I decided to take the dragon's blood right now.
As for pain? What could pain do to me at this point? My body had already gone numb, my senses dulled by repeated trauma and blood loss. I could feel consciousness slipping away at the edges of my vision, black spots dancing like flies, my thoughts growing fuzzy and disconnected.
In a few seconds, I would lose consciousness anyway.
So instead of procrastinating until tomorrow—that mythical "tomorrow" which I knew from my previous life would never actually come, always pushed back by one more excuse, one more delay—I decided to take it now.
"Give it to me," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
My instructor's smile widened, and he held the glowing droplet closer.
I opened my mouth.
The drop of dragon blood fell from his fingers, descending in what seemed like slow motion. It glowed brighter as it fell, the golden veins within the darkness pulsing like a heartbeat, like something alive and aware.
It touched my tongue.
For one moment, nothing happened.
Then—
Fire.
Not the fire of flames or heat. Something deeper. More fundamental.
The droplet dissolved instantly, and I felt it spread through my mouth, down my throat, into my stomach. But it didn't stop there. It kept spreading—through my blood vessels, into my organs, seeping into my bones and muscles and nerves.
Everywhere it touched, I burned.
My back arched involuntarily, my body going rigid as every muscle locked up simultaneously. My mouth opened in a scream, but no sound came out—my throat had seized, my lungs frozen mid-breath.
The dragon blood reached my heart.
THUMP.
My heart stopped. Actually stopped, suspended in that moment between beats.
Then it beat again—harder than it ever had before, so hard I thought my ribs would crack from the inside. The blood pumped through my veins with new force, carrying the dragon essence to every corner of my body.
And that's when the real pain began.
My bones started breaking.
Not all at once. One by one, methodically, starting with my fingers and working inward. I felt each crack, each splinter, each fragment as they shattered and reformed. The marrow inside boiled, melted, reconstituted itself into something denser, stronger.
My muscles tore. Fibers ripping apart like wet paper, only to immediately knit back together in new configurations. The process was agonizing—destruction and creation happening simultaneously, over and over in an endless cycle.
My nerves—oh god, my nerves—felt like they were being dipped in molten glass. Every single nerve ending from my scalp to my toes ignited at once, sending signals of pure agony directly to my brain with no filter, no mercy.
I wanted to scream. Wanted to beg for it to stop. Wanted to die, because death would be a mercy compared to this.
But I couldn't even do that.
My consciousness flickered, dimming at the edges like a candle in a storm—guttering, almost snuffed out, but somehow, impossibly, refusing to die completely. The pain was too much. Too overwhelming. My brain couldn't process it, couldn't handle the sheer magnitude of what was happening to my body.
I thought that after taking dragon blood I'd enjoy a good day's sleep, wake up refreshed and powerful like some protagonist in a cultivation novel.
But this? This was happening?
I was sure I was going to pass out—prayed for it, actually—but instead, my brain went into overdrive. It was like my consciousness had been forced into hyperfocus, experiencing every single microsecond of agony in crystalline, horrifying detail.
The pain tormented me for what felt like an hour, or a day—seriously, I had no idea. My sense of time in this nightmarish forest, combined with this apocalyptic pain, was completely fuzzy. Seconds stretched into eternities. Minutes compressed into moments. Everything blurred together into one endless cycle of suffering.
Sometimes I felt the urge to take my knife and end myself, just to make the pain stop. The thought danced at the edges of my consciousness like a dark whisper: Just one cut. One quick motion. The pain will end.
But I persisted.
I don't know why. Stubbornness? Survival instinct? The memory of Lily's face, or the Duke's stern expectations, or just the sheer spite of refusing to die again after already transmigrating once?
Whatever it was, I held on.
After what felt like forever—an eternity compressed into finite time—the pain finally subsided. The fire in my veins cooled to a warm glow. My bones stopped breaking. My muscles stopped tearing. My nerves stopped screaming.
And my brain—that sadistic bastard that had kept me awake and aware for the entire ordeal—finally decided it had tortured me enough.
My vision darkened.
And I was out.
I woke up in a hut.
The ceiling was rough-hewn timber, darkened by smoke and age. Sunlight filtered through gaps in the wooden walls, casting stripes of golden light across the dirt floor. The air smelled of herbs and wood smoke, with an underlying scent of something medicinal that made my nose wrinkle.
I was lying on a simple pallet covered with surprisingly clean blankets. My body felt... strange. Not painful, but different. Like I was wearing a suit that fit perfectly but was made of unfamiliar material.
"You're awake."
I turned my head—the movement smooth and effortless—and saw my instructor sitting on a wooden stool in the corner, arms crossed, watching me with an unreadable expression.
I nodded
"Ah," he said, a slight smile playing at his lips. "You've ascended from Early F-Rank to Peak F-Rank. Not bad for one day of work."
Peak F-Rank.
The information settled in my mind, and I tried to process what it meant. From the novel I'd read—the one I'd transmigrated into—I knew the power ranking system of this world.
It started from G-Rank, though most people didn't acknowledge it. G-Rank was what people were before the Great Awakening, before mana flooded the world. Humans from Earth—or anywhere, really—could only reach Peak G-Rank without mana. It was the rank of ordinary people who'd never awakened, never touched mana. Nobles called it "pest rank" when they bothered to mention it at all, and many didn't even consider it part of the official system.
Then came F-Rank—Novice rank. After the world went through Great Awakening, the upper limit of normal human increased and it became F. Almost all non-awakened adults were at least Base F-Rank. It was the starting point for anyone on the path of power.
E-Rank was Awakened level. People who had gone through first awakening and can now use elements, they have affinity to.
D-Rank was Ranker level. Skilled warriors who had gone through second awakening and got their class.
C-Rank was Master. Elite fighters who'd perfected their techniques, leaders of local military units and guilds.
B-Rank was Grandmaster level. Powerful individuals who could affect regional conflicts, nobles who'd earned their titles through strength.
A-Rank was Lord. Those who'd transcended normal human limitations, warriors whose names were known across province. Lira, my maid, was supposedly at this level.
S-Rank was Ascendent. Legendary figures who could change the course of wars. My instructor was at this level.
SS-Rank was Transcendent. Calamity-class beings who could destroy cities and face armies alone. Uncle Avish was SS-Rank.
And SSS-Rank was Monarch or Apex. Supposedly God-tier beings. Leaders of all nations or races are of this rank.
I'd gone from Base F-Rank to Peak F-Rank in a single day. What should have taken months, I'd achieved through dragon blood and agony.
"Hey," I said, my voice hoarse. I cleared my throat and tried again. "I wanted to ask—my consciousness was almost out when I took the dragon blood. I thought my brain would just... shut down. But instead, it became clearer. It made me experience all the pain, every single second of it. Why?"
My instructor threw his head back and laughed—a genuine, booming sound that echoed in the small hut.
"Hahaha! Rishi," he said, wiping his eyes, "do you really think getting power is this easy? If it was that simple—just take an elixir with a sleeping pill and wake up as an overpowered Tyrant—then every noble in the world would do it. The world would be filled with SS-Ranks and SSS-Ranks."
His expression became serious, and he leaned forward on his stool.
"Remember this, Rishi. Power does not come free. It comes with sacrifice. Maybe some people seem to get it easily today, but tomorrow they'll have to pay the price. Nothing is truly free."
He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at something I couldn't see.
"Nobles are powerful and commoners are weak, but it's not because of resources." He glanced back at me. "Take this as my first lesson, Rishi. This world does not lack resources. To become powerful, what is most required is not precious elixirs or wealth."
He paused, letting the words hang in the air.
"It's will. The will to endure. The will to sacrifice. The will to survive."
His voice took on a harder edge. "Some people say nobles are corrupted wretches, inhuman filth who can kill their own kin for power. But to me? They're people with the will to survive. A will to become strong. They can sacrifice the people they love. They can sacrifice their emotions to gain strength."
He turned back to face me fully, his eyes intense. "It's not foul play or schemes, Rishi. It's simply the will to survive in this dog-eat-dog world."
When he said the word "dog," he smirked at me, clearly referencing my recent experience with the Cerberus hounds.
I grimaced.
And here I was thinking why this world didn't have democracy, I thought bitterly. Here's the answer—these sadists masquerading as instructors are spreading propaganda in the minds of youth.
But even as I dismissed his words as propaganda, I could smell something extra in them. Some hidden meaning, like he was hinting toward something deeper that I wasn't quite grasping. My brain was still recovering from the pain and torture it had gone through, still a little slow and dumb.
"That's not the answer to my question," I said aloud, meeting his eyes.
He laughed again. "Rishi, I'm your combat instructor, not your biology teacher. How would I know why dragon blood keeps you conscious during integration?"
I made a disgusted face. "Then why did you throw all that philosophical propaganda at me instead of just saying 'I don't know'?"
"Oh, Rishi," he said, his expression one of mock hurt, "don't be like that. You're calling your instructor's first lesson propaganda?"
"Yes, that is what it was," I muttered.
We continued our banter for a few more minutes, trading verbal jabs that felt oddly comfortable despite the fact that this man had nearly gotten me killed today or yesterday. Maybe it was the shared experience of surviving hell, or maybe I was just too tired to maintain proper respect for authority figures.
Finally, he clapped his hands together. "Okay, I see that you're all fine now. Even more energetic than before, actually."
He walked toward me with purpose. "So let's return back to the estate. The Duke will want to know what happened to his nephew."
Before I could respond or even stand up properly, he grabbed me by the collar at the back of my shirt.
"Wait, what are you—"
He launched upward.
The roof of the hut exploded as we shot through it, wooden planks and thatch scattering in all directions. Wind screamed past my ears as we rocketed into the sky, the ground falling away below us at a terrifying speed.
"YOU COULD HAVE USED THE CARRIAGE!" I screamed, my voice barely audible over the wind.
His laughter echoed above me. "Where's the fun in that?"
And we flew—or rather, he flew while carrying me like a sack of potatoes—back toward the Ashvale estate, leaving the destroyed hut and the nightmare forest behind.