The wind brushed against a face drenched in sweat. A few strands of hair stuck to the temple.
He didn't notice. His eyes remained fixed on the empty space ahead, where the rough wooden post stood still, as though witnessing everything.
And then, like a faint echo in this silent universe...
"ting."
Not ear-piercing. Not brilliant. Just a gentle vibration, a faint light appeared at the corner of his vision, like the breath of a system that had been asleep for far too long:
Weapon Mastery: Sword – Novice (Lv.2). (1/1000)
Ren blinked. Once. Then twice.
As if unsure whether he had really seen that line of text.
A number so small it was almost meaningless.
A tiny step forward, insignificant when compared to everything he had put into it, sweat, time, sleepless nights, and moments when he almost gave up.
But Ren didn't frown. He didn't sigh.
On the contrary, his lips barely pressed together, curling into a faint line, not quite a smile, but no longer the stiff, emotionless expression he had worn.
Not because of the number. Not because of "leveling up."
But because it had finally appeared.
After days of throwing himself into training in silence.
After countless swings of the sword with nothing changing, no feedback, no acknowledgment.
Now, finally, the system had spoken. Something had recognized his effort and change, even if it was a cold, unintended gesture.
Not with a reward.
But with acknowledgment.
A confirmation that: he was moving forward. That those seemingly useless movements had truly connected with something.
Not with a stat screen. Not with a sword.
But with the very sensation of combat... for real.
For the first time in many days, Ren felt like he was no longer fighting air. No longer the disconnected swings of a sword, no longer hollow reflexes.
For the first time, he felt like he was truly fighting.
Even without an opponent, without blood or cheers.
Only breath. Only the sword. And himself.
He didn't know what he had broken. A barrier? A limit? Or simply the vague fear that all efforts were meaningless?
Whatever it was… it had cracked. And something was beginning to flow through that crack.
But just as his mind had started to find a little stillness, a fragile peace, like a calm lake after a storm, Ren's body reminded him that...
...it had been pushed to its limits long ago, and now… it was time to pay the price.
Only seconds after the notification appeared, exhaustion flooded over him like a tide.
No warning, no mercy. It was as if all the strain from before was merely a fragile mask, now ruthlessly torn away.
His knees buckled, as though every joint in his body had just been taken apart.
The arm holding the sword went numb, heavy as if dragging a past he could not let go of.
Sweat streamed down continuously, no longer just the result of training, but the sign of a body drained, worn out from the inside out.
Ren collapsed slightly, using the sword as a makeshift staff to prop himself up.
The sword's tip barely touched the ground, not deep enough to support him, but enough to keep him from falling.
His breathing began to grow erratic.
His heartbeat slowed, but each beat echoed in his chest like the hollow sound of an empty drum.
The feeling of exhaustion didn't just come from his muscles, but from a cold fog spreading from his spine, seeping into every crack, every blood vessel… as if his body were turning to stone.
"Can't… can't stop."
Ren muttered to himself, his voice hoarse, like an echo from the bottom of a deep cave, lifeless.
He tried to lift his foot. One step. Then another.
Each step felt like it was tearing through the space between his present self and the shadow of his former self, the shadow that had fallen into his mind after the final movements. The shadow of emptiness, of unanswered questions.
Then suddenly… his stomach growled.
A crude, conspicuous sound rang out in the stillness, causing Ren to pause for a moment.
He grimaced, not from hunger, but from realizing: he had truly forgotten the most basic thing required for survival.
"Did… I eat anything?"
This morning? This afternoon? Or was it… before parting with everyone at the village gate?
Unclear. Everything had been crushed into the swings of his sword, the endless loops of lifeless motion.
Even so, his lips curled slightly. A smile, thin, tired, chipped, but more real than anything he had felt in all the days that had passed.
He slowly drew back the sword, fastening it to his back with trembling hands.
And then, Ren began to drag his steps. Not the gait of a victorious warrior, but the shadow of a survivor, someone who had just fought a battle with himself, only to realize that... countless more battles awaited him ahead.
The sky had tilted toward dusk. The light softened, a mix of orange and purple slipped through the gaps between the rooftops.
The wind became lighter, but for Ren, each breeze that brushed past was a cut, cold and sharp, reminding him that he was still alive, still feeling.
From the training arena to the inn, the journey that usually took just a few minutes to walk now… felt as long as an endless road.
A few players passed by. Some glanced over, but then moved on.No one stopped. No one asked. And Ren didn't expect that.
"Who would care about someone dragging himself like me?"
He told himself. No blame. No resentment. Just a simple truth.
What he needed... was just a place to sit. Some food.
And if he was lucky, a sleep without nightmares.
Then, as the night settled in like a thin velvet curtain... the warm light from the inn appeared. The lights were still on, the door slightly ajar, as if inviting without words.
Ren lifted his head and looked, his eyes fixed on that light like a traveler in the desert who had spotted the silhouette of an oasis.
"I'm almost there."
His feet kept moving, his stomach still growling, the pain still lingering… but somewhere deep down, his heart had started to beat in rhythm with his sword.
And just like that…
Just that, was enough to close the day.
The wooden door creaked open softly, making a faint squeak, as if even it was yawning tiredly after a long day of opening and closing for guests.
Ren gently pushed with his shoulder and staggered inside the small room, filled with the scent of aged wood and the smoke from the recently extinguished stove.
The warm yellow light spilled from the oil lamps hanging across the walls, casting long shadows on the rough wooden tables, darkened by time and the touch of countless hands.
A few players were still lingering, quietly having a late meal, no one talking, no one making noise, just the sound of spoons gently tapping bowls and the steady breaths of those who had just left the battlefield.
A strangely peaceful scene. But not the peacefulness of everyday life, rather, the calm after a storm, as if this place, even though just a small corner of the world of Aincrad, had learned to become a refuge on its own.
Ren stood still for a moment at the threshold. The night breeze swept through the back of his thin cloak, but it didn't make him shiver. What stopped him, though, was the bar... still open.
The girl with golden hair and a bright smile behind the counter spoke, her voice sweet.
She was wiping her hands with a rough cloth when she looked up, her gaze meeting Ren's thin, exhausted figure at the entrance.
"Wow... still running back from the training ground this late?" Her voice rang out, not loud, but warm enough to make Ren's shoulders relax a little.
It wasn't a reprimand. It was the kind of care from someone who had seen young people push themselves to their limits.
Ren blinked slowly and nodded, tilting his head slightly."Yeah... lucky the inn is still open."
The innkeeper laughed, a short but friendly laugh. "This inn is always open. There are a few players like you, never knowing what tiredness is, always coming back just when everyone else is about to sleep."
He didn't respond to the teasing, only pressed his lips together and smiled faintly, the smile so faint even he wasn't sure if it was a smile or just a mechanical reflex because he was too tired to say anything more.
Ren slowly walked over to an empty table in the corner of the room. Half of the table was lit by the light, the other half lost in shadow, as if it, too, was sleepy.
Before sitting down, Ren turned back, his voice hoarse: "Just... anything that's left."
"We have vegetable stew with bread. It's late, so that's all that's left."
"That's more than enough."
His response came out like the wind rustling through leaves, fragile enough to seem like it could disappear into the air, but real enough to make the innkeeper squint, smile, nod, and head to the kitchen.
Ren dropped into the chair as though his entire body had been dropped from an impossible height.
Leaning back against the hard wooden backrest, he felt every muscle in his body stretch and contract in slow rhythm.
His body, which was just a collection of data in this world, was conveying a tiredness... so real.
A sharp ache ran down his neck to his shoulders, from his back to his legs. It felt as if every muscle, every joint, was screaming, begging for rest after an unnamed torment.
Sweat still clung to his back, where his shirt stuck to his skin, not smelling, not dirty, not sticky like in the real world, but still enough to make him feel... uncomfortable.
This world may have simplified many things. But it couldn't erase all the small inconveniences.
Ren rubbed his face. The palm of his hand touched his damp forehead, then slid through his hair, sticky between his fingers.
"I wish there was a real shower..."
He cursed under his breath, his eyes narrowing for a brief moment of frustration. In the small rented room upstairs, the so-called "bath" was just a tiny basin in the corner with an old towel and a jug of warm water.
Not enough to make his body feel clean. Even less to make his mind feel at peace.
He had planned to wash up right when he got back. But now…
"A little later. After eating... then I'll think about it."
Ren lifted his face, his eyes slowly drifting across the room. The menu board hanging quietly above the counter now had only a few hastily written lines in chalk.
His eyes drifted down, stopping at the rough wooden table. Scratches, tiny carvings, some clearly made by players, others faded as if they had been there long before he arrived in this world.
His hand rested on his thigh, his fingers lazily tapping against the rough wood. His legs still hadn't stretched out, as if his body suddenly weighed twice as much. And his mind... was waiting for only one thing:
A simple ceramic plate. A serving of hot stew. A slice of crispy bread. Just that.
Not for health, not for a status buff or stat boost. But because... Ren wanted to remember the feeling of being alive.
Just a person, tired. Hungry. And still trying to survive.