Ugh… where am I?

  The thought surfaced slowly, like a bubble rising from the depths of a dark sea. Arin tried to open his eyes—and realized almost immediately that it made no difference. Whether his eyes were open or closed, the world before him remained the same.

  Black.

  Not the comforting darkness of sleep, nor the gentle dimness of a moonless night, but an absolute void—vast, endless, and utterly indifferent.

  He floated within it.

  Or rather, he was carried.

  Only after a few heartbeats—assuming he still had a heart—did he notice the colors.

  They flowed through the void like a colossal river, strands of crimson, sapphire, emerald, gold, and hues without names weaving together in slow, majestic currents. The river stretched infinitely in both directions, impossibly large and impossibly small at the same time. It felt wrong to look at, even though Arin somehow knew that he was not truly seeing it.

  If a mortal body were to witness it directly, he sensed, it would shatter before the mind could even register what it was seeing.

  The contradiction of it all made his head hurt—if he even still had a head.

  “Why… can’t I move?”

  Panic should have followed. His limbs refused to respond, his body ignoring every command he tried to give it. He attempted to clench his fists, to kick, to scream.

  Nothing.

  Is this the afterlife?

  Did I really die?

  The thought echoed louder than the void itself.

  He tried to take a breath out of instinct, only to realize he didn’t need to. There was no air here, yet he wasn’t suffocating. There was no ground, yet he wasn’t falling. He simply existed—suspended in the slow, inevitable pull of the multicolored river.

  They said thirty days… right?

  The memory surfaced hazily. Death wasn’t permanent. Not here. Not for those bound to Humanity’s Trial. He was supposed to remain in this state for thirty days before revival.

  If this is all I’m going to see for a month, he thought bitterly, then I might as well distract myself.

  “Status,” Arin commanded mentally, trying to rub his hands together in anticipation—

  —and only then remembered he couldn’t move.

  “Oh. Right. Can’t move.”

  Strangely, despite everything, his heart wasn’t racing. There was no cold terror gripping his chest, no overwhelming dread crushing his thoughts.

  Instead, there was… calm.

  Too much calm.

  Why am I not panicking?

  Why don’t I feel afraid of dying?

  The question unsettled him more than the void itself.

  Did I really die…? Am I never going to wake up again?

  No.

  No, that couldn’t be right.

  I still have things to do. People to see.

  As his thoughts spiraled, his consciousness began to rotate slowly, like a leaf caught in an invisible whirlpool. If one looked closely—closer than any mortal ever could—they would notice faint gray particles drifting away from him, leaking from microscopic fractures in his soul.

  Those fragments were swiftly swept away by the great river of color.

  At the same time, something unseen began to knit those cracks back together.

  Arin, of course, noticed none of it.

  “Get it together,” he muttered internally. “Stop thinking. Stop thinking.”

  He needed a distraction.

  “Status,” he commanded again, more firmly this time.

  The void responded.

  Status Window

  Race: Human

  Stage: Mortal (0.3)

  Class: Archer (0.4)

  Profession: Bowyer (0.2)

  HP: 130 / 130

  MP: 150 / 150

  Stamina: 140 / 140

  Attributes

  Strength: 17

  Agility: 14

  Endurance: 14

  Vitality: 13

  Toughness: 13

  Wisdom: 15

  Intelligence: 15

  Perception: 22

  Willpower: 18

  Free Points: 4

  Techniques & Traits

  Breathing Technique: Archer Breathing Technique (Inferior)

  Physique: Son of the Forest

  Skills

  Class Skills:

  ? Ancient War Archery (Rare)

  ? Basic One-Handed Weapons (Inferior)

  ? Archer’s Eye (Common)

  ? Basic Stealth (Inferior)

  Professional Skills:

  ? Arboreal Lore (Common)

  ? Stringcraft (Common)

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  ? Limb Shaping (Common)

  ? Identify (Common)

  “Huh…”

  Arin stared at the translucent window floating in the void.

  “Well, that hasn’t changed much.”

  If anything, it felt reassuring. Familiar. Tangible in a place where nothing else felt real.

  “I’m glad I didn’t assign those free points yet,” he thought. “After that battle… my priorities are different now.”

  Five days.

  Five days of continuous combat.

  His mind involuntarily replayed the sensation—burning muscles, shaking hands, vision blurring at the edges. The closest comparison he could think of was the final stretch of a marathon: that unbearable moment when your body begs you to stop, when every step feels like betrayal.

  Now imagine that feeling lasting for five straight days.

  Never again, he swore silently. Endurance comes first.

  His gaze shifted.

  “Points…”

  The number appeared beneath the status window.

  Points: 346

  For a moment, Arin simply stared.

  Then he laughed.

  A quiet, slightly hysterical laugh that echoed only within his own mind.

  “That’s… a lot.”

  He hadn’t realized just how many goblins he had killed. Of course, part of it was due to higher-stage enemies granting more points, but still—

  A month ago, I would’ve thought this was impossible.

  “Well then,” he said to himself, grin widening, “let’s see what all this suffering bought me.”

  The shop interface unfolded before him.

  Humanity’s Trial Shop

  ? Food

  ? Weapons

  ? Potions

  ? Profession Tomes

  ? Class Tomes

  ? Seeds

  ? Materials

  ? Faction (Locked)

  “…Huh?”

  Arin blinked—mentally.

  Before, everything except the category names had been grayed out. Untouchable. Untainable.

  Now?

  Everything was available.

  Everything except Faction.

  A small note hovered beside it:

  Requirement: 10,000 Points to Unlock

  Additional Information: Unknown

  “That’s… suspicious.”

  It felt as though the shop had been waiting. For something. Or perhaps for someone.

  Maybe the higher-ups already know what’s coming, he thought grimly. And we just haven’t caught up yet.

  Still, there was no point dwelling on it.

  “Alright,” Arin said, excitement bubbling up. “Let’s get to the fun part.”

  He began browsing.

  Thirty minutes later—

  “…That’s it?”

  Disappointment hit him like a dull arrow.

  Most of the items were either impractical for his current situation or absurdly expensive. Mana and stamina potions were useful, sure, but he wasn’t convinced they were cost-effective with such limited points.

  Profession-related items were out. He barely had time to work as a bowyer anymore.

  Then there were the seeds.

  “A bag of magical wheat seeds… five thousand points?”

  He groaned.

  “And it only goes up from there?!”

  Profession and class tomes weren’t any better. While they promised optimal progression paths and rare insights, the cheapest ones started at fifty thousand points.

  Yeah, Arin thought dryly, I can see how that would be the cornerstone of a faction.

  He paused.

  “…Faction.”

  The realization struck him suddenly.

  “So that’s it,” he murmured. “To really progress, you need a faction.”

  A smile tugged at his lips.

  “No way I’m leading one, though. That sounds like a nightmare.”

  If anything, that responsibility belonged to his grandfather.

  Still… there had to be benefits. Limits. Otherwise, why would every nation allow factions to form freely?

  Questions spiraled endlessly.

  With nothing else to do, Arin spent the remaining days browsing the shop, rereading descriptions, and occasionally trying—unsuccessfully—to talk to the interface itself.

  Anything to keep his mind occupied.

  Anything to avoid the creeping doubt waiting just beneath the surface.

  By the time the river of color began to slow, Arin felt only one thing with certainty:

  Whatever awaited him after these thirty days—

  The world would never be the same again.