Thirty long days had passed since Lasron first set foot in the Undying Domain. Thirty days steeped in the stench of death, the screams of countless undead, and incessant, unyielding pain. With the precious 20 stat points he had recently allocated, he could stand firmer, survive longer against the initially overwhelming waves of attacks. He no longer died and revived as hopelessly and quickly as in the first few days. Instead, with each failure, each retreat to the safe zone with a body riddled with injuries, Lasron forced his mind to analyze, to learn, to find a path, however small, to do better next time, to survive even a second longer.
He realized a harsh truth, a lesson paid for with countless instances of torn flesh and crushed bones: strong stats were necessary, a foundation, but they weren't everything. To survive and win in a place like this, he needed true combat skills. His instinctual punches and kicks, though enhanced by Berserk and his STR now at 14 points, could only help him deal with low-level, slow-moving, uncoordinated undead. Against stronger, more cunning enemies, those who knew how to use weapons or possessed special abilities, he needed finesse, technique, a real fighting style.
And this Undying Domain, ironically, with its endless enemies and ceaseless battles, was the perfect training ground, a brutal but incredibly effective crucible. Infinite enemies, unlimited combat experience, and the price for each mistake was agonizing wounds or a complete reset of progress – a harsh punishment that forced him to learn at all costs.
During his battles, Lasron began to pay closer attention to how the Skeleton Soldiers used their weapons. Their slashes and thrusts, though mostly clumsy and lacking force due to their bony bodies, still followed some basic combat principles. After felling a few, he wouldn't leave immediately but would stop, carefully picking up the rusty swords, broken spears, or even the rotten wooden shields they dropped. Sometimes, he would even break off large, sturdy bones from larger undead to use as makeshift clubs.
Initially, wielding a weapon felt alien and incredibly difficult. The sword was too heavy and unbalanced for his still-young wrist, even with his increased STR. The spear was long and hard to control, often thrusting into empty air or being parried away by opponents. Many times, he dropped his weapon at crucial moments in battle, or worse, injured himself due to his own awkwardness. The grating "clank" as his weapon clumsily met the bones of the skeletons, or the dull "thud" when he missed his target, became hauntingly familiar sounds, heralding another imminent failure, another unwelcome trip back to the safe zone.
But Lasron was not discouraged. The stubbornness forged through the previous three Zones had become a part of his instinct. He experimented with each type of weapon, in every different situation. With a short, rusty iron sword salvaged from a skeleton that seemed to be a captain, he learned to parry simple attacks, to slash at weak joints, or to thrust into their fiery eye sockets. With a spear, he tried to maintain a safe distance, learning to thrust and retract quickly, using its reach to deal with the slow but resilient Zombies. He even tried using a small, cracked round shield as a secondary weapon, learning to use it to deflect unexpected attacks or to create a small opening for a counter-attack when surrounded.
This process was incredibly arduous and bloody. Every time he wanted to try a new technique, a new weapon with a specific type_of undead, he had to fight through the preceding basic waves, a tedious but unavoidable repetition. Hundreds of times he was struck down merely because of a misjudged parry, an inaccurate slash, or a flawed movement. But gradually, his movements became more proficient, more confident. He no longer swung his weapon instinctively and frantically, but began to be aware of his stance, his footwork, his balance, and of delivering blows at the most opportune moment to maximize damage and minimize danger to himself.
The Monster Scan skill continued to be an invaluable tool. It helped him identify specific weak points on each type_of undead – not just "head" or "heart" anymore, but the gaps in the Skeletal Knights' armor, the vulnerable cervical vertebrae of the Skeleton Soldiers, or the faint energy orb hidden within the chests of the Necromancers that began to appear. And he tried to control his weapons, however clumsily, to strike precisely at those points. With his AGI raised to 18, he realized he was better suited to lighter weapons that allowed for agile movement and quick strikes. A short, sharp sword and a small, light wooden shield seemed to be the most effective combination for him at this point, allowing him to both attack and defend with flexibility.
Parallel to honing his weapon skills, Lasron also focused on optimizing his Berserk state. He realized that activating Berserk right at the beginning of every battle, especially when facing multiple prolonged waves, wasn't always the best choice. The power increased over time, but if he couldn't control the fury boiling in his veins, he could easily lose the clarity needed to assess the situation, make tactical errors, or worse, exhaust himself before reaching peak strength.
He began to experiment consciously. Sometimes, he would try to suppress the initial rage, relying only on his skills and basic stats to deal with weaker undead, then unleashing it at decisive moments, when facing the strongest enemies in a wave or when surrounded. Other times, he would let Berserk gradually accumulate, feeling the power surge within him bit by bit, learning to control it, to channel it into more devastating, more precise attacks, instead of just wild, powerful but inefficient blows.
He realized that when Berserk reached a certain level, not only did his strength and speed increase dramatically, but his ability to withstand wounds and his evasive reflexes also improved significantly. The "fury" was no longer a complete loss of control, but was gradually becoming a source of power he could actively command, a terrifying weapon when combined with his increasingly proficient weapon skills. Once, during a battle that lasted nearly two hours against a particularly massive wave of hundreds of assorted undead, Lasron felt the power of Berserk reach its maximum limit – a 100% enhancement to all basic stats. The feeling of omnipotence, as if he could tear apart the entire Undying Domain, was frightening, yet incredibly alluring. Though he was almost completely exhausted afterward, requiring nearly a full day in the safe zone to recover, that experience gave him a new perspective on the true potential of Berserk.
Time continued to pass in the Undying Domain. The fortieth day, then the fiftieth. The undead attacks became increasingly dangerous and varied. Wraiths began to appear more frequently, ethereal, translucent entities gliding through the air, their mournful whispers sowing fear, their cold touches slowly draining Lasron's life force, weakening him unknowingly. Initially, Lasron struggled greatly against them. Conventional physical weapons were almost useless, passing through their ethereal bodies without inflicting any damage. But then he discovered that when his Berserk state was strong enough, when his violent will and killing intent reached their peak, his slashes, though still physical, were imbued with some kind_of invisible energy that could harm these intangible entities, or at least repel them, making them hesitant to approach. His Resistance stat also began to slowly adapt, lessening the impact of their psychic attacks and life-draining abilities.
Then came the detestable Necromancers. They usually stood at the rear of the undead army, protected by layers of skeletons and zombies, constantly chanting. Dark energy orbs flew from their bone staves, curses weakened Lasron (reducing speed, lowering defense, even causing temporary blindness), and worst of all, they could resurrect fallen skeletons, making the battles seem truly endless. Dealing with them was a real tactical challenge. Lasron had to find ways to quickly bypass their undead protectors, dodge their deadly dark magic, to reach and eliminate these troublesome mages before they could summon more reinforcements or exhaust him with curses. These battles demanded a perfect combination of AGI's speed, Berserk's power, INT's situational awareness, and his increasingly adept weapon skills.
Around the sixtieth day of the trial, when Lasron could confidently handle most common undead and even the cunning Necromancers, a new threat, a true test of his training, emerged, signaling that the trial was far from over.
During a particularly fierce assault, just after he had taken down a stubborn Necromancer, the ground beneath him trembled slightly. From the chaotic mass of undead, now leaderless, a colossal figure slowly rose, broken bones and debris falling from its form. It was a Skeletal Champion. It towered over the other Skeleton Soldiers, almost twice Lasron's height, its entire body encased in a suit of blackened iron armor, old but still very sturdy, revealing only small gaps at the joints. In its hand, it gripped a massive greatsword, its broad blade chipped and stained with dried blood, emitting a cold, ominous blue light. Its eyes were also two hellfire embers, but brighter and filled with a ferocious glint, containing a hint of cunning not present in the mindless skeletal grunts.
The Skeletal Champion let out a deep, guttural roar, a sound like grinding metal, and then it charged towards Lasron. Its speed was faster than he had anticipated for such a heavily armored foe. Its greatsword slashed down with terrifying force, creating a dreadful whistling sound. Lasron hastily raised his small wooden shield to block, simultaneously activating Berserk to a high level.
CLANG!
An immense force slammed into the shield, knocking Lasron back several steps, his shield arm so numb he almost dropped his weapon. The wooden shield cracked wide open. Its strength was overwhelming.
The battle against the Skeletal Champion was incredibly arduous and prolonged. It was not only physically powerful but also possessed decent combat skills; its blows were dangerous, calculated, and its armor was nearly impervious to Lasron's standard slashes. He had to employ everything he had learned: agile movements to dodge its lethal strikes, using his (now cracked) shield to deflect unavoidable blows, and searching for the smallest openings to counter-attack. His Berserk state was pushed to its maximum, his strength and speed soaring, but each of his attacks on the iron armor only produced sparks, not much damage.
He used Monster Scan, trying to find a weakness.
[Thick armor, high physical defense. Weaknesses: joints not well protected, requires armor-piercing or extremely strong attacks on weak points.]
Lasron changed his tactics. He no longer tried to confront it head-on, but used his agility to circle the Skeletal Champion, attempting to strike at the joints in its legs, arms, or neck. Many times he was hit, blood flowed anew, deep gashes appearing on his body, but his Resistance and the resilience forged through countless battles helped him stay on his feet, refusing to fall.
After nearly half an hour of intense, grueling combat, sweat and blood mingling, Lasron finally found a golden opportunity. When the Skeletal Champion launched a powerful two-handed slash that was slightly overextended, it momentarily exposed a small gap at its unarmored shoulder joint. Lasron didn't miss it. He poured all his strength into his attack, the short sword in his hand, enveloped by Berserk's furious energy, flashing violently as it plunged straight and deep into the monster's shoulder.
The Skeletal Champion shrieked in pain, the greatsword in its hand faltering. The fire in its eye sockets flickered violently then slowly died. It staggered back a few steps, then crashed heavily to the ground, dissolving into a pile of shattered bones and broken armor plates.
Lasron stood panting, his entire body aching, blood still streaming from multiple wounds. He had won, but it was an incredibly hard-fought victory, a victory paid for with immense pain. And he knew, this was probably still not the final challenge; the true master of this place had yet to appear. The remaining days in this Undying Domain would undoubtedly be even more arduous.
But now, in his eyes, there was no longer just despair or hatred. There was also a certain confidence, the steadfastness of one who had trained and matured through fire and blood. He had strength, he had weapon skills, he had mastered the rage of Berserk, and most importantly, he possessed an unyielding will.
In the distance, the fog seemed to grow even thicker, and an oppressive sensation, a miasma of death even heavier than before, began to permeate the air. Perhaps, the Undying Overlord had begun to take notice of this resilient prey.