Chapter 34: Midnight Terror

As Luke stepped through the portal, a system notification flashed across his vision:

[Welcome, Luke! You have entered the Tutorial: Midnight Terror.]

But he barely had time to read the message because the very next thing he felt was cold.

Not the kind that prickled the skin or made him shiver. No. This was deeper, harsher—an unnatural, bone-deep cold that punched into his chest and seized his lungs before he could even scream.

And then nothing beneath his feet.

“What?!” Luke yelled as he plummeted into open air. His heart slammed into his throat as he realized he was in free fall. Thousands of thoughts raced through his head, but only one stuck:

I’m going to die.

Then—impact.

He slammed into something both soft and solid, like icy stone wrapped in wet cloth. The air was knocked from his lungs.

Snow. But the nightmare wasn’t over. He was sliding. Fast.

“Shit! Damn it!” he shouted as he tumbled down an endless, steep slope—bouncing off trees, slamming into branches, crashing into rocks. There was no time to think, no time to react. The incline was too sharp, the speed too great.

He rolled, slid, fell—then dropped again onto another slope, hitting hard. In a panic, he reached for his holster—no good. His hand fumbled.

“Inventory, kukris!”

He summoned them directly and tried to drive the blades into the ground. But it was snow. Thick, powdery, useless snow. The blades slid through it like butter. No grip. No control. No hope.

“Fuck!”

Then—crack.

He hit something solid. Pain exploded across his back, and a sickening crunch echoed through the ice. But he didn’t stop. He kept sliding. Desperate, he plunged his kukris into the surface again. This time, they caught. Sparks flew as the blades carved icy lines through the slope. Then, finally, he stopped.

“I… I did it,” he gasped, breath ragged. Every part of his body throbbed. He prayed nothing was broken.

Then a sound.

Creeeak.

Dozens of cracks spidered beneath him. The surface groaned, threatening.

Luke’s eyes widened.

“A frozen… lake.”

Before he could move—crash.

The ice shattered beneath him.

Splash.

Freezing water swallowed him whole. The cold didn’t just touch his skin—it violated it, stabbing inward like a million frozen needles piercing muscle and nerve. It wasn’t a chill. It was raw pain, a screaming, suffocating kind of agony that clamped around his chest and seared into his lungs. The pressure of the water crushed him while the cold coiled around his limbs like chains forged in ice.

And worst of all, there was a current—relentless, merciless. It dragged him through the darkness, slamming his body into jagged underwater rocks and drifting shards of ice. He couldn’t resist, couldn’t swim, could barely think.

He forced his eyes open. The water stung like acid, but his demonic perception filled in what sight could not. The lakebed. And at the bottom, corpses. Dozens. No—hundreds. Frozen bodies suspended in death, their faces twisted in terror. All human. All long gone.

“Ahhh!” Luke tried to scream, startled as he slammed into a submerged corpse, but swallowed water instead.

Slime, moss, waterlogged weeds—the bodies were tangled in it all, drifting lifeless in the current.

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He thrashed, trying to rise, trying to swim, but his vision was blurring. His limbs felt heavy. His strength drained with each second. His heart slowed. The cold was killing him.

I’m dying.

His mind screamed in panic, but his body wouldn’t respond. The chill had seeped deep—into his blood, into his bones. He had seconds of awareness left. Once he passed out, that would be it.

Then—

Swish. His vision twisted. He reappeared several meters forward in the water.

Basic Dark Dash. He had triggered it on instinct, pure survival reflex. But it had changed. His new class had made it more than a dash. As he darted forward, darkness swallowed his body, briefly making him partially intangible. The cold faded just enough for his body to jolt back into motion.

He swam. Desperately.

He triggered Dark Dash again, blasting through the water, racing upward.

He reached the surface—only to slam into a ceiling of ice.

No!

His lungs screamed for air. He was out of time. He drew his kukris and began slamming them into the frozen barrier. One hit. Two. Nothing.

His left arm gave out—too cold, too weak. But the ice cracked.

He switched hands and kept striking with everything he had. One target. One point.

Crack.

The ice broke open.

Luke’s head burst through the surface.

“HUHHH—!” He inhaled like he’d never breathe again. His chest ached, but his lungs rejoiced. He wasn’t safe.

He clawed his way forward, trying to climb onto the ice. It shattered under him. Again and again. Each time he climbed, the ice collapsed beneath his weight, dragging him back in.