Klaus flinched with his eyes widening in shock.

He knew the penalty the system had shown him, but hearing it spoken aloud made the abstract nightmare a horrifying reality.

"How did you know?" Klaus asked, pulling his hand back slowly.

Anya sat back in her wooden chair. She crossed her small arms over her chest and puffed out her pale cheeks, attempting a cute childlike pout.

It was an incredibly endearing expression, but paired with the terrifying depth of her Shinigami eyes, it was deeply eerie.

"I know because I can feel the resonance of your soul, Father," Anya complained, her tone carrying a mix of exasperation and scolding. "And I know because you did not even listen to me. You did not wait for me to explain the rules of the trial. You just ran upstairs and threw yourself blindly into a lethal trap..."

Klaus grimaced, guilt flushing his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck with the sore muscles protesting the movement.

"You’re right," Klaus sighed, staring down at the wool blanket. "I was an idiot. I thought I could brute-force it with speed and Soul Mana since I wanted to keep you and Mirela out of the crossfire. I’m sorry."

Anya’s pout softened. She uncrossed her arms, letting out a small melodious sigh that sounded far too ancient for her small body.

"Apology accepted," Anya said quietly. "But you need to see the consequence of your recklessness, Father. You need to understand exactly what the Second King stole from you."

Anya raised her small, right hand. She snapped her tiny fingers.

VWOOSH!

A sudden, sharp burst of pure purple spatial magic erupted in the air directly beside the bed.

The ambient mana condensed rapidly, flattening out into a large, flawlessly smooth, hovering mirror made of shimmering purple energy.

"Look..." Anya instructed softly.

Klaus turned his head. He braced himself, expecting to see a tired battered teenager looking back at him.

The exact second his dark eyes met his reflection in the spatial mirror, Klaus completely froze.

His breath hitched in his throat as a cold suffocating knot of pure horror forming in the pit of his stomach.

The man staring back at him wasn’t seventeen... He wasn’t even in his twenties...

Klaus looked like a man in his late thirties!

The physical transformation was undeniable.

His jawline had hardened, becoming sharply defined and rugged. The youthful, smooth skin of his face was gone, replaced by weathered lines around the corners of his eyes and deep mature grooves framing his mouth.

His dark, messy hair had lost its pristine sheen, heavily peppered with stark, prominent streaks of brittle silver gray at the temples.

His body had changed as well. His shoulders were significantly broader, his neck thicker, his musculature was denser and heavily developed, reflecting the physical prime of a seasoned warrior.

He was strikingly handsome in a dangerous mature way.

But it was his eyes that truly terrified him.

His dark eyes were surrounded by heavy, exhausted shadows. They looked devastatingly empty.

"What... what did he do to me?" Klaus whispered, raising a trembling hand to trace the silver hair at his temple.

The rough texture of the gray strands felt incredibly alien beneath his fingertips.

"The penalty of the trial is absolute," Anya explained, her purple eyes watching his reaction closely. "The Second King did not steal your mana, or your skills, or your physical strength. He stole time... He violently siphoned twenty-five percent of your total biological lifespan to feed his own lingering consciousness."

Anya stood up from the wooden chair, stepping closer to the bed.

"You must understand the mathematics of your existence, Father," she continued with her voice devoid of sugar-coating. "You are not a High-Elf... You are not a Royal... You are a pure Commoner with absolutely no noble bloodline to naturally extend your longevity. Even with your Soul Vessel and your physical enhancement skills, your maximum natural lifespan in this world is estimated to be around one hundred and thirty years."

She pointed a tiny finger at his reflection in the purple mirror.

"You lost over thirty years of your life in a single loop," Anya stated bluntly. "If you enter that room and fail again, you will lose another twenty-five percent. You will age instantly into your late fifties. Your body will begin to wither... Your speed will drop... Your bones will turn brittle..."

Klaus stared at the rugged, graying man in the mirror, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"And if I fail three more times?" Klaus asked, though he already knew the terrifying answer.

"Then your biological clock will run out," Anya said, her voice dropping into a solemn whisper. "You will reach the end of your mortal limits. You will die of old age in an instant, your soul will be completely digested, and the Second King will successfully reincarnate into your empty husk."

The stakes of the trial finally locked into place.

This wasn’t a dungeon where he could retreat, grind levels on lower-tier mobs, and come back when his stats were higher.

The boss wasn’t fighting his armor; the boss was fighting his timeline. He was quite literally racing against his own death.

Klaus closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

He forced his panic down, burying it under a layer of uncompromising resolve.

He couldn’t afford to be reckless again... He needed to understand the mechanics of the trap...

"Alright," Klaus said, opening his eyes and turning away from the terrifying reflection.

He looked directly at his Shinigami daughter. "Tell me the rules. How does the trial actually work?"

Anya nodded, waving her hand to dispel the purple mirror. The spatial glass shattered into harmless dust, vanishing into the air.

"The Second Soul King was a tyrant, but he was bound by the foundational laws of the universe," Anya explained, pacing slowly beside the bed like a tiny ancient professor. "He could not build a trial that was literally impossible to beat... He had to toe the absolute line of fairness so, he built a trap that exploits the host’s own internal psyche."

She stopped pacing, looking up at him.

"The trial forces the host to violently split into two separate entities," Anya continued. "The first entity is the Observer. That is the Real You. Your true consciousness, completely stripped of your magical skills and physical power, trapped as a spectral ghost within the simulation."

Klaus nodded slowly. He remembered the agonizing frustration of hovering invisibly on the sidewalk, screaming at his younger self to wake up.

"The second entity is the Participant," Anya said. "That is a manufactured avatar, built entirely from your own memories, your innocence, and, most importantly, your deepest Regrets. The simulation places this Regret-driven avatar into a perfect, flawless reality where all of your greatest mistakes have been corrected."

"And the Second King?" Klaus asked, his jaw clenching. "He hides inside the simulation wearing a familiar face."

"Yes," Anya confirmed. "He manipulates the avatar... He uses the overwhelming emotional euphoria of the corrected regrets to sedate the host’s mind... He wants the Regret avatar to surrender to the illusion. If the avatar accepts the fake world, the trap snaps shut, and the Second King consumes the lifeforce."

"So how do I win?" Klaus demanded, leaning forward on the mattress. "I tried to attack him while I was the Observer. I rushed him with my sword, but the world spawned a truck and killed me instantly."

"You cannot attack the Second King while you are the Observer, Father," Anya shook her head. "You are not the active participant of the trial. The trial will protect the simulation from outside interference."

Anya paused, her purple eyes locking onto his.

"The Win Condition is entirely psychological," Anya revealed, unveiling the brutal, twisted nature of the trial. "Because the Real You and the Regret You want entirely different things... you want to survive the tower, and your Regret avatar wants to live in the fantasy... they are fundamentally at war. To clear the trial, the Real You must somehow convince your Regret-driven self to willingly hand over control of the physical body within the simulation."

Klaus’s dark eyes widened.

"I have to convince a version of myself that just got his family back... to give it all up?" Klaus asked.

"Yes," Anya nodded solemnly. "Only when the Regret avatar voluntarily surrenders control to the Real You will the true host be integrated into the simulation... Only then will your combat skills and your Soul Mana unlock within the dream and only then can you physically fight the Second King’s avatar and clear the trial."

It was a brilliant, sadistic, and utterly terrifying boss mechanic. It wasn’t a test of strength... It was a test of letting go and it wasn’t even for him!

Before Klaus could fully process the gravity of the psychological warfare he was about to engage in, the heavy sound of footsteps echoed across the obsidian floor.

Mirela returned from the dark iron doors. She was carrying a wide silver tray she had salvaged from the Snow Caravan’s high-tier supplies.

Resting on the tray were three large, steaming ceramic bowls filled to the brim with a rich savory venison and root vegetable stew.

The delicious aroma of the hot food instantly filled the dusty air of the makeshift camp, causing Klaus’s stomach to rumble violently.

Mirela walked over to the bed, carefully setting the heavy tray down on a small wooden crate she had dragged over earlier.

She had caught the very tail end of Anya’s explanation.

"Regrets?" Mirela asked, tilting her head in innocent confusion as she handed a wooden spoon to Klaus. "What regrets?"

Anya’s striking purple eyes twitched in visible annoyance at the sudden interruption of her critical lore dump.

The six-year-old Shinigami turned her head, looking up at the teenage maid.

"Please be quiet, mo– Aunt Mirela..." Anya stated politely. "I’m speaking with my Father."

Mirela blinked, thoroughly intimidated by the overwhelming aura of the tiny child.

She instantly bowed her head with her goat ears folding back in submission. "Y-yes, Lady Anya... I am sorry..."

Klaus let out a small, tired sigh. He took the wooden spoon from Mirela, offering the maid a gentle, reassuring nod to ease her anxiety.

Anya turned her attention back to Klaus, her expression turning incredibly serious.

"My Shinigami eyes cannot pierce the veil of the trial room, Father," Anya explained, leaning closer to the bed. "The spatial magic is completely sealed. I cannot see what the simulation is showing you so I cannot guide you once you cross the threshold."

She reached out, placing her small, pale hand over his large one.

"What did you see in there?" Anya asked quietly. "What are your regrets? You mentioned something about family... Is that it?"

Klaus froze. The wooden spoon hovered halfway to his mouth.

He looked down at the steaming bowl of soup. His heart rate began to climb, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.

"It... it wasn’t anything important," Klaus stuttered with his voice sounding defensive and incredibly fragile.

He immediately tried to deflect, shifting his gaze away from her piercing purple eyes. "It was just a stupid illusion. Just some fake scenario the trial generated to mess with my head. I know it’s a trap now so I won’t fall for it again."

Anya stared at him. She knew he was lying.

She could feel the chaotic dissonance tearing at his soul. She wanted to press the issue.

She wanted to point out that it was incredibly important, that understanding the illusion was the only way he was going to survive the next loop but she also felt the agony radiating from his core.

She knew her Father wouldn’t answer if she pushed him... The trauma was buried too deep.

Anya slowly withdrew her hand. She offered a small, sad nod, letting the subject go, and turned her attention to the bowl of soup Mirela had placed in front of her.

The silence that fell over the camp was agonizingly heavy.

The only sounds were the soft clinking of wooden spoons against ceramic bowls and the distant, haunting crackle of the pale blue flames burning in the obsidian pillars.

Klaus took a bite of the stew, but he couldn’t taste it. The rich venison felt like ash in his mouth.

He stared at the dark liquid in the bowl.

The dam he had spent years reinforcing was breaking... The regression trial had taken a sledgehammer to the foundations of his psyche... He had felt his mother’s arms around him... He had seen his father’s tears of pride... He had held Melanie tightly on the sidewalk.

He had felt the intoxicating, overwhelming euphoria of a life where he hadn’t failed everyone he loved and then, he had watched it all violently ripped away, replaced by the mocking glowing white eyes of a parasite.

Klaus’s hands began to shake. The wooden spoon clattered loudly against the ceramic bowl.

He dropped the spoon. He gripped the thick wool bedsheets with both hands, twisting the fabric into tight, white-knuckled knots.

"I hate..." Klaus whispered, his voice trembling so violently it barely sounded human.

Mirela stopped eating. Anya looked up from her bowl.

Klaus gritted his teeth with his jaw muscles bulging as he fought a losing battle against the rising tide of his own grief.

The dam finally, completely shattered.

"I hate when people leave," Klaus snapped. "I hate when people I care about leave me."

The memories didn’t just flash through his mind; they physically assaulted his senses.

He felt the blistering, searing heat of the house fire... He saw his mother’s soot-stained face screaming in terror as she threw him out the shattered window, right before the burning ceiling collapsed and buried her alive.

He smelled the sharp toxic odor of gasoline. He saw his father looking at him from beneath the suspended sedan, his eyes widening in shock just a fraction of a second before the blinding, concussive explosion erased the mechanic shop from existence...

He heard the deafening screech of tires on wet asphalt. He saw Melanie’s surprised expression as his careless playful swat pushed her off the curb. He saw her body launched into the air, landing in a broken, bleeding heap on the pavement...

"I buried them," Klaus choked out, the tears finally breaking free, streaming down his newly aged face.

He didn’t try to wipe them away. "I buried them all so deep. I locked myself in my apartment... I drowned myself in textbooks and Artemis Online... I played the game because the game made sense. If you died in the game, you respawned. You didn’t just... disappear."

He hunched forward, resting his forehead against his trembling fists.

"But I was there," Klaus cried with the agonizing guilt of his inaction eating him alive. "I was right there! I could have shown her the cellar door. I could have dragged him out of the garage. I could have just held her hand instead of pushing her away. I could have done something! Anything! But I didn’t. I just watched them die. And it’s my fault. It’s all my fault."

He finished his confession as his broad shoulders shook with the overwhelming weight of a decade’s worth of suppressed trauma.

Mirela sat perfectly quiet on the edge of the mattress.

Her lips were slightly parted in shock with her eyes wide as the pieces of a massive heartbreaking puzzle finally snapped into place in her mind.

The realization hit her like a physical blow to the chest.

This was why he had changed.

When Taula had vanished into the night without a word...

Taula had abandoned him.

She had triggered his deepest, most buried, agonizing trauma. Klaus had started to open his heart to their party.

He had started to believe they were a family and the exact second he let his guard down, the exact second he trusted someone not to leave him... she was gone.

Mirela didn’t say a word.. She didn’t offer empty platitudes or tell him it wasn’t his fault...

Instead she just moved across the dusty mattress. She wrapped both of her arms fiercely around his side, pressing her face tightly against his shoulder and then she held him with an uncompromising strength, refusing to let him weather the storm alone.

"We are here, Master," Mirela whispered softly into his shirt. "Anya is here. I am here. We are not going anywhere. We are never going to leave you."

She gently reached out, unclenching one of his trembling fists from the bedsheets, and placed his wooden spoon back into his hand.

"We are right here," Mirela promised, offering him a warm, tearful smile. "Now... let’s eat our soup before it gets cold."

Klaus looked down at her.

He looked at the gentle devotion shining in her eyes. He looked at Anya, who was watching him with quiet solemn understanding.

He wasn’t alone...

Klaus took a deep breath, wiping the tears from his rugged, aged face. He tightened his grip on the wooden spoon.

"Okay," Klaus nodded, his voice hoarse but finding a fraction of its strength. "Let’s eat."

...

The next morning or whatever passed for morning in the timeless oppressive expanse of the Endless Tower arrived without a sunrise. The only illumination came from the pale, ghostly blue flames flickering in the obsidian pillars, casting long, somber shadows across the ground floor.

Klaus stood at the base of the massive, monolithic spiral staircase.

He didn’t look like the eighteen-year-old boy who had entered the Winterlands.

The trial had physically aged him, stripping away the smooth skin and vitality of his youth but his resolve had never been harder.

Looming at the very top of the stairs, at the end of the dark corridor, was the set of massive, wide-open double doors radiating a blinding, suffocating white light.

Mirela stood next to him, clutching her moon-crystal staff in one hand. She walked up the last few steps to the landing and reached her hand out toward the glowing threshold.

BZZZT!

The light didn’t yield. It acted as a completely solid, impenetrable barrier of absolute magical density, violently rejecting her touch.

The spatial magic sparked, pushing her hand away with a firm gravity.

"It won’t let me in," Mirela whispered, taking a step back. "Only you can cross it, Master."

Klaus nodded slowly. He already knew that. The Second King hadn’t built a raid boss; he had built an isolated, psychological execution chamber.

Klaus prepared to step through, raising his sword but as the blinding light washed over his aged face, his lips thinned into a tight, trembling line.

He stopped.

Feeling the literal ticking clock of his lifespan rapidly winding down had stripped away the last of his arrogant gamer bravado.

If he failed this, he was going to wither away and die in this dark tower, leaving Mirela and his newborn Shinigami daughter trapped with a parasitic god wearing his skin.

He was desperate to tie up the loose ends he had so callously created.

He turned back to Mirela.

"I’m sorry," Klaus said.