<b>I''m going to die.</b>


    Kael felt the weight of that certainty settle into his bones as the Manticore''s crystalline claws tore through the air. His breath came in ragged gasps, the cheap leather armor—marked with the stigma of E-rank certification—shredding like paper beneath the beast''s monstrous assault. White-hot pain lanced through his chest as he staggered backward, his blood painting the ancient dungeon stones in cruel, abstract patterns. His steel sword—three months of copper coins and desperate saving reduced to useless metal—clattered against the ground.


    [Critical Wound Detected]


    [HP: 12/642]


    [Status: Near Death]


    [Warning: Death Imminent]


    This isn''t how E-rank dungeon dives are supposed to go, Kael thought dimly as darkness crept into his vision. The Blackspire Dungeon was supposed to be safe—as safe as any gate-spawned hell could be. Behind him, his teammates'' hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor, their retreat a final confirmation of his worth. No one wastes time or resources saving the lowest-ranked member of a clearing party.


    The Manticore''s crystalline fangs found his throat.


    [HP: 0/642]


    [Status: Dead]


    [The Nameless One observes with curiosity.]


    [System Notification: Loop Activated]


    [Error: Unable to display loop data]


    The notification flickered across Kael''s vision like a broken hologram, the message corrupted and glitching. He couldn''t make sense of the words before everything went black.


    Kael jerked awake in his bed, sweat-soaked sheets tangled around him. Pale sunlight filtered through cracked windows, illuminating the same musty apartment he could barely afford on an E-rank Hunter''s wages. The same apartment he''d been stuck in since that day five years ago, when he''d first awakened as a [Swordsman] and thought his dreams were finally within reach.


    "What... the hell was that?" He pressed a trembling hand to his throat, finding only smooth skin where monster fangs had torn through flesh. "Felt so real..."


    His status window flickered to life, the System''s blue interface as mockingly pristine as ever:


    [Kael Tercel]


    [Rank: E]


    [Class: Swordsman]


    [Level: 12]


    [HP: 642/642]


    He remembered his awakening day with painful clarity. The way azure light had enveloped him, how his heart had raced when [Swordsman] appeared above his head like a promise of greatness. He''d thought it was destiny. After all, wasn''t that how all the stories went? A commoner awakens with a prestigious class, becomes the strongest Hunter, saves the world from the gates that threaten to destroy everything?


    What a cosmic joke.


    Five years of relentless training had taught him otherwise. His [Sword Energy] was barely enough to illuminate a dark room, let alone cut through monster hide. His [Basic Swordsmanship] skill hadn''t progressed past level 2, despite countless hours of practice until his hands bled. While other awakened climbed the ranks, their names blazing across Auren''s holographic billboards, Kael remained firmly at the bottom—watching S-rank Hunters soar through the neon-lit sky while he struggled to afford equipment that wasn''t obviously secondhand.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Just a nightmare," he muttered, climbing out of bed. "Has to be."


    Three hours later, the Manticore''s crystalline tail caught him mid-dodge, spikes punching through his chest with surgical precision. His last thought before death was, Huh, this feels familiar.


    He woke up again. Same bed. Same cracked window. Same worthless stats mocking his existence.


    "Hey, you look like shit," his guildmate Marcus commented as they gathered for the dungeon dive. Marcus, with his C-rank [Spearman] class and actual talent, always seemed to find Kael''s struggles darkly amusing. "Everything okay?"


    "Just... had a weird dream," Kael muttered, adjusting his worn leather armor. "Two of them, actually. Felt real."


    "Maybe you should see a healer—" Marcus started.


    The Manticore''s claws found him again. This time, Kael had enough time to think, Oh come on, at least let me dodge ONCE—


    Fourth morning. Same bed. Same window. Different Kael.


    "No. Absolutely not." He scrambled out of bed, threw on clothes, and ran for the city gates. The guards actually laughed when they saw him sprinting past, their augmented armor gleaming under Auren''s eternal neon glow.


    "Running from another debt collector, E-rank?" one called out, the derision in his voice all too familiar.


    He made it halfway before an invisible force yanked him backward through the smog-filled air.


    "Contract''s binding," the Guild enforcer drawled, her telekinesis field shimmering like heat waves. "The dungeon needs clearing, and E-ranks don''t get to pick their assignments."


    "You don''t understand," Kael babbled, struggling against the invisible bonds. "I''ve died there three times already! The Manticore keeps—"


    "Right. And I''m the Sword Saint''s illegitimate child." The enforcer''s telekinesis dragged him toward the dungeon entrance. "Get moving, E-rank. Maybe if you''re lucky, you''ll get a different class after leveling up."


    I already have the class I wanted, Kael thought bitterly. Fat lot of good it did me.


    He remembered being sixteen, watching the Sword Saint''s exhibition match on a crystal screen in the town square. The way the legendary Hunter had moved like wind given form, his blade leaving trails of golden light that cut through reality itself. That day, Kael had promised himself he''d become just like that—a hero who could protect others from the horrors that poured through the gates.


    Instead, he got... this. An E-rank nobody who couldn''t even properly channel sword energy. A joke among his peers. The expendable one they sent in first because no one cared if he died.


    Fifth morning. Same bed. Same window. Kael stared at the ceiling, counting the cracks he''d memorized over five years of crushing mediocrity.


    "I''m losing my mind," he whispered to the empty room.


    [The Nameless One observes.]


    The notification flickered in his vision for just a moment—there and gone like summer lightning. Kael sat up slowly, a hysterical laugh bubbling in his throat.


    "Oh," he said, thinking of all his failed attempts to become someone worthy of the [Swordsman] class. Of all the times he''d watched real talents soar past him, their names lighting up the night sky while his remained in darkness. Of the pitying looks from the Guild instructors who''d stopped bothering to correct his form. "Oh, this is so much worse than going crazy."


    Behind him, somewhere in the shadows, ancient laughter echoed. It reminded him of the day he''d first awakened his class—full of promise and potential, right before reality came crashing down.


    The true nightmare was just beginning.


    And somewhere, in the depths of his mind, a traitorous voice whispered: Maybe this time, I''ll finally get it right.


    [Welcome to the Loop, Failed Swordsman.]


    Kael looked at his status window one more time, at the class he''d dreamed of since childhood, and laughed until tears came. The sound echoed off the walls of his tiny apartment, a perfect harmony with the distant wail of dungeon sirens.


    Time to die. Again.


    And maybe, just maybe, learn why a god had taken interest in his failures.