"I will continue to survive... even if the world rejects my existence."
Dark.
Not just any ordinary darkness, but a void that swallowed everything. Sound, light, even time… just disappeared.
Then—the first breath.
The air came in like a knife cutting through my lungs. My eyes were forced open by a pain I didn't understand, and slowly, dimly, shapes began to appear around me.
Rock. Cold. Dry soil. The smell of dried blood and rotting flesh wafted out.
I coughed.
My body shivered. Tattered clothes stuck to my scarred skin. I didn't know my name. Didn't know who I was. Didn't know... why I was here.
But one thing is clear.
I've seen this place before.
The sky was crimson, black clouds swirling like a painting of the gods' wrath. In the distance, the fortress walls towered with the emblem of a fire-winged raven.
The name of this place: Velran'z.
And this place only exists in one place: in a novel.
Suddenly, a sentence struck my mind like a thunderbolt in the middle of a storm:
"Welcome, Explorer."
I froze.
Ravian Laziel.
That name...a name I've only ever read, it's not mine.
But now... it's as if the world is forcing that identity on me.
I'm not Ravian. But this body... is no longer mine.
And at that moment, I realized.
I've been trapped in the Garbage story.
.
.
.
This world, as I had known it from page to page, was not a fairy tale of heroes. Nor was it a tale of hopeful adventure.
This is a torture script.
The novel was called "Broken Story". It was written by someone I somehow remember very clearly. A writer who was always praised for the "psychological depth of his characters" and "uncompromising realist cruelty".
Now, I'm not a reader.
I am a victim.
..
The first day in Velran'z, I almost died after stepping on a landmine made by the villagers. A trap to "reduce the population of useless beggars". They called it "routine cleaning".
The second day, I saw a child burned alive for stealing stale bread. His mother was forced to watch until the end—and then beheaded.
The third day, I ate raw rat meat in a narrow alley, accompanied by the smell of vomit and death.
The fourth day, I realized something:
There is no system window.
There are no quests.
There's no 'Stats increase after eating rare mushrooms' or 'find legendary rings in trash cans'. There's no system. There's no cheat.
There's only me. And hell.
I have no strength.
But I have a brain.
Ravian in the original story was a minor character who died in chapter 4. No impact. No meaning. But he knew a lot. Too much.
That's why, this time, I decided to hold on.
Not by power. But by information. Memory.
Every location. Every plot twist. Every death. I know the order. I know where not to go. Who not to talk to. And who will die.
With all that, I started moving.
I exploited fear. Selling "prophecies" to the small nobles—saying that the city would be overrun in three days. They paid me with food and shelter. I got away before they realized the "prophecy" was real.
I exchange information for protection.
Selling the truth as a lie, and the lie as the only reality.
In a world full of death, a lie that sounds beautiful is more valuable than the truth that hurts.
But not everything can be avoided.
When I infiltrated the black market network to exchange information about the upcoming demon attack on Thalem City, I met him—Leirath, the shadow slayer.
Someone who isn't even mentioned in the novel.
An outlier.
He recognized me. Or rather… he recognized that I wasn't part of a script.
"There's something in your eyes, boy," he said then, as he held the dagger to my neck. "You're no ordinary man. Your eyes know too much."
And I died.
Without being able to fight. Without being able to escape.
Only the sound of cold laughter and blood flooding my throat.
Then—darkness.
And the first breath.
The air cut in like the same knife. The dirt. The blood. The stench. The same wounds. But this time… I knew something.
I remember everything.
My hands were shaking, not because I was scared. But because… I was back. To the same time. The same place. The same day.
I hit the ground. Mines are still buried underground.
But I didn't step on it this time.
This world is a dead script.
But if I could keep coming back…
If I could rearrange everything…
Maybe, just maybe…
There will come a time when I can crack the script myself.
Time does not go back. Nor does it jump.
He just… repeats himself.
Like an old cassette tape that starts playing from the beginning, without warning.
First day back.
I sat in a familiar corner of the ruins, listening to the wind rustle. Not crying. Not panicking. Not screaming at the sky.
I just kept quiet.
Trying to put together the pieces of what happened that I just went through.
I was killed by Leirath. My throat was slit, my blood spilled. I could feel the coldness of death. But now… I am here again. At the same beginning.
Not a dream. Not a hallucination.
I remember everything.
That was the turning point.
That is my strength.
Not a magic sword. Not a fire spell. But memory. Perseverance. And a mind that keeps track—every wound, every trap, every misstep.
And this time, I won't repeat that mistake.
I avoided the black market in Thalem. Just let the nobles die in the demon attacks like in the previous version. I won't get involved.
Instead, I headed west. To the mountain village of Bern. There, I remembered reading about a little girl with strange eyes—one that could "see the truth." In the story, she was burned alive by priests who considered her a curse.
This time, I was there early.
I snuck into his house, disguised as an injured traveler. Becoming a helpless guest.
The girl's name was Elriya. Her eyes were real—they sparkled like the surface of a blue lake, but they were empty. Like they knew the world was unfair.
"People will kill you," I said softly to him as night fell.
He just stared at me.
"Then let them try," he replied, his voice flat.
I was speechless. I could feel it—the feeling I had once had. When I first realized the world was not on my side.
But I'm not here to save anyone.
I'm here because he might… be a variable.
If there's one thing the Author never explained, it's the loopholes I can exploit.
I waited for the night when the priests came with torches and ropes.
This time, I'm ready.
With the trap I planted, their fire burned itself again. And when morning came, only Elriya and I survived.
He asked, "Why save me?"
I didn't answer. Not because I didn't have a reason…
But because I don't know.
Days turn into weeks.
We moved from village to village. In each place, I began to form a pattern: who died, who killed, and who was just a background character. I began to build a "narrative map" in my head. A timeline. Like a chess player who knows ten moves ahead—and knows who will fall first.
Sometimes I try to save them. Sometimes I let them.
It all depends… whether they are important to the script or not.
I can't save everyone. I'm not a hero.
Then, I met the second death.
In the city of Eiron, I tried to stop the execution of an old scientist who in the novel wrote a prophecy about the apocalypse.
Unfortunately, I forgot one thing:
The city is guarded by the Red Knights—fanatical executioners.
They caught me. Tied my hands in public. And tortured the scientist to death right before my eyes. Then... they burned me alive after that.
The screams. The smell of meat. The laughter of the audience.
Dark.
First breath.
I'm back again.
But this time, there is a change.
Time of my death: day 37.
Current time: back to day 1.
I wrote it down in my head. My deadline was about 5 weeks.
So my power is not immortal.
But I'm back to square one if I die, either automatically or because something behind the scenes hit the reset button.
I don't know if this is a gift… or a punishment.
But I will make use of it.
Every time I die, I know more.
And every time I know, I can last longer.
Until finally… I don't need to go back anymore.
Until I win.
That's my only mission in life now: to take over this manuscript.
If the Author can twist his story however he wants, then I can destroy it too… one page at a time.
Day 1.
For the third time.
I opened my eyes on the same ground. The smell of stale blood. Dry soil. A damp breeze that seemed to laugh at me. But this time there was no panic, no despair.
I'm getting used to it.
Death has become an administrative process.
I took a deep breath, sat down slowly, and evaluated the results of the second loop:
I can survive until the 37th day.
After passing that point, I die and go back to the beginning.
There is no sign that I can choose where I "save".
Elriya—the blue-eyed girl—still died when I didn't help her.
So, this time I will play more patiently.
**
I didn't go straight to Elriya. I wondered if the encounter could have been avoided—if she would have died without me, or if I was just a pawn in her tragedy. So I turned the other way—to the lowlands, to a small town called Varn, a center for the trade in wood and poison.
Varn is a chaotic but stable place. Not as violent as Thalem, but full of merchant intrigue and shadowy ruling groups. In the novels, the city appears only as a minor setting. But I know: places like this are safe to "observe".
I disguised myself as a potion shop assistant. Sweeping, washing bottles, and keeping quiet.
Three weeks I was there. Thirty-two days total. Almost at the limit.
During that time, I noted:
There is no Author "intervention".
The world continues as usual.
I feel free.
That's dangerous.
It means the Author might be waiting. Or maybe… watching from behind the script.
Day 33.
One of the shop's regular customers came in with a wound on her neck. A teenage girl, shabby, but with sharp eyes. She didn't say much. She exchanged three snake scales for healing ointment, then left.
But I know him.
In the novel, he is called the "Deer Killer". The young assassin who one day slaughtered three nobles in one night, then disappeared from the story. No background. No motivation. As if it were just a bloody extra.
But now I know: he's not an extra.
And he... is the next experiment.
Day 35.
I followed the girl silently. She went to the outskirts of town, to an abandoned building. Inside, I saw her talking to something. Or… someone. But there was no one else.
Whispers. Strange prayers. Laughter that was not of this world.
I saw her crying silently after that.
But he stood still. Still holding his dagger.
Not a monster. Not a devil.
Just… a human being too broken to be loved.
Day 36.
I decided to approach. Not to save him. But to see… if someone like him could be changed.
"I know you're not a nobody," I said when he noticed my presence.
He immediately raised the dagger. Did not speak.
"But I know about the Three Bloods you took in the North."
He was silent.
"I know you killed them because one of them shot your brother while escaping slavery. I know your brother—Varlen, that was his name, right?—never made it south."
The dagger went down an inch.
His eyes slowly widened.
"…Who are you?"
"A person who knows all the stories in this world. Even the ones that have never been written."
He didn't reply. But he didn't kill me.
Then, slowly, he sat down. On the cold stone floor. As if for the first time in his life, someone knew… and didn't accuse him.
And I sat next to him. Silent. We just sat. No dialogue. Just presence.
The 37th day arrived.
I didn't die. But shortly after that… I crossed the street to look for food, and was stabbed by a blind robber.
A ridiculous death.
**
Dark.
First breath.
Day 1 again.
But this time, I felt something growing. Not strength. Not courage. But… a spark.
I touched the ruined wall.
Then I smiled a little.
"If I could change two little stories…"
"…I can start changing this story."
Day 1. Again.
The fourth loop.
I opened my eyes on dry ground that now felt like home. The phantom pain from yesterday's stabbing still lingered, even though my body was whole again.
I chuckled briefly.
I was stabbed by a blind robber. This world is really a bastard.
But I got a lot from the previous loop.
I know Killer Deer isn't just a death machine—he's human.
I know my reset time is around day 37.
And most importantly: I know I can change the course of the story.
Even if it's a little.
Even if the world fights back.
And now I'm ready to start something bigger.
**
My next destination was the East-West region: the borderland between the Empire and the nomads. On the story map, this place was just a distraction. But I knew there was one important name that would come out of it later: Senna Valewind.
In the original story, he was a mixed-blood wandering warrior, accused of murdering his own mother, then hunted mercilessly by both sides of the noble family and the tribe.
But all that was wrong.
He never killed anyone. But the legal system of this world does not seek the truth—only reasons to torture.
**
Day 10 of the fourth loop, I arrived at an old mining village in the eastern region. That's where Senna was hiding under a fake identity as a stone digger.
She was only an eighteen-year-old girl, her body muscular from hard labor, her hair short and coarse, and her face scarred from repeated beatings. But her eyes—those eyes were like those of an animal waiting to be torn apart.
I decided not to approach directly.
I work in the same mine. Silent. Be a shadow.
I studied his rhythm. His walking pattern. Who he avoided. Who he hated. And most importantly: when his pursuers came.
In the original story, Senna was betrayed by the village chief. Dragged half-naked into the middle of town, beaten in public. Dragged with chains from her feet to a rock.
Sentenced to the city center for 3 full days.
And on the third day, he was hanged in a way that is not even worth describing.
**
Day 22. I went ahead of them.
That night, before the betrayal occurred, I went to the village chief's house. No sound. Without a doubt. I snuck into his kitchen and put a special solution in his nightly soup—a concoction that didn't kill, just paralyzed all the muscles for 36 hours.
Then I left.
When the hunters came and demanded that the village chief hand over the "woman killer", the old man could only writhe and foam at the mouth.
Senna ran away that night. But not because I helped her.
He doesn't know who I am. Doesn't see me.
But I know… that's enough.
**
Day 36.
I came back to town. And then—I saw them.
The Black Church soldiers. They are not part of the original story.
Somehow, they knew I was different.
"I smell a trace that shouldn't be there," said one of them, cloaked in silver and face covered by a bone mask.
They surrounded me. Seven of them. Long weapons curved like bird beaks.
I tried to escape.
I managed to run into a narrow alley. But two of them cut me off. Then…
Death is not murder. It is destruction.
The first sword hit my arm—and not just cut it, but crushed the bone so that the splinters pierced the skin. I fell, my body hitting the stone, and one of them hit me in the chest with a metal heel.
No breath coming out.
Then, two spears were thrust into my shoulders from two opposite directions, nailing my body to the ground like a test animal.
I screamed. But it was drowned out by the sound of metal slowly piercing my stomach.
"His heart… don't destroy it yet," one of them whispered.
They were like anatomists enjoying their work. My stomach was cut open. My intestines were pulled out bit by bit, wrapped around my crushed hands. They wanted me to see it all.
And then I realized—this wasn't an execution. This was a message.
They wanted to show that they knew I was going against the storyline.
Someone—I don't know who—began to notice my presence.
Maybe the Writer. Maybe the manuscript keeper.
And they don't like me touching the script.
**
My eyes are starting to get blurry.
Someone stomped on my foot until the bone broke.
Then one of them put the sharp metal right up to my throat—and pulled down to my chin.
Dark.
First breath.
Day 1 again.
**
I didn't move. I didn't get up right away.
This time I just stared at the red sky… and laughed.
"…you're finally starting to notice my existence, huh?"
My hands clenched into fists.
The wounds were gone. But the pain was still there. Nausea. Weakness. Cold.
But I'm alive. And I know more now.
And the more the Author tries to stop me…
The more I know: I'm starting to hurt the story.
Day 1. Fifth loop.
My body is fresh. No wounds. No torn throat. But beneath this skin, the memory of a body that was chopped, nailed, and humiliated… still throbs like a poison that refuses to die.
I can't forget how they skinned my stomach alive.
I will never forget it.
They are not just killers. They are extensions of the Author.
And that means one thing: I'm starting to disrupt the flow of the story.
They are aware.
And if they could sense my presence, then I would have to start moving… not to defend, but to attack.
**
My first goal: to create something that cannot be deleted.
I can't force the world to change. But I can plant seeds.
Not on the place. But on the people.
I remember Elriya. The blue-eyed girl with the ability to see the "truth". She was always burned on the seventh night if I didn't save her. But every loop, if I didn't meet her early, she wouldn't believe me. She would give up on her own fate.
This time, I won't try to save him with pity.
This time, I'm going to change it.
**
Day 2.
I walked to Bern Village with steady steps. Not in a hurry. But focused. When I arrived, I pretended to faint in front of Elriya's house, like the second loop.
But as he approached, I opened my eyes faster.
"If you help me, you will die," I said.
"If you don't help me, I'll die too."
He looked at me.
"…You speak like someone who is tired of living," he said coldly.
"It's not that I'm tired. I've just… been through it too much."
He glared at me, doubtful.
"You've been here before, right?" he asked, quietly. "It doesn't feel like… you're a stranger."
I stared at him sharply.
Is that… a leftover memory from the previous loop?
Or is this the effect of his power? The eye of "truth"?
If he starts to feel something unspoken, then he… might be the key.
**
Day 4.
The fire was brought by the fake priest. The torch was lit. The villagers were gathered.
Same scheme. I saw it from afar—no sneaking tonight.
I stand in the middle of the main road. No disguise. No hiding.
They see me as a stranger.
"That woman is hiding something from the dark!" shouted one of the leaders. "She must—"
CRACK!
His head fell to the side. The metal stick in my hand had already hit his temple.
Everyone