“It’s begun.”
Gunther stared intently at the clouds of dust rising at the very edge of the horizon. At the same moment, unrest spread through the caravan column.
“What are those guys?”
“Bandits, probably. No flags.”
“There are too many for bandits... and they’re on horseback?”
“Everyone prepare for combat! Halt!”
Of course, they weren’t mere mounted brigands.
They were the Holy Army of the Luthien Theocracy—fanatics serving the Seven Evil Gods, the main enemies of this game. Their objective was singular: to capture the owner of the Silver Compass alive.
“Because in truth, he’s a member of a secret society opposed to the Evil Gods.”
That was the caravan’s secret. And that was precisely why this attack scenario was placed at the very beginning of the game—Act 1, Chapter 1. The protagonist was supposed to save the guild master, receive an invitation into the society, and begin his great campaign to save the continent.
Which meant that what Gunther needed to do right now was extremely simple.
“Hold out until the protagonist appears.”
And of that, he was absolutely certain.
“Open status window.”
==================
[Level: 25]
[Strength: 22, Endurance: 18, Agility: 20, Magical Power: 4, Charisma: 50, Luck: 10]
[Unassigned Stat Points: 0]
==================
For a background extra, these stats were clearly excessive—the result of brutal training and real combat.
“Magical power’s low, but...”
He’d never planned to develop magic in the first place, so that couldn’t be helped. He didn’t even have skills, which was only natural.
[The King of Ninety-Nine Defeats warns you not to be distracted and to focus on the coming battle]
[Alphonse of Red Street worries and asks you to protect your face from injury]
[The Drug-Addicted Saint prays for your safety with trembling hands]
...The enemies accelerated.
“Defensive formation!”
“To battle! Form the front line!”
Allies sprang into motion. Eddie could be seen running back and forth, barking orders at his men.
“If even a single hair falls from the master’s head or his daughter’s, prepare for the worst!”
Ryan, standing beside him, grimaced.
“Ugh. What an awful bastard.”
Surprisingly, there was little panic among their side. That was because they had mistaken the disguised Holy Army for ordinary bandits.
“Waaaaah!”
Soon, the enemy vanguard closed in. Bloodshot eyes. Sharp axes and swords.
Vshk—!
At the moment Gunther drew his blade—
“Hey, doesn’t this feel strange to you?”
Ryan tilted his head, puzzled.
“...What do you mean?”
“I’ve got a bad feeling.”
Ryan tapped the handle of his two-handed hammer—a habit of his whenever he got nervous.
“A gang this big right outside a border city... it’s strange.”
At times, Ryan could be surprisingly perceptive. But this time, there was no need to worry. Gunther reassured him.
“Forget it. Just pretend you’re fighting, then pull back.”
“Huh? What do you mean—”
“Today isn’t our turn to take the stage.”
Ryan’s confused voice was swallowed by the shouts of the others as the mercenaries charged forward.
“Kill those sons of bitches!”
Gunther followed them.
Crunch—!
With a single strike, he slit the throat of an enemy soldier aiming for Ryan’s side. Using the corpse as a shield, he shoved it forward, then kicked the knee of another charging opponent.
“Kh—!”
Crack—!
Ryan’s hammer came down on the fallen enemy’s head. Gunther surged forward before the blood even hit the ground.
“Are you insane?! Where are you going alone?!”
He heard Ryan’s terrified shout, but he had no time to answer.
“Where is he?”
Suppressing his battle instincts, Gunther scanned the surroundings. And then—he saw him.
A man was walking calmly toward the caravan master’s carriage, which had been pulled back to the rear. He remained composed even as guards leveled swords and spears at him.
“...The boss.”
The boss had appeared before the protagonist.
Disguised as an ordinary soldier, he was exposed by that relaxed demeanor amid the slaughter.
The boss of Act 1, Chapter 1.
Aaron Bernecker, a second-tier Paladin.
In a world with eight hierarchies, he wasn’t considered a grand master, but—
“He’ll butcher guards like these without effort.”
All thanks to his direct contract with one of the Evil Gods, albeit a low-ranking one. Eddie—the only contractor in the caravan—wouldn’t last even a few seconds against him. Only the protagonist could handle him here.
“Aaaaah!”
“T-That’s a contractor! There’s a contractor here!”
“Run!”
Indeed, screams of terror erupted from the front. Black flashes began to fill the battlefield. Gunther clenched his teeth.
“...Where the hell are you?”
He knew this attack would happen. He knew—and yet he hadn’t prevented it. If he had warned everyone beforehand and canceled the event, his return home would have gone down the drain, and the main plot—the protagonist’s meeting with the Secret Society—would have derailed completely.
It was a variable with consequences he couldn’t predict.
So he’d chosen: preserve the overarching scenario at the cost of a few lives.
Right now, there was little Gunther could do.
Vshk—
Cut down as many enemies in front of him as possible. Make them hold out even one person longer. Keep this board from collapsing until the protagonist arrived.
If the boss had appeared, then the protagonist would soon follow.
Clinging to that belief, Gunther charged again.
“Come on—hurry!”
Shouting hoarsely, he swung his sword. Just a little more. He only needed to hold out a bit longer.
.
.
.
...But why?
Gunther had cut down four more enemies. The monstrous paladin had already slaughtered more than half the guards.
And still—the protagonist did not appear.
[The King of Ninety-Nine Defeats advises you to flee]
“...Why?”
Gunther staggered, exhaustion weighing on him as the thought repeated. Yes, <Forgotten God> was a game of branching paths and choices.
But this was Act 1, Chapter 1.
The hero’s appearance here was a fixed event. A constant that should never change.
“The butterfly effect? Or something like that?”
There was no time to think—or panic.
“There’s almost none of them left!”
“Kill them all!”
Enemies surged endlessly. Gunther realized he could no longer hear his comrades’ screams. His own strength was nearly gone.
[The King of Ninety-Nine Defeats warns you not to lose consciousness]
An arrow flew.
Thunk!
A dull impact pierced his right shoulder. Gunther didn’t even groan—he dropped his shield immediately and shifted his sword to his left hand.
“Fencing with the left... this is torture—kh!”
He cut down one enemy who carelessly stepped too close. But—
Crack—!
His left shoulder shattered. A hammer.
[Alphonse of Red Street closes his eyes]
Both of Gunther’s arms hung limp. Still, he didn’t give up. Bending forward, he clamped the fallen sword between his teeth.
Enemies burst into laughter. Someone spat on him. Someone kicked him.
“...Why.”
[The Drug-Addicted Saint covers her mouth with both hands]
“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”
Gunther hurled himself at the enemy in front of him, slamming his whole body into the man. The soldier stumbled, losing balance—but with the sword clenched in his teeth, Gunther couldn’t land an effective blow.
Clang—!
His teeth shattered. He spat blood. The sword rolled across the ground.
“...I need to go back.”
He had to pick it up again. But how?
“You filthy rat...”
At that moment, the soldier about to finish him suddenly retreated in haste. Through Gunther’s blurred vision, someone was approaching.
“Hm. The last one?”
Thud—roll, roll.
A head tossed by the paladin rolled to a stop beside Gunther. The face, streaking the ground red like a wet ball, was familiar.
Ryan.
As for the corpse a few steps away—only its upper half remained. It belonged to Eddie, his hand stretched toward the caravan master’s carriage until the very end.
[The King of Ninety-Nine Defeats lets out a heavy sigh]
“......”
Gunther tried to rise. It wasn’t easy. All he managed was to lift his head.
“Still want to fight? In that condition?”
Under the bright midday sun, the paladin lazily pressed his sword to Gunther’s throat, then pulled it away again. On the blade pulsed the radiance of the Evil God who patroned him.
“......”
Proof of a contractor’s status.
It meant death—one a mere human could not resist.
Looking up at him, Gunther slowly opened his mouth. It wasn’t a curse. Nor a plea.
It was a name he had kept locked inside all these years.
“Suhyeon.”
A crooked smile spread across the paladin’s lips.
“Well, would you look at that. A heathen’s dying words.”
The sword fell.
...He saw it clearly, yet couldn’t evade it. Just like every misfortune that had followed him throughout his life.
He couldn’t resist.
“I’m sorry.”
The world flipped. Everything spun. Sky and earth blended into chaos, and soon—darkness swallowed all.
***
Looking back, Jonghyeon’s life had always been like this.
He never even made it to the starting line.
“Jonghyeon, Daddy will buy you a robot.”
His father ran away, abandoning his pregnant mother.
“Take care of Suhyeon. Okay?”
His mother passed away, leaving behind only those words. Overwork and chronic illness. He’d been around nine at the time.
There was no need to spell out what the rest of his life had been like—it was obvious enough. Though... it wasn’t as if it had been nothing but misery.
“Oppa! I got top marks in every subject! My ranking’s almost ninety-nine percent!”
“Oh? Guess the money wasn’t wasted.”
“Hehe. Just wait a little longer! I’ll make sure you live in luxury!”
That was enough.
Enough not to curse the helmet and protective gear he wore instead of a graduation cap.
“Yes. My day will come too.”
He believed that, gritting his teeth and living on.
And what was the result?
Without warning, without reason, he was dragged into a game—and now stood at death’s doorstep.
A cold, dark space.
He thought:
“Is this really how it ends?”
In the deep silence, his emotions quickly faded. Was he dying? Or was he already dead?
He wasn’t afraid.
Just... empty.
[You have experienced death]
He did not give up. Because he believed that if you didn’t give up, a path would eventually open.
[Death Record ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ Count] [1/99]
But reality was cruel.
No matter how much time passed. No matter how much he endured. Even if the world changed—the essence remained the same.
Dirt beneath others’ feet.
One who never even reaches the start.
One who leaves marks when touched.
One who turns to dust when stepped on.
A loser born to lose.
Gunther spat a curse, aimed at no one in particular.
“...Damn it.”
He didn’t want to die like this. Even if childish wishes meant nothing in death, he refused to accept that this was the end.
My life shouldn’t end like this.
“Just one more time...”
The plea repeated endlessly as he sank into the abyss.
.
.
.
[Characteristic: ??? partially unlocked]
And then—he opened his eyes.
“......?”
His vision cleared. Amid the deep, endless darkness, a single translucent status window glowed faintly.
[“Return After Death” has begun]
[Awaiting return after death...]
