I wake up before the sun even rises.


    The first thing I feel is the pain in my body, reminding me that the night I''ve gone through was tough.


    I slept on the ground, in the cold, with only the sky above me. Being a porter means no comfort, but it''s the life I''m used to.


    The market streets are calm right now, but by noon, they’ll be full of traders, adventurers, and merchants all needing something carried.


    That’s when I step in.


    I’m Elian, the porter guy. The baggage handler, Loadhog.


    But I''m used to it.


    I don’t have fancy lifestyle or a riches, and I’m not important or skilled.


    But I’ve got hands, and they’ve helped me make a living so far.


    Today’s task isn’t much different from the others. A group of travelers need a mule to haul their goods across the city.


    Simple stuff.


    They treat me like a mere cog in their machine—just a lowly worker, a servant. I haul what they’re too lazy to carry, and in return, they pay me in copper.


    Copper that’s never enough to fill my empty stomach.


    I know I have dreams—somewhere in the back of my mind, a faint spark of something more.


    But those dreams always fade away in the harsh reality of my life.


    The job takes me through the streets, past the grand homes of those who’ve succeeded, and into the rundown district where I live. It’s here that the weight of my failures feels heaviest.


    “You still hauling stuff around like that?” My father’s voice rings out from the doorway, the sneer in his tone sharp as ever.


    I force a smile, knowing better than to say anything. It’s not worth it.


    He’s never been proud of me, not since I was old enough to walk.


    Always comparing me to the others—his strong, successful friends’ sons who handle swords like they’re part of them.


    "They''ve got a future waiting for them, you know." he says, as if I’m invisible. "You? What are you doing? Carrying bags?"


    I clench my fists but don’t say a word.


    He’s right.


    I’m not like the others.


    Not like the warriors or the rich merchants. I’m nothing but a shadow in their world.


    It’s my mother’s voice that hits hardest, though.


    “Why can’t you be more like Leo?”


    She asks, always comparing me to my cousin, the shining star of our family.


    Leo, the one who’d already been in a dozen battles, the one who’d secured riches and glory at such a young age.


    I pull my pack tighter against my shoulders. “I’ll find my way,” I mutter.


    Though I can’t remember the last time I believed it.


    Leo doesn’t need to be mentioned.


    I don’t need to be reminded of how little I’ve accomplished.


    When the work is done and the sun sets, I find myself walking the streets again, wondering what else I can do.


    I can''t sit still—sitting still feels like failure.


    So I keep moving, earning a few coins here and there, delivering goods or helping out wherever I can.


    Anything to avoid going back to that empty house, filled with their expectations.


    My best friend, Tolan, is always around when I need him.


    He’s a funny guy, always cracking jokes even when the world feels heavy.


    He’s got dreams, too.


    Bigger dreams than mine, in fact, but he knows what it’s like to work. He doesn’t mind that I’m just a porter.


    “Hey man, you know,” Tolan says one evening as we sit by a campfire, “you’re stronger than you think.”


    I snort, shaking my head. “Stronger than I think? I carry bags for a living, Tolan.”


    “No man, seriously. You have a heart that won’t quit. That’s worth more than a sword any day.”


    I laugh, but his words stay with me, the rare reminder that there’s more to me than just the endless cycle of work.


    I sat at the edge of the table, my back against the cold stone wall of the Adventurer''s Guild. The room hummed with noise—gruff voices swapping stories, the clink of weapons being sharpened, and the occasional laughter of adventurers celebrating a successful hunt.


    But I was here for just one thing: work.


    Porters don’t get much attention in places like this.


    We’re just the background noise, the ones carrying bags, the ones who aren’t quite strong enough to fight but still valuable enough to be hired.


    So, I waited.


    Every morning, I showed up, sat in the same spot, and hoped for the best.


    Sometimes, I hustled outside the guild, looking for side jobs—delivering supplies, or running errands.


    But most days, it was just waiting.


    Sitting.


    Hoping someone needed me.


    Today felt different, though.


    My eyes swept across the room. A tall, muscular man walked in, his boots echoing and his presence alone was enough to silence the chatter inside.


    He scanned the room, his gaze landing on me. Then, he started to approach.


    “You a porter?”


    I nodded, feeling a mix of relief and nervousness. “Yes, sir.”


    He grunted, sizing me up.


    “Got a job for you. Think you can keep up?”


    I didn’t hesitate. “I can.”


    He gave me a curt nod, then turned to his group.


    They were five in total. The man himself, tall and built like a wall, his expression hard as iron.


    Beside him was a smaller woman, her eyes sharp, a bow slung over her shoulder.


    Next to her, a hulking dwarf with a thick beard and a massive warhammer.


    The last two members, a tall and lanky elf with a staff, and a quiet, scowling rogue whose fingers twitched as if itching for a fight.


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    They barely looked at me as the man told me to grab my things and get ready to go.


    The walk to the dungeon was two hours of silence.


    The others didn’t acknowledge me, and I didn’t force any conversation.


    They didn’t need to see me as anything more than a set of hands to carry their gear.


    But I''m used to it.


    We reached the dungeon entrance just as the sun was setting.


    “Stay close,”


    The others didn’t wait for me.


    They started walking into the dungeon’s mouth without a glance, without a word.


    I followed. Beacuse that''s my only talent.


    The darkness inside was overwhelming. I can hear my footsteps in the silence.


    This was it.


    The dungeon’s air grew heavier as we moved deeper.


    Goblins, small but swift, scattered across the stone floors, their annoying but scary cries echoing.


    The others fought with ease—blades flashing, arrows soaring, spells crackling through the air.


    I watched, helplessly holding onto the bag of supplies, the weight of it suddenly feeling so much heavier.


    Could I ever be like them?


    Like the tall man, strong enough to crush any enemy in his path? Or the elf, whose arrows never missed?


    When I was younger, I dreamed of being a warrior—of wielding a sword, of slaying monsters, of earning the respect I never got.


    But those dreams had shattered.


    They lay in pieces at my feet, crushed by the reality that no matter how hard I tried, I was just the guy who carried baggage.


    A sharp voice broke my thoughts.


    “Hey!! Grab the materials. The good ones. Put ‘em in the bag,” the dwarf grunted, pointing to a goblin carcass.


    I snapped to attention, moving quickly, feeling the weight of their eyes on me as I bent down to grab the herbs, the shiny rocks, the odd trinket the goblins left behind.


    It was the same thing over and over. The others killed, I collected.


    Hours passed.


    The deeper we went, the more monsters we encountered. But something felt... off. The layout of the dungeon was changing. Or rather, it wasn’t.


    The same corridors.


    The same traps.


    The same monsters.


    I glanced at the others, but they didn’t seem to notice.


    They were focused, moving with precision, as if they’d done this a thousand times. But a seed of doubt started to grow inside me. We’d passed the same stone pillar three times now. That trap? I could have sworn we’d already triggered it.


    Something wasn’t right.


    I caught the elf’s eyes for a moment, his sharp gaze narrowing as if he too had felt the loop. But he didn’t say anything.


    The air grew colder, the shadows deeper.


    Then, all at once, the light from our torches dimmed.


    It wasn’t just that the shadows deepened—it was as if the very light itself was being swallowed. The flames flickered, like they were struggling to stay alive.


    “Something’s wrong,” I muttered, my heart racing in my chest. “We’re—”


    The man cut me off with a sharp gesture. “Shut up. Keep moving.”


    But even he, the towering figure who commanded respect, seemed uneasy now. His grip on his sword tightened, his eyes scanning the shifting darkness.


    We kept walking, but now I could hear the air itself around us.


    This dungeon wasn’t just an ordinary one—it was something else. Something that wanted us lost.


    Suddenly, the last flicker of light disappeared. The torches went out.


    Swish.


    Complete darkness.


    “Light the torch!” the tall man shouted, his voice low and tense.


    I fumbled with the torch in my hand, my fingers trembling. My heart pounded as I tried to light the fire. But nothing happened. The matches slipped from my grasp.


    My hand was shaking too much.


    The panic set in.


    I could feel it—sweat dripped down my back, my breath coming in short gasps. The others were shouting now.


    “Light it, Fluff! You damn useless.” the elf yelled.


    I tried again, my hands slick with fear. The match snapped as I struck it, crumbling uselessly.


    And then it happened.


    I heard a hiss, followed by the crackle of flame. The torch finally lit, but in my panic, the flame was too close to the bag I was carrying. It ignited the cloth. The fire spread quickly.


    “NO!” The dwarf’s voice boomed. “You idiot!”


    I dropped the torch, but it was too late.


    The fire had already caught. The bag burned, the items inside cracking and smoking.


    Before I could even process what happened, the tall man was on me.


    “You’re useless! You idiot!” he roared, grabbing my collar and throwing me hard against the stone wall.


    Thud.


    My head hit the rock with a sickening thud.


    Pain exploded across my skull, my vision spinning.


    “Hey bastard, get it together!” the man shouted, his face twisted in fury. His hand tightened around my neck, lifting me off the ground.


    Everything went still.


    I was nothing.


    Just weak shadow, suffocating under the weight of their rage.


    The world around me spun as I tried to focus.


    My head throbbed, the blood dripping down from the gash in my skull, but something caught my attention.


    A soft, golden light flickered in front of the party, cutting through the suffocating darkness.


    It was almost too bright for me to make out, my vision fading in and out, but I could tell—it was something else.


    The others froze.


    Even the dwarf, normally brash and quick to anger, stared at the light in shock. They seemed to forget about me for a moment.


    It was a relic.


    A legendary relic.


    I had heard stories about them.


    Objects of immense power, coveted by all who sought fortune. Some say they could turn the tides of battles, change the course of history, even grant the wielder unimaginable power.


    But the cost—there was always a cost.


    My heart pounded.


    How could something like that be here? In this dungeon?


    But before I could fully process it, my mind loses again.


    The blood on my face smeared in my vision, and the pain made it hard to think.


    One of the party members— the tall man, I think— staggered forward, eyes wide, and grabbed the relic. He raised it high, as if claiming it as his own. The others joined in, their laughter rising like they had just struck the biggest fortune. And in a way, they had.


    Fortune.


    The kind that could make anyone rich beyond measure.


    The kind that would make my parents proud and treat me like their own.


    But as soon as the relic was lifted, the dungeon itself seemed to shudder.


    The walls shaken, the air thickened.


    I barely heard the others laughing, not through the haze in my mind, but I felt something shift—shift in a way I couldn’t explain.


    The exit.


    The one we had thought we’d lost for good. The stone doors creaked open, revealing the light of the outside.


    It was an escape.


    My heart skipped. We’re free?


    But something gnawed at the back of my mind.


    My body still trembled, the pain clawing at me, and it was like I couldn’t shake off the unease that gripped my chest.


    I tried to stand, to walk with them, but my legs buckled. My head spun like a carousel, everything blurring together. I was so tired.


    "Move faster idiot!" the elf shouted, his voice tight with impatience. "Move!"


    But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.


    Then, a voice echoed in the cavern, cutting through the din of their footsteps.


    “You can’t leave this dungeon.”


    The words were sharp, like ice, reverberating against the stone walls.


    I froze. The others did too.


    “You can’t leave until you leave one of your party behind.”


    A cold wave washed over me.


    The light from the exit flickered and dimmed, the doors closing just slightly, like they weren’t quite sure if they should stay open.


    “What the hell?” The tall man’s voice was harsh, confused, as if he didn’t know what was happening.


    “Who said that?!”


    I staggered, my feet unsteady beneath me, and looked at the others. Their faces were full of confusion, fear, and disbelief.


    We were trapped again.


    But not just by the walls. Not by the monsters. This—this was different.


    The dungeon had its own rules. And we hadn’t played by them.


    “Who the hell are you?” The dwarf barked, his fists tightening. "What do you mean, leave one behind?"


    The voice, low and cold, echoed again. “The rules are clear. Only you can leave by leaving one of your kind behind.”


    The room seemed to close in around us, the air heavy with something ancient.


    Something that had been waiting.


    A chill ran down my spine.


    The door didn’t open anymore. It was almost like the dungeon was... waiting.


    And that waiting— that silence— was more terrifying than any monster I''ve seen.


    The gazes turned toward me, cold and calculating. I could feel it—the weight of their eyes on me like I was nothing but a piece of meat.


    A lamb. A sacrifice.


    The tension in the air thickened, like the dungeon itself was holding its breath, waiting for them to make their choice.


    And I knew. I knew it was me.


    They didn’t have to say a word.


    It was in their eyes, in the way their lips curled into sneers, in the way they shifted closer to the exit, looking back at me like I was the last piece of trash they’d have to throw away.


    And then—that voice.


    The same chilling voice, echoing through the dungeon.


    “The dungeon will close in ten seconds. Leave a sacrifice, or none of you will leave.”


    Ten seconds.


    My breath hitched.


    I felt it then.


    The true weight of it. The truth I’d been dancing around all my life. I wasn’t just the lowly porter. I wasn’t just the one who always carried the bags, always took the blows.


    I was expendable. I had always been expendable.


    Their eyes were locked on me now.


    The silence was deafening, and the seconds stretched. I could feel my heart racing, my legs shaking. My stomach twisted in knots, but I couldn’t move.


    I was going to die.


    I knew it.


    And then, to my horror, one of them stepped forward.


    The tall man—the one who had hired me in the first place—raised his sword, his eyes empty of anything resembling mercy.


    Slash.


    The pain was immediate, like nothing I had ever felt before. It felt like my insides were being ripped open, a rush of warmth flooding my abdomen. I staggered back, gasping, my hands clutching at the wound as my vision blurred.


    The others laughed. They laughed like I was nothing.


    I crumpled to the floor, choking on blood, my body failing me. I could hear their footsteps, echoing in the distance.


    "D-don''t leave...me."


    They were already leaving, already walking out of the dungeon without a second thought.


    No hesitation. No remorse.


    My vision blurred further, memories flooding back. But not the good ones. Not the moments of warmth or happiness.


    No.


    It was all dark, all painful. All of it.


    Since childhood, I had been alone.


    I remembered my parents, but they never truly saw me. They never loved me. They treated me like a burden. Like I was some mistake they couldn’t undo. They abandoned me long before I even knew what it meant to be abandoned.


    And now this.


    This final betrayal.


    I felt it then.


    The cold hand of death creeping closer, wrapping around me.


    I was dying.


    But even in the face of death, something inside me screamed.


    I refused to die like this.


    I refused to die like an outcast.


    But my body couldn’t fight anymore. The goblins had surrounded me, their sharp weapons glinting in the dim light, their eyes gleaming with malice.


    They started to hack at me, tearing into what was left of my body.


    Each slice, each cut, was a new wave of agony.


    I could feel it. The end. The pain.


    It''s the end.


    "It''s finally the end."


    And then, just as I was slipping into darkness, a light appeared.


    It wasn’t like the light from the relic. This light was... different. It was sharp and clear. And it appeared in front of me.


    [You unlocked Flux System. You are getting reborn]


    A jolt shot through me.


    The pain began to fade. The world around me seemed to stretch and distort.


    Reborn?


    And then, everything went black.


    But the light... the light was still there.