Rayen's eyes slowly opened. He was back in the cave.
The stench hit him instantly—thick, foul, rotting. His entire body reeked like death itself.
What the hell is this stench? he thought, covering his mouth in disgust. But then he realized something—he was running forward.
Wait... running?
He stopped and looked down at himself. His legs were whole. His skin was intact. He raised his arms and flexed his fingers.
They're all healed...?
That's when the voice's words echoed back in his mind. You can't die alone.
It finally made sense.
A wave of relief washed over him—he was alive. Whole again. But frustration followed close behind.
"So that means... I'll die multiple times?" he muttered. "That's not a good ability... even if it makes me a bit stronger each time."
Who the hell is that other person who shares this fate with me?
His eyes fell on the divine lilies, still glowing faintly in the dark cave.
Forget it. I can still get them. Looks like it's still midnight...
He crept forward, careful not to make a sound. Slowly, he plucked three of the divine lilies, one by one, and started making his way toward the exit.
The cave was eerily silent. The wolves—dozens of them—were sleeping peacefully.
I can do this. I can slip out, he told himself.
A small smile appeared on his face. He turned his head slightly to glance behind him.
Every wolf in the cave was awake—standing tall, grinning at him. Their eyes gleamed in the dark. Low, guttural growls filled the cave.
No—no—no. This shouldn't be happeni—
Before he could react, they pounced.
Flesh tore. Blood splattered across the stone floor. Screams echoed, drowned by snarls and snapping jaws. The sleeping wolves rushed in, driven by hunger. One grabbed Rayen's hair between its teeth and yanked—his head tore from his body in one brutal motion.
Then came the feast. His eyes. His skin. Torn and devoured again.
---
After the feast was over, the wolves licked the blood from their snouts and slowly began drifting back to sleep. The divine lilies nearby were now stained deep red—soaked in Rayen's blood.
But as the wolves settled, a faint movement stirred within the mangled remains.
Rayen's body twitched.
His leg bones began to reform—snapping back into place. Muscles twisted over the bones, followed by skin crawling over the flesh, veins pulsing with fresh blood.
His arms and internal organs regenerated next. Then, from across the cave, his severed skull dragged itself back, bones snapping into alignment with his neck and spine. Muscles, then skin, covered it. Hair grew back, and his eyes slid into their sockets once more.
Fully restored, Rayen opened his eyes—only to find the wolves already standing over him, grinning, ready for another feast.
His calm face contorted into terror.
He trembled. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
"I... I don't want this aga—"
The wolves lunged.
"AAAAA!! LEAVE ME!! IT HURTS! MY HEAD—MY STOMACH—!"
Once more, his body was torn apart—shredded and devoured.
Then silence.
The wolves went back to rest.
And again, his body healed.
They attacked.
Again.
Healed. Then Eaten.
Again.
And again.
And again.
His cries faded.
His sobs grew quiet.
The fear drained from his face. His anger faded. What remained was something cold—something hollow. The light in his eyes dimmed, the warmth in his expression vanished.
The childish glow he once had was gone.
Time passed.
Eventually, the wolves—bloated and sluggish—couldn't eat anymore. They lay around, unable to move, filled to their limits.
Rayen's body regenerated once more.
He sat up, expressionless.
He picked up the divine lilies—now blood-drenched—and walked out of the cave. Morning light greeted him. The lilies' glow faded, but they remained fresh.
I lost the quest.
He began descending the hill—until his eyes caught something by the cave's edge: his sword, his torn bag, and the sheet he had carried.
So… they brought my things here, he thought.
He walked over and picked up his sword, then stared into the darkness of the cave.
I lost anyway.
He picked up a roll of bandages and wrapped both hands tightly. Gripping the sword in one hand, he turned and walked back into the cave.
The wolves stirred.
They saw him return—not with fear in his eyes, but with exhaustion. Stress. Nothing more.
One wolf stood, its belly swollen from the feast. With effort, it stepped forward and bit into Rayen's arm.
But this time, the flesh didn't tear.
His body had changed.
Countless regenerations had made his body stronger—too tough for the wolves' fangs.
Rayen raised his sword.
With a clean swing, he severed the wolf's head. Blood sprayed across the cave floor.
I already lost.
He ran forward.
The wolves charged.
The cave exploded into chaos—howls, roars, and screams filled the air. Blood painted the walls. Severed heads flew. Mangled bodies dropped. And when the frenzy faded, only two figures remained:
Rayen.
And the old wolf.
The massive beast charged, clamping its jaws around Rayen's neck, dragging him across the cave with brutal force.
Rayen's eyes burned with fury. He raised a hand—and a nearby rock lifted off the ground, hovering mid-air before launching into the wolf's eye.
The wolf shrieked and recoiled.
Rayen didn't hesitate.
He rushed forward—rage in his steps—and with one final swing, he severed the old wolf's head.
Rayen stood alone amidst the silence, his eyes slowly scanning the blood-drenched cave filled with the mangled corpses of the wolves he had just slaughtered. The metallic scent of blood mixed with the raw stench of death filled the air, suffocating yet strangely calming.
The silence felt heavier than the chaos before it. His eyes, once filled with desperation and terror, now reflected nothing. They were empty, hollow. "You all died… so when will I?" he muttered, his voice cold and distant, almost as if the question wasn't directed at anyone in particular—just a thought spoken aloud in the void.
He turned away without another glance, stepping out of the cave and into the early light of morning. The divine lilies, still tinted red from his blood, lay near the entrance. He picked them up, their glow now gone, and began his walk down the mountain trail.
In one hand, he held the sacred flowers he had fought for—died for—and in the other, his sword, stained with both vengeance and survival. His body was covered in dried blood from head to toe, no clothes to cover him—shredded to nothing by the wolves during the countless times they had torn him apart. He walked barefoot over sharp stones and broken twigs, but the pain didn't matter anymore. Nothing did.
Wild animals appeared now and then along the trail—deer, foxes, even a lone mountain bear—but the moment they saw him, they fled. Something about his presence was unnatural now. He looked like a ghost—half-man, half-beast, soaked in blood, dragging a sword like a cursed soul walking out of hell. Their instincts screamed at them to run, and they obeyed.
As Rayen neared the base of the mountain, he felt a presence watching him from the shadows. Eyes hidden among the trees, distant but sharp. He could sense it clearly, like a cold finger pressing against the back of his neck. But he didn't turn around, didn't react. Whoever it was didn't matter to him. He had no energy to care, no reason to confront it. What mattered had already slipped through his fingers.
He looked at the lilies in his hand. Their divine glow had vanished completely, now looking ordinary flowers soaked in failure. The sun had already risen—and with it, the fourth day had begun. By all calculations, the time limit had passed. His quest was over.
And he had Lost.