> "Bloodline means nothing here. Only what you carve with your own two hands."
— Master Onyx of the Bell Tomb Sect
---
The bell rang again.
But this time, it wasn't just a sound.
It was a summons.
It didn't echo across the courtyard. It rang inside us. Inside our bones. Inside whatever fragment of soul the system hadn't digitized yet.
Assassins stopped mid-slash. Monks froze mid-meditation. Even the barefoot swordsman — the one who danced through blades like falling rain — paused and looked up.
High above, the clouds parted. A glowing sigil appeared in the sky: a circle broken at four points. It shimmered like molten silver, impossible to look at directly.
A seal? No — the opposite. A crack in one.
And then it sank.
The symbol slowly descended until it branded itself into the courtyard beneath our feet, lines searing into the stone like veins of fire.
> [The Trial of Lineage has begun.]
That's when it happened.
A wave of heat surged through my chest, sharp and ancient. I staggered, gasping — not from pain, but from recognition. Like something buried inside me had been stirred awake.
I looked at my hand. My skin was glowing faintly.
Lines — runes — no, not letters. Memories.
Not mine.
Someone else's.
An echo of a past I never lived.
And then, without warning…
---
The world changed.
---
Gone was the courtyard. Gone were the corpses, the bells, the chaos.
We stood in a place beyond time.
A grand arena floated amidst a storm of drifting mountains, suspended in a sea of clouds and flickering stars. The wind carried whispers — old languages, long dead. The sky had no sun or moon. Only that same fractured sigil hovering above, spinning slowly.
The arena itself was circular, carved of obsidian and gold. Around us stood enormous statues — martial ancestors, warriors of every era — silent and unmoving, arms crossed, their gazes like judgment made stone.
Before each of us hovered a stone tablet, glowing faintly with elegant script that shimmered as we stepped close.
> Prove yourself worthy of the path you walk.
Ancestry does not matter — only the trace you leave behind.
Around me, others began to appear. Not just Ereze and Jiwoon, but warriors in unfamiliar robes, strangers wearing Murim sect emblems I didn't recognize.
And then… weirder faces.
One person wore a long coat over urban camo pants — unmistakably modern.
Another wore a sleek, humming suit of silver and black — futuristic tech laced with spiritual emitters.
"A multiversal selection?" Jiwoon muttered beside me. "The hell kind of tower is this?"
I didn't answer.
Because the truth was beginning to settle in.
This wasn't in the original novel.
This wasn't even a side quest.
This was the blank space — the part the author skipped. A forgotten page between arcs, discarded in favor of cleaner pacing.
And now?
Now it was writing itself — with us in it.
---
> [Individual Trial Assigned: Reader]
Goal: Face the Shadow of the First You.
Condition: Do not lose your sense of self.
Reward: Unknown
Penalty: Narrative Erosion
---
I blinked.
And when my eyes opened again, everything was gone.
The arena. The wind. The statues. Everyone else.
I stood in white space. No floor, no ceiling, no gravity. Just light. Endless, sterile light.
And then — footsteps.
I turned.
Someone was walking toward me.
Same face.
Same eyes.
Same everything.
But older. Blood-soaked. And holding a blade I hadn't seen in years.
The Ending Blade.
It glowed faintly in his hand, humming with finality.
"You think you can fix the story?" he asked, voice hollow.
I stayed quiet.
He stepped closer. "You think you get to decide what this becomes? You're a pawn. A narrative device pretending to be a person."
"I'm more than that," I said. "We all are."
"You were born because the plot needed someone to survive," he said, lifting the sword. "But you don't belong here. Not really. You're a paragraph extended beyond its use."
He moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
I barely managed to raise my aura before the blade came crashing down.
Clang.
Sparks flew as my energy met the sword.
A system alert flared in my vision.
> [Narrative Entropy Spiking — Danger of Fragmentation]
My hands trembled.
He was strong. Too strong.
But what scared me wasn't his blade.
It was what I saw in his eyes.
Regret.
And familiarity.
As if this wasn't just a version of me.
As if this was who I'd become if I gave in to the tower's logic.
"If I'm the ending…" I growled, pushing him back, "then I'll be the one who chooses when the book closes."
---
Elsewhere…
Ereze stood in a burning valley.
Except… it wasn't burning.
Her homeland never fell to flames. She had saved it. Defended it.
But in this place, it was ash.
And her people — shadows.
Walking memories with hollow eyes, asking her why she didn't stop it.
"You don't belong here," one whispered. "You're a weapon. Not a savior."
She screamed and charged forward, her blade carving through illusions.
But each one she struck down wore her face.
---
Jiwoon stood in front of himself — a version without scars, without discipline. A lazy, arrogant noble who had died at 14, drunk and humiliated in a tavern brawl.
"This is what you were always meant to be," his shadow sneered.
Jiwoon scoffed. "No wonder I hated myself."
---
High above, the Jade Bell rang again.
This time, softer. Sadder.
Master Onyx, seated cross-legged atop the Bell Tomb Sect's floating tower, opened his eyes.
He stared into the clouds. Into the Trial beyond time.
And whispered:
"So… the Reader has entered the fold. This story truly is unraveling."
He placed a palm on the jade floor, and the entire mountain rumbled.
---
Back in the white space, I pressed forward.
Every swing of the Ending Blade shattered parts of the space around us, sending cracks through the void. Every strike against me sent more alerts flying across my vision.
> [Integrity Dropping…]
[Memory Desync Imminent]
[Warning: You are drifting from the original storyline]
I gritted my teeth.
I didn't care.
If staying true to myself meant abandoning the original script…
Then so be it.
I wasn't here to be a hero.
Or a savior.
I was here to choose.
---
My doppelgänger lunged again — but this time, I didn't block.
I stepped in.
And hugged him.
His blade froze against my shoulder.
"You're not my enemy," I said. "You're my warning."
For a moment, he didn't move.
Then he whispered, "Then write it differently."
He vanished.
---
The white space shattered.
---
I was back in the arena.
Sweat drenched my shirt.
My legs barely held me up.
Ereze and Jiwoon reappeared seconds later, both silent. Pale. Changed.
The trial wasn't about power.
It was about permission.
The system had given us a chance to defy the narrative.
And we had taken it.
---
> [Trial of Lineage: COMPLETE]
[All survivors have earned the right to write their path]
[Hidden Trait Unlocked: Will of the Unwritten]
[Reward: ???]
[Penalty Avoided]
---
Far above, Master Onyx exhaled.
"The bell has spoken," he said. "The First Murim remembers them now."
The wind changed direction.
The statues in the arena bowed.
And history — forgotten for eons — began to rewrite itself around us.