Kael jerked awake, gasping for air as phantom pain blazed across his throat. His hand flew up instinctively, fingers probing for wounds that weren't there. Sweat-soaked sheets tangled around him like a shroud as pale sunlight filtered through cracked windows, illuminating the same musty apartment he could barely afford on an E-rank Hunter's wages.

  "What... the hell was that?" he whispered, his voice hoarse as if he'd been screaming. The dream had been so vivid—the Manticore's crystalline fangs tearing into his flesh, the cold indifference in his teammates' eyes as they watched him die, that strange voice promising entertainment...

  He shuddered, rubbing his face with trembling hands. His status window flickered to life unbidden, the System's blue interface as pristine as ever:

  Strange. For a moment, he could have sworn there had been something different about his status screen. Something about... entertainment? The thought slipped away like water through his fingers, leaving only an unsettling sense of déjà vu.

  "Just a nightmare," he muttered, swinging his legs off the bed. "Too much stress, not enough sleep."

  Maybe he needed a medical check. Mental strain could trigger all sorts of System anomalies in awakened individuals. Or perhaps he should cut back on those energy supplements he'd been taking to extend his training hours.

  But the medical center would cost credits he didn't have, and he couldn't afford to miss today's guild assignment. E-ranks who skipped assignments quickly found themselves without assignments at all.

  Kael splashed cold water on his face, the shock helping to clear the lingering cobwebs of his nightmare. The cracked mirror reflected a face too young to look so tired—dark circles under bloodshot eyes, stubble he hadn't bothered to shave in days, skin pale from too many hours spent in dungeons rather than sunlight.

  "Get it together," he told his reflection. "It was just a dream."

  He pulled on his worn leather armor, the E-rank certification mark glowing dully in the pre-dawn light. The cheap sword he'd saved months to afford waited by the door, its weight familiar yet somehow more wrong than ever as he strapped it to his hip.

  The streets of Auren were beginning to stir as he made his way toward the training grounds, neon advertisements from the crystal spires above painting everything in garish, unnatural colors. Something about the shifting shadows they cast made his skin crawl, triggering flashes of his nightmare.

  Focus, he reminded himself. One more practice session before the guild assignment.

  The training dummy stood waiting, its worn surface a testament to thousands of strikes from more talented hunters. Kael drew his sword, trying to ignore how alien it felt in his grip, and began his morning routine.

  [Sword Energy] flickered weakly along his blade, the pale blue light sputtering like a dying glowstick. He adjusted his grip, searching for that perfect balance that everyone else seemed to find instinctively.

  The familiar sting of failure burned in his chest. Five years of dedication, and the System still suggested he should quit. Just like everyone else had.

  "Kael, you've got determination. Nobody can deny that. But maybe—just maybe—the [Swordsman] class isn't your calling."

  Master Lin's words from yesterday's evaluation echoed uncomfortably in his mind, feeling both fresh and strangely rehearsed, as if he'd heard them countless times before.

  "There's no shame in class reassignment. Many successful hunters find their true potential only after trying multiple paths."

  He tried again, focusing his will into the blade. For a brief moment, something clicked—a flash of proper [Sword Energy] that felt right, as if his body remembered something his mind didn't—before fading back to its usual anemic glow.

  "Tercel!" The call came from across the training yard. "Get moving! Guild assignment!"

  Kael froze, a wave of déjà vu washing over him so strongly he nearly dropped his sword. He'd heard those exact words before, in that exact tone... in his dream. A chill ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the morning air.

  "Be right there!" he called back, sheathing his sword with hands that suddenly didn't feel like his own.

  The guild hall was exactly as it had always been—and exactly as it had been in his nightmare. The Crystal Ascendancy's towering structure dominated this quarter of Auren, its hardlight constructs and mana-forged steel reflecting the city's eternal neon glow. Inside, hunters gathered for their daily assignments, certification marks creating that familiar hierarchy of light.

  "Ah, our resident determined [Swordsman]."

  Marcus's voice carried the same edge of pity wrapped in condescension that Kael had heard a hundred times before—and exactly as he had heard in his dream. The C-rank [Spearman] stood with their assigned team, his well-maintained armor gleaming under the guild hall's crystal lights. A spare spear hung at his back, its quality making Kael's blade look like scrap metal in comparison.

  "Still grinding away at level 12, I see."

  Kael's mouth went dry. Word for word, exactly as he'd dreamed it.

  "Good morning to you too, Marcus," he replied automatically, the words feeling scripted, inevitable.

  "I'm serious, Kael," Marcus said, his voice dropping just as Kael knew—feared—it would. "We used to talk about reaching A-rank together, remember? Eight more levels until you can choose an advanced class and get out of this [Swordsman] trap... at this rate, you'll be forty before—"

  "Team assignments are final," Enforcer Lee interrupted, her augmented visor scanning the gathered hunters. Her telekinetic field crackled with barely contained power. "Save the career counseling for after the mission."

  A cold sweat broke out across Kael's forehead. This couldn't be happening. It was too exact, too precise. Every word, every inflection matched his nightmare perfectly.

  "What's the assignment?" he asked, knowing the answer before Marcus spoke.

  "Blackspire Dungeon." Marcus checked his wrist terminal. "E-rank clearance, standard sweep. Should be easy enough, even for you."

  Even for you. The words echoed in Kael's mind, overlapping with the memory of his dream. His hands began to shake as the team gathered for the briefing. Everything—the formation details, the standard protocols, even the way Enforcer Lee's visor reflected the guild hall's lights—matched his nightmare with terrifying precision.

  "Hey," a soft voice said as they filed out. Mina, the E-rank [Healer], fell into step beside him. "Don't let Marcus get to you. Some people bloom later than others."

  Kael looked at her, really looked at her, wondering if she was experiencing the same inexplicable déjà vu. But her expression held only the usual sympathetic concern.

  "I need to talk to the Enforcer," he said suddenly, breaking away from the group. "Wait for me!"

  He caught up to Enforcer Lee just outside the guild hall, her telekinetic field creating a subtle distortion in the air around her.

  "Enforcer," he began, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I don't think I should join this mission. I'm not feeling well, and I might endanger the team."

  Her augmented visor turned toward him, expressionless and intimidating. "Elaborate."

  "I had..." He hesitated, knowing how ridiculous it would sound. "I had a premonition. About the Blackspire Dungeon. There's a Manticore in there, not a standard D-rank but something stronger, and it's going to kill me."

  The Enforcer's telekinetic field pulsed once, a subtle probe that made the hairs on Kael's arms stand on end. "Your System readings show no illness. No empathic abilities are registered in your profile, and premonition skills require at least C-rank certification."

  "I know how it sounds," Kael insisted, desperation creeping into his voice. "But something is wrong. I've seen it happen already."

  The Enforcer's visor flickered, running some kind of diagnostic. "Hunter Tercel, are you suggesting you have experienced temporal displacement without System authorization or certification?"

  "Uh... maybe? Look, I just know what's going to happen, and—"

  "Requesting psychological evaluation." The Enforcer's voice shifted to a more formal, reporting tone. "E-rank Hunter showing signs of delusion or unauthorized System tampering. Possible [Seer] class manifestation without proper registration."

  "I'm not crazy!" Kael protested. "There's a Manticore in that dungeon and it's going to kill me!"

  "E-rank hunters are not authorized to receive boss-level intelligence briefings," Enforcer Lee replied, her tone suggesting she was speaking to a particularly slow child. "Please report to Medical Bay 7 for evaluation. Your assignment is suspended pending clearance."

  "So... I don't have to go to the dungeon?"

  "Correct." The Enforcer made a notation on her terminal. "You are relieved of duty until psychological evaluation confirms your mental stability."

  Relief washed over him as he walked away from the guild hall. Maybe this was all just some weird stress reaction. Maybe he really was going crazy. Either way, he'd avoided the Blackspire Dungeon. No Manticore, no death, no eerily amused voice promising entertainment.

  "Not going to die today," he muttered as he cut through Auren's eastern district, taking a shortcut back to his apartment. The narrow alley between towering hab-blocks was shadowed even at midday, the neon from above barely penetrating the urban canyon.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  He was so focused on his lucky escape that he almost missed the warning growl. Almost.

  The Crystal Bear shouldn't have been there. Couldn't have been there. The massive beast, its hide studded with crystalline growths that shimmered with trapped mana, belonged in a B-rank wildlands zone, not in the supposedly secure confines of Auren City.

  Kael stared at the impossible creature, his brain struggling to process what his eyes were seeing.

  "What the actual fuck?" he blurted out.

  The bear rose to its full height, easily seven feet of crystalline muscle and primal rage. It regarded him almost... curiously? As if it too were surprised to find itself in an Auren back alley.

  "This... this isn't happening," Kael said, backing away slowly. "There's no way a Crystal Bear just happens to be in my escape route. That's astronomically unlikely."

  The bear tilted its head, looking almost apologetic before it lunged forward with impossible speed.

  "FUC-!" Kael screamed as crystalline claws ripped through his chest armor like it was made of paper. He crashed to the ground, blood pooling beneath him as system notifications flashed in his dimming vision.

  Kael jerked awake in his bed, gasping for air.

  "You have GOT to be kidding me," he groaned, looking around at the same dingy apartment, the same cracked walls, the same threadbare sheets.

  The memory of death was fresh—both deaths now. The Manticore and then the completely improbable Crystal Bear. This was no coincidence. This was no dream.

  His status window didn't appear, but he didn't need it to know what was happening.

  "Okay, different approach," he muttered, pulling on his armor. "If I can't skip the mission, maybe I can just... run away entirely?"

  He packed a small bag with essentials and slipped out his window, bypassing the main thoroughfares where he might be spotted. If he could make it to the city's southern gate before the guild noticed his absence, he might be able to lose himself in one of the outlying settlements.

  The training fields were mostly empty this early, just a few dedicated archers practicing at the far range. Kael skirted the edge, keeping to the shadows, feeling ridiculously like he was escaping prison rather than simply skipping work.

  He was halfway across the field when he heard a shout.

  "Watch your line! Adjust for wind!"

  Something whistled through the air.

  A searing pain erupted in Kael's neck. He reached up, fingers finding the shaft of an arrow protruding from his throat. Blood poured between his fingers as he dropped to his knees.

  "Oh gods! I missed the target!" A panicked novice archer was running toward him, her face pale with horror. "It was the wind! I didn't compensate enough!"

  Kael tried to speak, but only managed to gurgle blood. The statistical improbability of a stray arrow finding his neck was astronomical. This wasn't an accident.

  As his vision faded, he thought he heard laughter.

  Kael jerked awake in his bed for the third time.

  "This is getting old," he sighed, staring at the ceiling. He didn't bother checking his status. He didn't need to.

  He'd died. Twice. And somehow, he'd returned to this same moment both times.

  Staring at the cracked ceiling of his apartment, Kael began to understand. There was no avoiding the dungeon. No escaping whatever sick game was being played with his life. The universe—or something controlling it—would make sure he wound up in that dungeon one way or another.

  Maybe it was better to just get it over with.

  He was back here again.

  Kael jolted awake, his chest constricting as the familiar wave of déjà vu washed over him. The same bed creaked beneath him. The same dingy room pressed in from all sides. The same flickering holo-ads from the street below painted his walls in shifting neon shadows.

  The same cracked mirror stood sentinel across from him, reflecting a face that had died fourteen times.

  Each death was carved into his memory with crystalline clarity. The Manticore had claimed seven lives, its crystalline claws and fangs finding new ways to tear him apart each time.

  Random "accidents" had claimed three more when he tried to flee the city.

  Crushed by a malfunctioning cargo hauler.

  Impaled by falling debris from a low-rank dungeon break.

  Suffocated in a sudden pressurization failure in the underground transit.

  The Guild enforcer's "gentle" telekinetic restraint had snapped his neck twice when he'd fought too hard against capture. A desperate attempt to buy black market equipment had ended with a knife in his back, his would-be savior more interested in his meager savings than his wild tales.

  And just yesterday, he'd actually managed to slip past everyone only to stumble into a wandering B-rank Chaos Serpent that had somehow breached Auren's defense grid.

  "Fifteen," he whispered to his splintered reflection. "Lucky number fifteen."

  His status window flickered to life, unchanged and unchanging, the System's interface as coldly efficient as ever:

  [Kael Tercel]

  [Rank: E]

  [Class: Swordsman]

  [Level: 12]

  [HP: 642/642]

  [Energy: 128/128]

  [Title: The Nameless One's Entertainment]

  [Status: Temporarily Not Dead]

  [Death Counter: 14]

  But something else had changed. Something fundamental about his existence had shifted over those fourteen deaths. The [Nameless One] might have trapped him in this temporal prison, but it had made one critical mistake.

  It had given him time.

  Endless, repeating time.

  "Let's see what we've learned," he muttered, closing his eyes to focus. The knowledge was there, different from his System-granted skills. Deeper. More visceral. Written in muscle and bone rather than status windows and skill trees.

  [Basic Swordsmanship] was still pathetically low at level 2, but the movements felt more natural now. His muscles remembered strikes and parries he'd technically never performed in this timeline.

  The [Dash] technique he'd gained while fleeing the Manticore on loop thirteen wasn't listed in his skills anymore, but his body knew the mana circulation pattern. He just needed to rebuild the magical circuits, force his pitiful energy reserves to remember what they'd learned through death after death.

  Most importantly, he understood the rules of his prison now.

  Rule One: The loop always started with his awakening in bed and ended with his death.

  Rule Two: He couldn't escape the dungeon dive. The System itself seemed to conspire against any attempt, orchestrating increasingly creative fatal "accidents" to force compliance.

  Rule Three: Skills and techniques could be learned faster with each loop, muscle memory persisting even when the skills themselves reset.

  Rule Four: The Crystalline Manticore had to die.

  "Time to be systematic about this," Kael said, pulling on his worn leather armor, the E-rank certification mark glowing dully in the pre-dawn light. He'd spent fourteen loops panicking, running, or dying in increasingly stupid ways.

  Loop fifteen would be different.

  The guild hall was exactly as he remembered—a towering structure of steel and hardlight constructs, its halls filled with the constant chatter of quest notifications and status updates. Marcus's patronizing smile, the enforcer's suspicious glare, the other E-ranks clustering together for warmth against the cold shoulder of the higher ranks.

  But this time, Kael saw something else.

  Opportunities.

  His gaze fixed on Marcus's backup spear. The C-rank weapon gleamed in its holder, a stark contrast to his own worthless blade. Fourteen deaths had taught him one brutal truth - his current sword wouldn't even scratch the Manticore's crystalline hide. He needed a better weapon.

  But no one would willingly hand a C-rank weapon to an E-rank failure.

  No one except someone who thought they had nothing to lose.

  "Hey Marcus," he called out, forcing casualness into his voice. "Want to make a bet?"

  The C-rank [Spearman] raised an eyebrow, his well-maintained armor making Kael's look like literal garbage in comparison. "What kind of bet?"

  "I bet I can predict exactly how this dive goes. Every monster, every trap, every detail." Kael smiled, the memories of fourteen deaths burning behind his eyes. "If I'm right, you loan me your backup spear. If I'm wrong, I'll clean your equipment for a month."

  Marcus laughed, the sound echoing off the guild hall's crystalline walls. "Deal. Easy month of free maintenance."

  Kael spent the next ten minutes describing the Blackspire's layout in perfect detail, watching Marcus's face shift from amusement to confusion to shocked disbelief. The trap locations, the crystal formations that could be used as cover, even the exact number of lesser crystal beasts they'd encounter before reaching the Manticore's chamber.

  He described the way the dungeon's mana currents shifted just before each ambush, the subtle variations in crystal growth that marked safe passages.

  "How did you—" Marcus started, his earlier condescension replaced by something closer to fear.

  "Spear," Kael interrupted, hand extended. "I'll need it for training before we head in."

  The weight of a C-rank weapon felt different. Better balance, enhanced materials, actual mana conductivity instead of the bare minimum required for System recognition. Kael gave it a few experimental thrusts, muscle memory from fourteen deaths guiding his movements through forms he'd never officially learned.

  "You've got two hours before the dive," the enforcer announced, her telekinesis field crackling with barely contained power. "Make them count."

  Kael intended to.

  He found an empty training yard and began to move, recreating every death, every failed dodge, every missed opportunity. His body remembered what his status window didn't, and this time he had proper equipment to work with.

  He pushed his pathetic energy reserves to their limit, forcing his circuits to remember patterns they'd learned through death.

  He ignored the notifications. The skills would reset with his next death anyway. What mattered was burning the movements into his muscles, preparing for what was coming.

  The Manticore was a D-rank boss designed to test promising E-ranks before they advanced. Kael was an E-rank nobody with garbage stats and years of wasted potential.

  But he had something the monster didn't.

  "Time."

  "Ready?" Marcus asked two hours later, looking concerned at how hard Kael was breathing, at the way his hands shook from energy depletion.

  Kael thought of all his deaths, of the pain and fear and frustration. Of the [Nameless One's] ancient laughter. Of five years of failure and mediocrity. Of watching real talents soar while he remained earthbound.

  He grinned, all teeth and desperate determination.

  "Not even close. But let's go die anyway."

  The loop's true challenge was just beginning.

  Time to make fifteen count.

  This time, he might even survive long enough to learn why a god had chosen to trap the weakest [Swordsman] in Auren in an endless cycle of death.

  But first, he had a Manticore to kill.