The Swordsmanship Prodigy Who Devoured Immortality After Regression - Chapter 2

Plip, plip.
The sound of water droplets echoed as they trickled down Havel’s cheek.
When the droplet finally reached the ground, Havel managed to open his eyes.

Thud!
He bolted upright, his silvery hair, almost white, cascading around him. His head throbbed, a faint headache serving as a reminder of reality. Quickly, he scanned his surroundings.

A dense forest greeted him, with unnaturally large trees and plants towering high.
“…Where am I?”
Havel clutched his forehead, trying to soothe the persistent ache. As he struggled to recall his memories, something strange caught his eye.

[Achievement: Master of the 10th Floor of the Labyrinth has been registered.]

【Havel Vanpelion】
[Achievements]
Master of the 10th Floor of the Labyrinth
Status: Time Regression, Immortal

Strength: 694 Agility: 701
Endurance: 801 Potential: 649
Skill: 530 Misfortune: 1

“Achievements? Strength? Agility? Endurance, Potential, Skill, Misfortune?”
What nonsense was this? What bothered him most was the glaring disparity between the stats. While all other attributes were three-digit figures, “Misfortune” stood alone at 1.

“And yet… I remember…”
His thoughts turned to the labyrinth. As he frantically surveyed his surroundings, his eyes landed on a massive stone gate he had seen before. The gate stood wide open, as if inviting anyone to enter.

“This… This is the entrance to the Labyrinth…”
A laugh, almost hollow, escaped his lips. He was outside. This was the world beyond the Labyrinth.

After enduring 64 regressions, he had obtained immortality and finally escaped.
“I did it. I finally did it…”
Though the title “Master of the 10th Floor” and the strange stats lingered in his mind, Havel enjoyed this moment of freedom. His joy was so overwhelming that tears welled up in his eyes.

“Hah… So now…”

But his joy was short-lived. Havel quickly calmed himself, an instinct born from surviving in the labyrinth for so long. Emotions could rise, but they had to be suppressed quickly—a survival mechanism he’d developed over time.

“I can’t even savor my own triumph. What a miserable man I’ve become.”

Even before entering the labyrinth, Havel had always been a reserved individual. Perhaps it was this trait that kept his mind intact through the endless cycles.

“The labyrinth appeared in Arahant’s capital, the most advanced city at the time.”

He recalled how the labyrinth had consumed the imperial capital, leaving it in ruins. But now, in its place, was a lush forest with unnaturally massive vegetation.

“How much time has passed since I entered the labyrinth?”

Having repeated regressions so many times, his concept of time was long lost. He couldn’t estimate how many years had passed.

“I won’t learn anything just standing here.”

Havel realized he needed to find people. He was eager to learn if the imperial lineage had survived, how much time had elapsed, and, most importantly, the fate of his family—the Vanpelion house.

His thoughts turned to the Dawn Knights, the pride of his house, who had entered the labyrinth with him.

“Our absence must have left a void.”

If only he had known this outcome, he would have left the knights behind. But back then, there was no choice; they had to save the emperor.

“Inside, all I wanted was to escape…”

Now that he was free, worries piled up. His gaze lingered on the labyrinth’s entrance—the site of his 64 regressions, a place he had grown to loathe.

Perhaps the labyrinth shared his disdain. A gust of wind swept out from the depths, ruffling his hair as if urging him to leave.

“I’ve had enough of it.”

With that brief declaration, Havel turned away. It was time to return to reality.

Deep within the colossal forest, where the trees stretched skyward, an old man bent over, gathering herbs. He cast a wary glance around, his eyes squinting slightly.
“Why does the forest feel so unsettled today?”

The man, Penaxian, was a retired figure of renown, now living a life of quiet seclusion. Despite the ominous aura of the forest, known as the Forbidden Woods, he was the only one who dared to traverse its outskirts.

Suddenly, a rustle came from the bushes.
“Hwah?!”
Penaxian’s heart nearly stopped as a figure emerged—an almost ethereal man with silver hair, close to white.

“A person… in the Forbidden Woods?”

Penaxian couldn’t believe his eyes. His unease grew when he realized he hadn’t sensed the man’s presence at all, despite his vigilance.
The silver-haired man spoke, his voice tinged with relief, “Are you… human?”
His expression radiated joy, leaving Penaxian momentarily stunned.

“Is he just some lost wanderer?”
Penaxian thought, recalling tales of outlaws abandoning people in the woods. Perhaps this man was one of those victims.

Penaxian sighed and reached for his blade, just in case. “Are you lost? How long have you been wandering?”
“I wouldn’t call myself lost, but I’ve been wandering for about an hour,” the man replied earnestly.
Penaxian snorted. “That is being lost. Follow me. I’ll guide you out.”

As he led the way, the man hesitated before introducing himself.
“…Havel Vanpelion.”
Hearing the name, Penaxian nodded thoughtfully.
“A noble, huh? Don’t worry, lad. Whatever brought you here, your secret’s safe with me.”

Penaxian had shown Havel some consideration.
However, this time it was Havel who found himself flustered.

He reacted like this even after hearing the name “Vanpelion”?

The Vanpelion family was one of the three great noble houses of the Empire. Even though the old man seemed to be hiding his origins, his demeanor made it clear to Havel that he was of noble birth.

No matter how disinterested he may seem in worldly matters now, an aristocrat of the Aran Empire reacting so indifferently to that name? That doesn’t make sense.

Did he think Havel was lying? Havel decided to confirm it again.

“Um, Elder? I truly am from the Vanpelion family.”

Yet, Penaxian still showed only a puzzled expression.

“Hmm? It’s not that I doubt you. Oh, is it a famous family? My apologies; I’ve been away from worldly matters for quite some time now.”

This wasn’t just being “out of touch with the world.” It was on another level entirely.

Although Havel felt something was amiss, he followed the old man for now.

“You’re keeping up better than I expected. This forest is infamous for being treacherous.”

Indeed, the forest was as dangerous as it was strange, even from Havel’s perspective. Mushrooms and flowers larger than a person, insects the size of beasts—it all made him feel like a miniature figure in some fantastical world.

“Elder, may I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“This place used to be the capital of Arahant, didn’t it? There wasn’t a forest like this here before…”

Penaxian blinked at the question, clearly taken aback.

“What time period are you talking about?”

From the old man’s reaction, Havel realized that a significant amount of time must have passed.

Has it been… ten years?

Though he no longer aged, the time he spent in the Demon Palace had been substantial. The more he thought about it, the more worried he became about the Vanpelion family.

“It’s been at least a hundred years since this place was the capital of Arahant. Strange thing to bring up.”

But the moment Havel heard those words, he froze in place.

“…What did you just say?”

“Hm? That this…”

Boom!

Before Penaxian could respond again, a thunderous noise echoed from deep within the forest. His face turned pale as an overwhelming sense of killing intent washed over them. It was a sensation that could only come from one creature.

“W-why is Fenrir in the outskirts?!”

The ruler of the Demonic Forest, Fenrir, had emerged this far out.

“We must flee at once!”

For some reason, Fenrir was rampaging in the outer region of the forest. As Penaxian shouted in panic, Havel stood still, his mind elsewhere.

“…A hundred years?”

Had that much time truly passed?

Wasn’t this supposed to be a regression?

Even if he’d experienced long stretches of subjective time during his regressions, the flow of time outside shouldn’t have changed.

Then why…?

True, much time had passed in the Demon Palace. The fall of his comrades had taken years, and it had been even longer during his 64th regression, climbing to obtain immortality. The time spent after becoming an immortal in the palace surpassed everything else combined.

Even setting aside the regressions, thirty years at most should have passed.

Was his sense of time this distorted? Or could it be that time flowed differently within the Demon Palace?

Boom! Crackle!

As Havel pondered, trees shattered, and smoke billowed in the distance. Fenaxian instinctively drew his sword, but what appeared through the carnage was a massive wolf, towering as large as the trees.

Its black fur bristled with razor-sharp teeth protruding, and its glowing blue eyes radiated a terrifying aura that made one’s knees buckle.

Could something like that even be killed with a sword? It was a creature that made such thoughts seem absurd.

“Damn it!”

Penaxian realized there was no chance of escape. Fenrir had been targeting them from the start.

“You run! I’ll buy us time!”

Though retired, Penaxian was still a warrior. A fierce energy erupted from his body, shaking the surrounding foliage as a brilliant blue aura engulfed his sword.

With all his strength, he launched himself at Fenrir, aiming for its neck. It was an all-out attack meant to succeed in one blow.

The sword struck, burying itself into Fenrir’s neck.

Crack! Shatter!

But only until the aura-reinforced blade snapped in two.

“What?”

A short gasp of disbelief escaped Penaxian’s lips.

Boom!

A moment later, he was sent flying, crashing to the ground.

“Urgh… cough.”

Though he had once been called the Iron Wolf, it seemed he was no match for a true wolf. Blood spurted from his lips as his vision blurred, but through the haze, he noticed something strange.

Havel was still standing there.

“What… are you doing?!”

He screamed, but Havel didn’t move.

Grrrrowl!

Fenrir bristled and let out a deep growl. Its eyes were locked not on Penaxian, but on Havel.

Could it be… Fenrir’s target wasn’t me? It was him?

As Fenrir lunged, the ground shook, and trees swayed violently. But just as it was about to swallow Havel whole—

“…Annoying.”

Havel’s voice echoed, calm and sharp.

Before Penaxian’s eyes, Havel’s sword was already raised.

Slice!

In the blink of an eye, Fenrir was cleaved in two, its massive body falling lifelessly to the ground.

[ You have defeated Fenrir, the ruler of the Demonic Forest. ]
[ The achievement will be recorded in the Demon Palace. ]

Havel glanced at the text floating before him.

A hundred years—a thought that had left him reeling moments ago—was now overshadowed by these strange words.

If my mind isn’t playing tricks on me…

This was undeniably the work of the Demon Palace.

As Fenrir’s dark aura flowed into him, more messages appeared.

[ You have absorbed Fenrir’s malice. ]
[ Your rank as the ruler of the Demon Palace’s 10th floor has increased. ]
— Strength increased by 5.
— Agility increased by 7.
— Durability increased by 4.
— Aptitude increased by 3.
— Skill increased by 5.
— Malice increased by 3.

The system messages poured in, but one word stood out to Havel: malice.

The stat had risen from 1 to 4, yet its significance remained unclear. A vague sense told him that as the number grew, answers would become evident.

Am I still human, absorbing something like this?

The purpose of the Demon Palace eluded him.

Perhaps calling himself human was laughable after everything he had been through—regression, immortality, and now this.

But still…

He was Havel Vanpelion.

Walking over to Penaxian, who lay on the ground, Havel spoke.

“Elder, I apologize. I was distracted by the shock.”

“…Who are you, truly?” Penaxian asked in a daze.

With a faint smile, Havel pulled a white pill from his pocket and placed it in the old man’s mouth. Instantly, Penaxian felt his strength returning.

“As I said before,” Havel replied, “I am Havel Vanpelion.”

The name of a swordsman and a family long forgotten by the world.

“Thank you for guiding me. I can find my way from here.”

With that, Havel turned and walked deeper into the forest.

Watching him go, Penaxian found himself recalling an old tale—a story his grandmother used to tell him about the three stars of Arahant.