muttered yet another, unsure whether to rush in or simply gape. The whispers of shock grew, curling like smoke through the courtyard, adding weight to the tension in the air.

"Don't…" Neria's voice cut through the chaos. She wrapped her arms around Arzael, attempting to hold him back, to shield him from the inevitable wrath. But Arzael, pale and trembling, let out a low growl, the sound of a predator pushed too far, too long. The hairs on his neck stood on end, his pulse thrumming violently.

In moments, the imperial guards arrived. They moved like shadows, cold and unyielding, and ripped Arzael away from Neria. "No!" she screamed, her voice cracking. But the guards did not hesitate, dragging him through the cold stone corridors toward the cells. The echo of boots against stone seemed to mock him, a grim drumbeat of fate.

Once inside the cell, Arzael was thrown to the floor. "How dare you hit Aelric, cursed child?!" one guard spat, hammering his fist into Arzael's stomach. Each strike was met with a quiet, simmering defiance, though the pain shot through him like lightning. Another joined in, kicking him ruthlessly, leaving him gasping in a stifled rhythm between agony and detachment.

Arzael barely registered the assault. In his mind, time slowed. Every sound, every blow, every sneer echoed endlessly—yet something felt… off. This was only… a memory. A fragment of the past replaying in his consciousness.

'Just a flashback, huh?' he thought, confusion flickering in the edges of his mind. His vision flickered, the cold stone walls of the cell blending into a foggy haze of memory.

Then realization struck him like a lightning bolt. His severed head was already lying on the cold Obsidian floor of The Ruler's palace. Every image of the guards, the punches, the shouts—it was all a memory, a fragment of the life that had ended just moments ago. The courtyard, Neria, the laughter, Aelric, it all belonged to the past. The reality of his own death, the disconnect from his former body, pressed down on him with a terrifying weight.

For a fleeting, surreal instant, disbelief flooded him. And then, just as understanding settled in, the true darkness surged forward, enveloping his consciousness completely. The finality of death, and the crushing weight of inevitability all came crashing at once.

[System Note: You have died]

...

Six hours had passed since he had stepped into the Underworld. Puff's voice, anxious and high-pitched, broke the quiet night in the Valiant capital.

"Seraphina… Arzael has been gone to the underworld for so long, hasn't he? It's already been six hours… Usually it doesn't take this long," she said, her tail thrashing nervously, ears perked high.

Seraphina's gaze remained fixed outside the window. The street below was nearly deserted, bathed in pale moonlight. She spoke softly, almost to herself, "He will be fine." But her posture, rigid and tense, betrayed her calm words. Her hands gripped the windowsill tightly, knuckles white, fingers trembling slightly despite her attempts at composure.

Arzael opened his eyes. The world he awoke in was nothingness, a void. Darkness stretched endlessly in every direction. Not a sound, not a light, not even a hint of a floor beneath his feet. Yet he was conscious, aware of himself in every trembling, aching fiber of his body. The absence of gravity, sound, and light pressed on him like a physical force.

'Huh? Wasn't I already dead?'

Memories of the courtyard, of the relentless cruelty, the blows of the guards, the helplessness of Neria, all bubbled up. But the sadness that should have accompanied them was absent. Only anger remained. Pure, unfiltered, burning hatred. The memory of blood, marble, laughter, and jeers fueled a fire deep in his chest.

He stood, fists clenched. "This… place… is nothing. I expected oblivion. But here… here I feel… power… hunger… and rage." His eyes, red as molten iron, glowed faintly in the pitch-black void, illuminating nothing but shadows of his own thoughts.

Then, the system interface appeared, translucent and stark against the darkness.

Calculating consequence…

Penalty Applied:

Level -10

Forced Isolation: [The Void] (6 hours)

System Note: This death was not written in fate. Your existence bends the order of reality. If your levels are consumed to zero, you will be erased, abandoned even by the System. There will be no return.

Arzael exhaled slowly, the sound echoing infinitely, his own voice bouncing back to him in the emptiness. "I didn't die after all? Even though I wanted to…" He rubbed his neck, imagining the final blow that had separated his head from his body. The void offered him no comfort, no release. Only reflection, and consequence.

"Ten levels… for resurrection?" he muttered bitterly. "What a waste." He flexed his fingers, trying to summon his system interface. Nothing responded. No commands, no stats, no echoes of the familiar glow. 'Well, what can I do?'

Six hours stretched interminably. Time had no meaning. Every second was a drumbeat in an eternal silence. He walked through the void, each step met with nothing but the oppressive weight of isolation.

He reflected on the battles, the demons he had slain and the pain. Every memory sharpened the edge of his resolve. Each thought, each reflection, made him more acutely aware of what he had lost and what he must reclaim.

'I will not bend. I will not break. The world… will remember me.'

Finally, as the penalty dwindled to a single second, the interface flickered:

[Penalty Remaining: 1 second]

"Here we go," he whispered, anticipation humming in his bones.

Morning broke over Valiant. Puff yawned and stretched, the rays of the sun striking her fluffy white fur. "Ehhhh?! Seraphina?! You didn't sleep?!" she shouted, panic rising in her voice. "You know, if you don't sleep, your body will hurt later!"

Seraphina didn't turn. "It's fine," she replied softly, eyes still fixed on the horizon. Her hands gripped the windowsill tightly, knuckles white. She had stayed awake all night, waiting for Arzael, the only one person she trusted above all else. Her shoulders sagged slightly with fatigue, but she remained resolute.

Puff's ears drooped slightly. "Arzael hasn't come back from yesterday, huh…" Her voice was tinged with worry, tiny tremors betraying her concern.

A flash of darkness split the morning light. A portal, black and red, materialized, shimmering violently before settling. Arzael stepped through. His head intact, his expression calm yet unreadable. "Finally," he muttered, the faint echo of exhaustion in his voice.

Seraphina sprang from her seat, rushing forward without hesitation. Her arms wrapped around him, pressing tightly against his chest. "Where have you… been?!" For the first time, she had allowed herself to touch him fully, a tangible expression of concern and relief.

"Boss! Why did it take so long?! We were worried, you know!" Puff exclaimed, hopping nervously from foot to foot, ears flicking back and forth.

"I had… some problems," Arzael said simply, eyes meeting hers. He noticed the warmth radiating from her body, the scent of her hair, and felt the odd comfort in her closeness. 'This is… the first time she has been this close…'

Minutes passed. Slowly, Seraphina's strength ebbed, her body surrendering to exhaustion. "Already… asleep?" Arzael whispered, half in disbelief. Puff nodded vigorously, "Yes, she stayed up all night waiting for you, boss!"

Arzael sighed, feeling the weight of fatigue pressing down. He lay back on the bed, careful not to disturb her, though her small form rested atop him. The warmth was soothing, almost disarming.

"Even though I only went for less than a day," he muttered, eyes closing. Despite the trials, the void, and the deadly encounter in the underworld, he felt… peace. A fleeting, fragile peace.

Puff, ever energetic even after minimal rest, pouted dramatically. "Heyhh?! Just sleep like that?! I wasn't invited, huh?!"