Tainted Heart

Chapter 13.1

No Pain —No Gain 「3」

<Starting point of error>(3)

✧Tainted Heart ✧

「My heart and my mind are becoming empty with every breath i take.」

The resets had stolen my sense of time. Ten thousand, maybe more—I couldn’t keep track. Each cycle, each death, each rebirth, blurred into one another. Hours, minutes, days? It didn’t matter. All that remained was the cold, unyielding stone beneath me, the endless crowd chanting, and the same faceless knight standing before me.

The knight’s hand gripped his flaming spear with that haunting, unwavering precision. I could see every inch of his armor now, polished and cruelly indifferent. He was like an automaton, bound to this role of executioner, caught in this twisted performance just as I was. But he had never been broken by it. Not yet, anyway.

But I’d had enough.

The first time he reached for me, I struck him with all I had. My fist smashed against his iron chest with the strength of a cornered animal. He didn’t flinch. I punched again, again, my breath coming out in ragged bursts. I wasn’t strong; I knew that. But I needed to make him feel it—if not physically, then in some way I couldn’t name.

He took a step back, just barely off balance. He looked down, expressionless as ever, and tightened his grip on the spear.

“You don’t get tired of this, do you?” I spat, resisting as he tried to force me toward the guillotine. “Or are you just as trapped as I am?”

The spear swung up, blazing with unnatural heat, and I didn’t move fast enough. I felt it slice across my side, searing pain ripping through me. My breath hitched; it was as if I could feel my own body tearing apart.

I fell to my knees, my vision swimming. His shadow hovered above me, dark and silent.

“You still haven’t learned,” he said, his voice echoing as if from far away.

I could feel the world dimming, my senses slipping away, but before the final pang of darkness claimed me, I forced one last thought out.

Reset.

The stone. The guillotine. The crowd. The knight. The endless cycle started again, but this time, I knew what I had to do.

When the knight grabbed me again, I didn’t just resist. I threw myself forward, lashing out with every ounce of frustration and rage inside me. I hit him again, twisting to avoid his grip, and kicked as hard as I could.

But he was prepared. A stream of ice erupted from his gauntlet, cold and biting, wrapping around my legs. I gasped as frost climbed over my skin, burning with the chill of death itself. My vision blurred, my body numbing as the ice tightened.

Reset.

I was back in the chamber, but I moved before he could. I’d learned his patterns, his tricks. This time, I hit harder, kicked faster, broke free of his hold just enough to scramble away.

The crowd roared as I twisted out of his grip and made a run for it, dodging the flaming spear as it swung past me. I darted around him, lunged forward, only for another knight to intercept me with a sword.

I saw it coming. I rolled, feeling the icy bite of his spell just miss me, but then another guard’s blade flashed, cutting through my side. I staggered, collapsing as my blood pooled around me.

Reset.

Again, the cold stone greeted me. But I wasn’t tired—I was furious. I’d stopped fearing death; I’d made my peace with it. Now, every death was just another step toward finding my way out.

I dodged his grasp, ducking under his swing, my heart racing as I moved. My body burned, but I fought. Every step, every breath, felt like it was tearing me apart, but I kept going, kept dodging, kept learning.

The spear grazed my cheek, hot and blistering, but I grabbed it, twisting it from his hands, feeling it sear my palms. The knight looked stunned—almost. For the first time, I had his weapon.

I thrust the spear forward, ramming it into his chest. It broke through his armor, cutting through with a satisfying crunch. The knight stumbled, the spear still in my grip. For the first time, he looked at me—not as a target, but as if he recognized me.

But the others were coming.

Another knight raised his sword, slashing down toward me. I turned, blocking with the spear just in time, but more were closing in. I was surrounded, their weapons aimed, their spells ready.

The first spell hit me like a tidal wave, and another flash of pain tore through my body. But I wouldn’t let go of the spear. I didn’t care about the pain, didn’t care that my body was being torn apart, inch by inch.

Reset.

This time, I was faster. My body moved before my mind, ducking and dodging, hitting back with a ferocity that felt alien. I could almost sense where they’d strike, each movement becoming instinct. The knight’s spear? I was ready. The ice spell? I dodged it without thought. The swords, the blades, all of them moved like pieces on a board, and I knew where they’d go.

Every blow landed, but I wouldn’t stop. I wouldn’t give in.

Each time, I pushed harder, moved faster. The world blurred, a chaotic dance of death and rebirth. I dodged, I struck, I fell, and every time, I came back stronger, more determined.

One knight tried to cast a spell—a jagged, deadly icicle—but I was ready. I sidestepped, then lunged at him, using the spear to strike him down before he could complete the incantation. Another lunged, and I caught his sword with the spear, disarming him with a fierce twist.

It didn’t matter how many of them there were. They couldn’t stop me. Nothing could. I was beyond death, beyond fear.

The reset hit, pulling me back to the start, but I didn’t care. I was ready to die a thousand more times if that’s what it took.

But this time, when I lunged at the knight and wrenched the spear from his grip, I saw something flicker in his eyes—something close to recognition, maybe fear. And for the first time, I felt hope.

I didn’t care that he had another spell ready, didn’t care that another guard was bearing down on me with a flaming sword. I knew how to dodge, how to fight. I’d memorized every move, every step. I’d become a weapon of my own making.

When the next attack came, I was ready, my body moving with a confidence that defied explanation. The world had become my battlefield, and I would conquer it. Each reset, each death, only sharpened my resolve.

They couldn’t kill me. Not really.

No matter how many times I fell, how many times the knight brought me to my knees, I’d keep coming back.

Because this was my fight. And I was the one writing the rules.

The stone beneath me, the faceless crowd, the looming knight with his flaming spear—all of it was becoming second nature. The number of resets didn’t matter anymore. Each failure, each death, was a lesson, a step toward mastery. I’d learned his movements, every tell in the executioner’s silent approach. This time, I knew I could win.

The knight lunged, spear flaming as he thrust forward. I moved before he even had the chance to strike. My body ducked low, avoiding the blazing spear with an almost instinctual ease, and I swung upward, catching him under his arm with a fierce blow. He staggered, his grip loosening. I didn’t waste the moment; my fist collided with his chest, and his balance wavered.

He raised the spear again, angling it toward me, but I was faster. I sidestepped, letting the flame graze past my face, the heat close enough to make my skin prickle. I threw myself forward and grabbed his arm with both hands, yanking down with every ounce of strength I could muster.

The spear slipped from his grip, falling to the ground with a resounding clatter. I didn’t hesitate—I kicked his knee, hard, feeling the satisfying jolt as he dropped to one knee. Before he could recover, I reached for his belt, finding the hilt of a short sword sheathed there, and pulled it free.

I had a weapon.

The knight’s eyes finally showed a glint of something other than hollow resolve—surprise, maybe even fear. For the first time, he was on the defensive. But I didn’t give him a chance to act on it. I twisted, bringing the sword down in a swift arc that caught him across his chest. His armor deflected most of it, but the impact was enough to force him backward.

He stumbled, momentarily thrown off balance. I gripped the sword tighter, feeling its weight, its power in my hand. I stepped back, breathing heavily as I prepared for what would come next.

Reset.

The stone under my feet, the chill of the air—I was back in place. But now, I knew exactly how to defeat him.

When he came at me, spear raised high, I ducked under his guard, thrusting the sword up toward his exposed neck. He managed to block it just barely, but I could see the fear in his eyes, the sudden uncertainty. The crowd around us seemed to gasp, the sound a distant murmur, but it only fueled me further.

I struck again, harder, faster, each movement feeling sharper, more precise than the last. This wasn’t just survival; this was skill, honed over endless cycles, refined into something close to art.

When I landed the final blow, it was almost anticlimactic. The knight fell backward, his armor clanging against the stone, and for a fleeting second, I felt the rush of victory. The taste of freedom was there, just within reach. But I knew better than to believe it was over.

More knights poured in from the shadows, their faces concealed behind steel visors, their weapons raised in perfect unison. My grip on the sword tightened as I took a steadying breath.

This was it. My chance to break free.

They came at me, one by one at first, and I met each strike with precision. The first knight’s sword swung down in a wide arc, but I sidestepped, bringing my blade up in a quick slash that caught him across the chest. He stumbled, and I moved past him, my sword already raised to meet the next attacker.

Steel clashed against steel, the echo ringing out in the cold air. Another knight lunged, his blade aimed straight at my heart. I parried, twisting my body to the side, letting his momentum carry him forward. I struck him from behind, a quick slice across his back that sent him crashing to the ground.

The next two came at me together, their swords raised in perfect sync, their movements cold and calculated. I could feel the weight of their strength, their skill honed from years of practice, but I didn’t falter. I ducked low, sliding past one of them as I swung my blade up, catching the other knight off guard. He staggered, and I spun around, slashing at his unprotected side.

But I barely had a second to breathe. The knights were relentless, their attacks becoming more coordinated, more intense with every passing moment. One of them swung his sword down with brutal force, and I blocked it just in time, feeling the shock of the impact reverberate through my arms.

My muscles burned, fatigue settling into my bones. But I pushed through, meeting every strike, every clash with everything I had. Blood pounded in my ears, my breath coming in ragged gasps, but I wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.

Then, he appeared.

A knight stepped forward, clad in armor more intricate than the others, his stance more disciplined, his gaze colder. His blade gleamed in the light, sharper, more deadly than any I had seen. This was no ordinary knight. This was a swordsman—a master, judging by his stance and the confidence in his eyes.

I steadied myself, gripping the sword tighter, preparing for what I knew would be a battle unlike any I’d fought before. The crowd seemed to hush, the air thick with tension.

He moved first, a blur of steel and speed, his sword coming down in a precise arc. I barely managed to parry, the force of his strike sending a jolt through my arms. Before I could regain my balance, he was already on me, his blade flashing with deadly intent. I blocked again, but each of his attacks was faster, sharper, more deliberate. He was testing me, pushing me to the edge.

I fought back, countering his strikes, meeting him blow for blow, but he was relentless. His movements were fluid, his footwork flawless, every strike calculated. I could feel myself faltering, each clash of our swords pushing me closer to the edge of exhaustion.

He spun around, his blade slicing through the air in a deadly arc. I ducked, barely avoiding the strike, but he was already moving, pressing forward with relentless precision. His sword came at me from every angle, a blur of motion that I struggled to keep up with.

My breaths were coming in shallow gasps, my body screaming in protest. I could feel my grip slipping, my strength waning. I knew I couldn’t last much longer.

And then, he feinted to the right, his blade flashing left in a deceptive maneuver. I fell for it, my guard dropping for a fraction of a second. It was all he needed.

His sword struck true, slicing through my side, a white-hot pain exploding through me. I stumbled back, clutching at the wound, my vision blurring as I tried to steady myself. But he didn’t stop. He advanced, his eyes cold and unyielding.

I raised my sword, preparing for one last stand, but he was faster. His blade came down, cutting through the air, and I felt the final blow land, a brutal strike that sent me crashing to the ground.

The world spun, my vision fading, but even as darkness claimed me, I forced one last thought out.

Reset.

I opened my eyes, back on the cold stone, my body whole once again. The knight stood before me, spear in hand, the same scene repeating as if nothing had changed.

But I knew better. I’d felt the thrill of victory, even if only for a moment. I’d faced a swordsman of unimaginable skill, and though I’d lost, I’d learned.

I took a deep breath, the familiar weight of the sword still fresh in my memory.

This time, I would be ready.

Each reset blurred into the next, and somewhere around the ten-thousandth time, I stopped counting. It was like a fever dream where death was the only constant, something I could anticipate, feel, but never escape. I wasn’t sure what day or year it was supposed to be, but the weight of each death lingered. They weren’t just memories—they felt real, burned into my nerves. Every failure, every blade slicing through, every magic spell searing me down to the bone. And here I was, back again.

I opened my eyes to the familiar gray sky, the heavy stone beneath me, the damp chill seeping into my clothes. The knight was there, the one whose face I never saw. His flaming spear hovered near me, a reminder of the countless times he’d delivered the same fatal blow, each time without hesitation. The faceless crowd was there too, a droning chorus of voices that blurred together. I’d heard them chant for my death so many times I could recite it word for word.

But fear had faded. Now, every moment I was back, all I felt was something closer to defiance. And when the knight moved to drag me to the guillotine, his cold grip just as strong as ever, I didn’t resist. I simply waited. I let him pull me forward, because this time, I had no plans to go out quietly.

Not this time.

He barely got me in place before I pulled my fist back and swung at him, hard. My fist clanged against his armor with a painful thud, but I didn’t care. It was a small act of defiance, but it was something. He barely reacted, of course. He simply swung his flaming spear again, cutting through me before I could brace for it. Pain exploded in my side, my breath cut short as everything around me faded.

Reset.

I woke up again, every bit of pain gone, but the fire in my chest burned hotter. Another attempt, another chance. I’d lost count of how many times I’d thought this way, but it was something to hold onto. This time, I waited, tensing just as his hand reached out to grab me. I twisted free from his grip and managed to kick him, right at his ankle joint. The impact jarred my leg, but he staggered back just enough for me to breathe.

You’re not invincible. I thought, as he swung that flaming spear, faster this time, slicing me across the chest. The world spun as I fell, blood pouring from the wound, pain numbing everything else.

Reset.

Each time, I went back in, only to die moments later, to a slash, a spell, another knight’s sword. But I was learning. It felt instinctive, somehow, like I was tapping into skills buried deep in this body I’d taken over. Each dodge was smoother, each attack felt sharper, more precise. I couldn’t figure out where it came from, but I wasn’t about to question it.

And then, one reset, I noticed something. There was a way around the knight. To the side, near the edge of the courtyard, I could see the narrow corridor that led away from him. I hadn’t noticed it before, but I’d learned in these endless loops that any option, no matter how dangerous, was worth a try. So, the next time, instead of fighting him directly, I bolted toward that corridor.

But it wasn’t empty.

To my horror, dozens of guards filled the passageways on either side, armored and armed, with grim expressions as if they’d been expecting me. The moment they saw me, they raised their weapons, their spears, swords, and bows at the ready. I charged into them, dodging and weaving, fighting like my life depended on it—which it did. I managed to knock out or disarm the first few, grabbing a sword from one of the guards and swinging it with a precision I couldn’t explain. Ten of them went down, one after another, but they were relentless, each wave pressing harder, pushing me back until I was out of strength. In the end, exhaustion claimed me, and their swords did the rest.

Reset.

I tried again. Ten more went down before I finally collapsed from fatigue. It was a brutal reminder that this body, no matter how many talents it seemed to have, still had its limits. Fighting a hundred guards alone was impossible.

The resets eventually led me back to the knight. But each time we fought, I noticed I was… better. My reflexes, my grip on the sword, the way I maneuvered around his flaming spear—it was like I’d fought with swords my entire life. It wasn’t a skill I remembered, but it was there, and it grew sharper with every reset. My swings were clean, calculated, and before long, the knight began to take notice.

“You’re improving,” he said, his voice echoing beneath his helm. “Raven Nightshade, I acknowledge you. But you can’t be left alive.”

Raven Nightshade. The name meant nothing to me, yet the sound of it stirred something in this body. Was that who I’d become in this world?

But the thought vanished as we clashed again, our swords locking in a deadly embrace. The knight didn’t hold back. His strikes became faster, more aggressive, as if to snuff out my progress before I grew any stronger. But I met his fury head-on. Each swing, each block, felt more natural, more like breathing. And the strangest part—something within me recognized his style, adapting with every move.

And then, during one reset, something happened that I hadn’t anticipated. As we fought, a strange, shimmering aura appeared around his blade, glowing with a fierce, otherworldly energy. I had no idea what it was, but my body seemed to understand. My own blade began to glow in response, a faint echo of his power, as if drawn from some hidden well within me. I felt it crackling through me, this strange energy, adding force to my strikes, pushing me beyond what I thought possible.

Our blades clashed, aura against aura, filling the courtyard with a blinding light. For the first time, I saw doubt flicker in his eyes. I pushed forward, pouring every bit of strength I had into the blade, forcing him back. I was so close.

But then, as I prepared to strike, a new voice cut through the air—a low, melodic chant, laced with a power that made my skin crawl. A woman stood at the far end of the courtyard, her presence dark and commanding. She raised a hand, and with a single word, she wove a spell I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

A massive magic circle appeared above her, so intricate it hurt to look at, symbols and runes shifting in patterns that defied logic. I barely had time to process it before the air trembled and heat blazed down from above. The sky itself seemed to darken, and then, I saw it—a massive, burning meteor descending toward me, filling my vision with blazing fire.

Panic seized me. I couldn’t move, couldn’t react. My mind went blank as I watched the blazing death approach, helpless against the sheer power of it.

The last thing I saw was her face, her expression a mixture of triumph and disdain, and then the meteor struck, the world around me disintegrating into flames and darkness.

Reset.

✧

Hoshino opened his eyes slowly, feeling the cold stone beneath him once more. His body felt…different. Familiar, yet charged with something he couldn’t quite place. He glanced down at his hands—small, with delicate, almost ethereal fingers, unchanged from the thousand resets before. His hair, as always, spilled in silvery-white waves around his face, reaching just short of his eyes.

But there was a difference.

Hoshino could feel it in his gaze, in the way his vision seemed clearer, sharper, like the world had snapped into focus. He lifted a hand to his face and brushed aside the strands of hair obscuring his eyes. They weren’t the red they used to be. His right iris had transformed, turning a vibrant shade of blue, while the left carried a strange yellow hue that seemed to flicker with an inner light, as if a flame burned behind it.

The shift in him went beyond just appearance. Hoshino could feel the energy thrumming through him, surging like a river about to overflow. His aura crackled beneath his skin, a dark, consuming force, and he sensed that this time, something might finally be different.

As the knight reached down to grab him, Hoshino moved, faster than ever before. His fist shot out, striking the knight square in the chest. The force was enough to send the armored figure stumbling back, a shockwave rippling out from the impact. Hoshino didn't wait; he sprang forward, his hand reaching for the sword on the knight’s belt. In one swift motion, he drew the blade, feeling its weight settle into his grip as if it belonged

Hoshino’s gaze lifted to the swordmaster at the edge of the courtyard. The figure was cloaked in blue aura, an energy that swirled with calm intensity. His stance was imposing, his expression unwavering as he watched Hoshino with eyes that seemed to recognize him. Hoshino felt a flicker of acknowledgment in the air between them—a connection that the swordmaster interpreted as something much deeper.

The swordmaster moved first, launching himself forward with a grace that was both fluid and deadly. His sword cut through the air, blue energy trailing from the blade’s edge like a comet streaking across the sky. Hoshino raised his sword just in time, bracing himself as the two blades met in a shattering clash that sent a shockwave across the courtyard. Sparks exploded from the point of impact, and Hoshino gritted his teeth as he felt the sheer force of the blow reverberate down his arm. But he held his ground, unwilling to give an inch.

The swordmaster withdrew, only to come at Hoshino with renewed ferocity, his strikes swift and precise, each one aimed to test Hoshino’s limits. Hoshino moved instinctively, evading and blocking with a fluidity that surprised even him. The black and crimson aura around him intensified, wrapping around his frame like armor, each movement leaving faint trails of darkness in his wake.

With every clash, Hoshino's strikes grew more confident. His blade met the swordmaster’s again and again, their auras mingling in bursts of color—blue against black, light against shadow. Hoshino noticed the power in the swordmaster’s movements, the practiced rhythm of a master who had fought countless battles. But he also felt a response deep within himself, as if his own body recognized this rhythm, as if his movements were only now coming into their full potential.

The swordmaster’s eyes narrowed as he noticed this change, his lips pressing into a hard line. For a moment, the two warriors held their positions, each assessing the other in silence.

“You have the look of someone who remembers,” the swordmaster murmured, his tone a mixture of respect and grim resolve. “Raven Nightshade…I acknowledge you. But I cannot let you live.”

Hoshino felt a surge of frustration at the name—a name that was not his own yet felt tied to this strange reality. But he shoved the thought aside, focusing instead on the battle at hand. The swordmaster had raised his blade again, his aura thickening as he prepared to unleash his true power.

Hoshino felt the exhaustion creeping in, but his resolve held firm. With a deep breath, he adjusted his stance, gripping his sword with both hands as he locked his gaze onto the swordmaster’s next move.

Their blades met again, and Hoshino pushed back with all his strength, catching the swordmaster off-guard. For the first time, he forced his opponent to take a step backward. Fueled by a surge of determination, Hoshino pressed his advantage, his strikes coming faster, more aggressively, his aura burning brighter with every clash. The swordmaster struggled to keep up, his composed expression slipping as Hoshino began to push him toward the edge of the courtyard.

But then, with a sudden, intense glow, the swordmaster’s aura shifted. The once tranquil blue transformed, deepening into a fierce cobalt that crackled with raw energy. Hoshino’s eyes widened as he felt the heat radiating from the man’s blade, a force that pulsed with an intensity beyond anything he had encountered.

Before he could react, the swordmaster lunged, his blade trailing an arc of pure energy that slashed across Hoshino’s side. Pain seared through him, the force of the attack breaking his stance and sending him staggering backward. He gasped, his vision blurring as he struggled to regain his footing. But the swordmaster didn’t relent. His movements were swift and relentless, each strike infused with a power that Hoshino barely managed to evade.

Just as Hoshino was beginning to understand the extent of this new energy, a voice rang out—a hauntingly cold voice that sliced through the chaos with an eerie calm.

The witch had arrived.

She stood on the edge of the courtyard, her arms raised, her fingers weaving intricate patterns through the air. Her voice echoed, strange and melodic, as she began to chant an incantation. Above them, the sky darkened, and a massive, glowing circle of magic appeared, its intricate symbols spinning and shifting as they locked into place.

The crowd fell silent, their eyes locked onto the sky as the witch’s chant reached its peak. A massive meteor began to form within the magic circle, its fiery core pulsing with a heat that made the air tremble.

Hoshino felt his heart race, his body instinctively preparing to flee. But something within him shifted, a quiet voice urging him to stay, to stand his ground. The yellow hue in his left eye intensified, glowing with an inner fire, while his right eye turned a deep, blazing red. Strange symbols appeared within his irises, forming patterns he couldn’t understand, yet they felt right, like they had always been a part of him.

His hand moved to the hilt of his sword, sheathing it with a swift motion that echoed with a quiet finality. He steadied his breathing, his form lowering into a stance that felt both foreign and familiar. Every muscle in his body tensed as he faced the descending meteor, the world around him slowing until each heartbeat, each breath became a distinct moment in time.

In a voice barely louder than a whisper, he muttered, “One Sword Style…”

His grip tightened on the hilt, his gaze unwavering as the meteor plummeted toward him. The crowd watched in breathless anticipation, the magic circle above casting an eerie glow over the courtyard as it held the spell in place.

And then, Hoshino moved.

In a single, seamless motion, he unsheathed his sword, the blade cutting through the air with a precision and power that seemed to transcend reality itself.

“「Void Severance.」”

In an instant, he was on the far side of the meteor, his back to it as his sword slid back into its sheath with a soft click. For a heartbeat, the world stood still, every sound, every frozen in time.

Then, with a shuddering crack, the meteor split cleanly in half. The two halves drifted apart, the spell broken as the magic circle shattered into a million fragments that scattered like embers in the wind.

Hoshino exhaled, lowering his gaze as his aura faded, his hoodie fluttering in the residual breeze. He pulled his hood up, his expression shadowed as he turned back to the courtyard.

The swordmaster stood rooted to the spot, his blade still raised, but his expression was one of shock. The calm composure he had maintained throughout the battle was gone, replaced by a look of pure astonishment. Before he could recover, Hoshino moved toward him, his blade flashing in the dim light as he deftly disarmed the man, the sword slipping from his opponent’s grasp with a practiced ease.

In the silence that followed, Hoshino took the sword and glanced once more at the witch, whose fury burned in her gaze. But he did not linger. He turned and, without a word, sprinted out of the courtyard, the heavy clink of armor fading behind him as he escaped into the shadows.

✧