Blood of the Beast God

Chapter 02: The Trial of Death

“Awooo…!”

A wolf lifted its head and let out a long, piercing howl. The sound rolled through the night like a curse. Three more wolves padded into view, circling closer. Their eyes gleamed with hunger, sharp and merciless. Drool dangled from their fangs, dripping to the dirt in thick strands. To them, Kaelen wasn’t a man at all—just meat. Fresh, warm, and waiting.

The smell hit him next. Rot. Blood. The musk of wild animals. Their brown coats were a mess, fur clumped together with grime and grease. They prowled, low to the ground, growling in voices that were more like thunder than sound.

The fire was the only thing standing between them. A fragile wall of flame, yet somehow it divided their worlds.

Kaelen’s hand tightened around a burning branch. His palm was slick with sweat, the wood hot against his skin. And then—he noticed. The wolves never crossed the circle of firelight. They skirted its edge, pacing, twisting, restless but unwilling to step inside.

Darkness was their ally. They owned the night. But fire? Fire stripped them of that power. Fire made them afraid.

Instinct screamed at them to run. Hunger chained them in place. So they lingered, caught between terror and desire, unwilling to give him up.

Relief flickered in Kaelen’s chest. For the first time since the howls began, he let out a shaky breath. His mind turned inward, sorting through the scattered shards of memory that weren’t entirely his own. The pieces were jagged, broken, but if he focused, he could fit them together.

Until the fire died, he was safe. That thought alone filled him with quiet gratitude for whoever had built the campfire in the first place.

More fragments surfaced—images, sensations, half-formed memories that didn’t belong to him but now lived inside him. Piece by piece, they began to align. The clearer the picture became, the more his lips curved. Joy rose sharp and sudden, and he nearly laughed out loud. Only the wolves circling kept him silent.

This world… he knew it.

Not completely—some memories were gone—but enough remained.

It was the world of a game. Glory’s Grace.

Of all the things he’d lost in death, all the endless dark he’d endured, this was the one thing he missed most. Eight years of living inside that game. Battles, victories, heartbreak. More real than his dull, ordinary life had ever been.

He remembered the imagery as clearly as if it were painted before his eyes:

Banners burning. Wars are raging in every corner of the world. Flowers blooming, red as spilled blood. Death is spreading its shadow across the land.

And then the words. The old slogan, echoing faintly in his head.

The Trial of Death.

No wonder the name had tugged at him with such familiarity. In the game, it was nothing more than the tutorial. A warm-up. A safe place to learn the controls. But here? Here it was exactly what it claimed: a trial of death. A road where countless aspirants walked in, and only a handful ever came back alive.

Kaelen drew in a slow breath, glanced once more at the wolves, and called up his status panel.

Even in this strange, solid version of the game, the rules hadn’t changed. Everything was still numbers.

Kaelen – Candidate Professional

Primary Attributes

Strength: 7 (6) – Boosts melee power and lets you haul heavy weapons or armor.

Agility: 4 (3) – Governs speed, reflexes, and dodging. Affects ranged combat.

Stamina: 8 (7) – Endurance, defense, vitality. Max HP = Stamina × 10. HP regen = Stamina ÷ 2 per minute.

Intelligence: 3 (2) – Mana pool and recovery. Max MP = Intelligence × 10.

Secondary Attributes

Perception: 22 (21) – Heightened senses and awareness. Improves danger detection.

Spirit: 20 (19) – Boosts ability strength and critical chance.

Willpower: 30 (29) – Mental resistance, protects against charm or mind tricks.

The panel hovered before him, faint and translucent. Behind its glow, the wolves still glared, their teeth bared, eyes locked on him like knives.

The page was pitiful. Just raw stats. No skills. No talents. No gear. He hadn’t even stepped into a proper class yet—no level, no XP bar.

At the bottom, one red icon pulsed faintly: a wounded figure barely upright.

Status: Weakened – All stats reduced by 1.

He frowned, scanning the numbers. Magic was out. That pathetic Intelligence score closed that door. But melee? Warrior, maybe even Paladin? He had potential. Strength at 7, Stamina at 8—that was impressive. Among candidates, he’d be at the top of the pile.

To qualify, you needed just one primary stat above 5. He had two. His path was already carved.

And his secondary stats? Terrifyingly high. If those had been primaries, the wolves outside wouldn’t stand a chance.

The truth clicked into place. It had to be the merging of souls. His old self is colliding with this new body. Physical stats unchanged, but the soul-driven ones—perception, spirit, will—had skyrocketed.

Even weakened, he was far stronger than he’d ever been on Earth.

He clenched the branch and snapped it clean in half. Sparks sprayed the night. One half rolled across the dirt, glowing red before dimming to ash.

His body was frail. He had no weapon. Four wolves stalked him in the dark. Fear should have crushed him.

Once, it would have. Once, he was a man who wheezed while climbing stairs.

But not anymore.

Not here.

This time, his blood carried numbers, power, something beyond human. Fear slipped away, light as smoke.

Wolves? He had faced worse. He had stood against Saribos himself—the Demon God, the final boss of Glory’s Grace.

Confidence surged. Pride rekindled. The heart of one of the game’s strongest tanks beat inside him again.

The fire was burning low. He had no time left. To sit and wait was death.

So he moved. He strode to the fire, yanked out a burning branch, and hurled it into the dark.

Yes, this was real now, but the rules hadn’t changed. The logic of Earth still worked here. Wolves feared fire.

Would it drive them off? Or send them into a frenzy? Either way, it didn’t matter.

Kaelen never second-guessed once he chose a path.

One by one, he flung burning branches into the night.

Embers arced through the darkness like red fireworks—brilliant, brief, and dangerous.