A different world game? A different world game!

Within this dome of rules, in this bizarre and wondrous space.

Varn felt the steady pressure emanating from the heavy steel armor that had been with him for many years and was as familiar as a second skin.

Feel the coolness and weight of the tower shield in your hand, engraved with your surname and still as sturdy as ever after countless impacts.

Feel the power within your body, as steady as the earth and as resilient as steel, how it gathers and surges with each deep breath, protecting you and transforming into a thunderous shield.

Protect! Stand firm! Unmoved as a mountain!

This is his path, his belief, and the foundation of his strength.

In this space, at this magical moment when the spirit is infinitely amplified and deeply integrated with the body.

He completely opened his heart.

However, what was first clearly felt was him himself—his unwavering will and his pure and powerful soul.

Just then, a strong, deep-seated throbbing sensation, originating from the very depths of his blood and soul, suddenly pulled him along like an invisible chain.

He suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze sharp as lightning, piercing through the countless bizarre and wondrous sights floating around him, and locking onto a seemingly insignificant object in the distance with unparalleled precision.

It floated there quietly, unlike a lively and agile leaping fire sprite, unlike a light and flowing meandering water stream, or a precise and complex spinning silver Rubik's Cube.

It was just a... square metal block.

The entire piece presents a deep, cold, and unadorned dark steel gray color.

It has sharp angles and straight lines, as if it were cut by a knife or axe, without any superfluous carving or dazzling luster.

It doesn't even radiate the scorching heat of that dark red, blazing iron block not far away, nor does it contain the profound power nurtured by the earth like that lump of black coal.

What it possesses is nothing more than the purest, seemingly impervious to the relentless erosion of time and the violent impact of all things—absolute solidity!
An indescribable, soul-deep attraction emanated from the steel block, like a powerful magnet firmly drawing in the iron filings.

Vayne felt the power within him resonating intensely, his blood rushing through his veins, and even the tower shield he gripped tightly seemed to be humming with a silent yet intense longing on a spiritual level.

Without the slightest hesitation, he followed that almost instinctive call from the depths of his soul.

Within this magical space, the body seemed to have lost the constraints of weight. With a thought, it floated forward as lightly as a feather, reaching out its arm firmly toward the square steel block that symbolized the essence of "solidity".

Fingertips, with the warrior's resolve and thirst for the true meaning of power, slowly, yet with unwavering determination, touched the cold, hard, seemingly eternally unchanging metal surface.

Om-!
The instant they made contact, an irresistible, vast, and boundless power instantly engulfed Varn's entire consciousness!

The bizarre and fantastical scene before my eyes spun wildly like a shattered kaleidoscope, rapidly fading before finally disappearing completely.

Instead, what came was a terrifying heat that seemed to burn the very soul to ashes.

Beneath their feet lay the scorching earth, cracked with countless abyss-like fissures and flowing with thick, dark red magma. The air was thick with the pungent smell of sulfur and destructive heat waves strong enough to melt gold and iron.

Above them was a crimson sky swirling with massive vortexes of flames, like a boiling pool of blood. Countless boulders burning with raging flames crashed down like doomsday meteors, leaving long trails of fire, blasting lava craters into the scorched earth.

Before him stood a massive volcano, composed entirely of lava, roaring and spewing forth towering flames and toxic smoke, its deafening roar shaking the very earth.

That was no natural volcano; its grotesque and twisted shape resembled a terrifying behemoth that had crawled out of the abyss of hell and was now lying prostrate on the earth. Its body was made of scorching hot rocks and raging flames, radiating a violent pressure that could destroy all living things.

The trial has begun!

The moment his fingertips touched the cold steel block, Varn's consciousness was completely swallowed up by this raging world of flames.

He is no longer the humanoid warrior Varn.

He is that hot, viscous lava that flows endlessly deep within the earth's veins.

He "senses" the unparalleled scorching pressure deep within the earth's core, feeling the slow yet intense process of the hard, cold rock beneath him being ruthlessly dissolved and assimilated.

He "swam" in the volcano's huge, boiling, churning "heart"—the magma chamber—filled with destructive energy.

Its immense heat is its wild pulse, and its surging magma is its scorching blood.

He was completely immersed in this primal, violent torrent of power, full of destruction and rebirth, as if his soul had merged with the will of the volcano itself.

Until that energy, which had been accumulating for countless years, could no longer be restrained, it burst forth like a trapped beast suppressed to its limit!
He was swept along, like an angry crimson python, rushing upwards along the narrow, steep rock passage, breaking through all obstacles and constraints with unstoppable force.

The earth was torn apart painfully beneath his feet, and the sky was dyed a blinding orange-red, like an apocalyptic inferno.

Finally, he burst forth with unparalleled force, accompanied by a deafening roar of destruction and rebirth, transforming into a rain of fire that violently pelted the cold, desolate, and lifeless earth below.

The molten lava rapidly cooled in the frigid air, darkened in color, and eventually solidified and hardened completely...

Varn's will became blurred amidst the drastic temperature change, and his concept of time was completely distorted and accelerated madly.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but he "felt" that he had become incredibly hard, cold, and heavy.

All around was absolute, suffocating darkness and a heavy sense of oppression from all directions. Then, a dull and persistent sound pierced through the thick, lifeless rock.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!..."

It was the dull thud of metal tools violently striking hard rock, rhythmic and persistent, growing clearer and clearer as it approached.

Each heavy blow violently shook the thick rock layer that enveloped him, sending debris flying down in a shower.

He was "discovered".

The blinding light of day surged back into his "perception," but what followed was an even more familiar, almost soul-deep, scorching wave.

He was thrown into a gigantic furnace, its interior gleaming with a blinding orange-red light.

The hard body quickly yielded, softened, and finally "melted" completely in the extreme heat and flames, turning back into a pool of hot, flowing liquid metal radiating incandescent light.

In his blurred and distorted perception, he "flowed," guided by an invisible force, slowly being poured into a pre-designed, narrow groove—a sword-shaped mold.

“Ding! Ding! Ding——!”

A crisp and powerful rhythmic clang of hammering suddenly rang out, like a heavy hammer striking the deepest part of his "soul," each strike bringing a violent tremor that pierced through his very being.

Those were thousands of invisible iron hammer phantoms, carrying the immense power to split mountains and shatter rocks, fiercely hammering and forging him from all directions into this hot, soft, and malleable substance!
Each heavy hammer blow was accompanied by blinding, scorching sparks that exploded and flew like fireworks. Each powerful impact forcefully squeezed out the tiny impurities within him, making the metal structure denser, more uniform, and stronger. In the excruciating pain that tore at his soul, he "felt" himself being repeatedly folded, stretched, shaped, and forged.

The resounding rhythm of the hammer blows is the supreme law of forging, and the destructive and regenerative power of the flames is the fundamental force of shaping.

The vague perception becomes clearer and stronger with forging.

He was being forged, tempered, and refined from a chaotic, undeveloped lump of liquid metal into a piece of steel with a flawless form and unparalleled power...

His unwavering will was being hammered into the very essence of his being.

After an unknown amount of time, the dense, rain-like hammering finally subsided and ceased. The outline of the world stabilized again and became clearly discernible amidst the distorted heatwave.

Varn found himself standing firmly on solid ground again, with a human body once more.

However, he looked down at his rough hands covered with thick calluses and fresh scars, wearing only extremely rough and thin linen clothes, and his bare, scarred feet.

Looking around, there was an endless, desolate mountain range that inspired despair.

The rocks are jagged and sharp, barren of vegetation. The only things in the world are the deathly gray and oppressive dark brown rocks, endlessly piling up to form a desolate wasteland devoid of life.

The biting mountain wind howled through the jagged cracks in the rocks, making a mournful, plaintive sound.

"who I am?"

Varn's mind was blank, like an ancient stone slab that had been thoroughly washed clean.

He had a vague feeling that he should know something, as if there was an important mission or a fragment of memory, but the thought vanished like a wisp of smoke in the wind, leaving no trace.

His only remaining awareness was that he "knew" his name was Varn; beyond that, it was all nothingness.

The feeling was strangely odd. He didn't think he had amnesia, because "amnesia" meant that there were memories to lose, but his mind was now a completely empty, uncultivated wasteland.

A thick fog of confusion enveloped him completely.

In this spiritual world composed of pure "solidity" and "barrenness," he silently and mechanically took heavy steps forward, relying solely on an almost primitive instinct.

The sharp stones under his feet relentlessly pierced his bare soles, bringing a clear, piercing pain, but he seemed to have lost his sense of pain, feeling nothing, just numbly, step by step, endlessly trudging forward.

There was no goal, no direction, only the winding road beneath my feet, paved with cold gravel, leading to an unknown abyss.

After walking tirelessly for an unknown amount of time, a towering, steep mountain, composed entirely of exposed and jagged rocks, suddenly loomed before us like a colossal gray wall, silently and immensely oppressing our entire field of vision.

Without the slightest hesitation, Varn seemed to believe that climbing this giant peak was the only path and destiny that existed at this moment.

He began to climb upwards with difficulty, using both his hands and feet.

The rough, cold rocks relentlessly wore down his already battered feet and hands, leaving fresh streaks of blood, but he gritted his teeth and remained silent, struggling to cling to the cold rock face, upward, ever upward, as if trying to pierce the gray sky.

The mountain wind became even more biting and piercing, like a cold knife cutting into the skin.

Finally, near the halfway point, in a slightly sheltered rocky depression, he discovered a dark, bottomless cave entrance.

He went inside without hesitation.

The cave was not pitch black as one might imagine. Instead, a soft, steady, and constant light of unknown origin filled the entire space, clearly illuminating the rugged and uneven rock walls inside the cave.

What's even more surprising is that the scenery inside the cave wasn't formed naturally!
The thick, neatly cut logs, like the arms of giants, firmly support the cave ceiling, forming a stable and solid framework that effectively prevents collapse.

A simple track, carefully laid with thick, durable wooden planks, runs along the cave wall into the depths. A mine car, weathered and with a mottled wooden body, rests quietly on the track. Inside the car, various ores of different shapes and sizes, shimmering with a faint metallic luster, are piled up haphazardly.

When and how did all this happen?
Varne didn't delve into it, as if they were meant to be there, as natural as breathing.

He walked to the mine cart, bent down and picked up a heavy piece of ore with a rough, uneven surface that shimmered with a dull metallic luster in the dim light.

He leaned closer and examined it carefully, the cold, rough texture of the ore clearly transmitted through his palm.

Then, his gaze unconsciously fell on the cold ground beside the mine cart—there, lying quietly, was a heavy pickaxe, its long wooden handle worn smooth and shiny, its sharp tip gleaming with a cold light.

Did this thing exist before? Why didn't I notice it just now?

Varn couldn't be sure, but this tiny question was like a pebble thrown into a deep pool, sinking instantly without causing the slightest ripple in his mind.

He put down the ore and naturally and smoothly gripped the familiar and comfortable wooden handle of the pickaxe.

A strange, innate sense of familiarity arose spontaneously, dispelling all doubts.

He took a deep breath, gripped the pickaxe handle tightly with both hands, and swung his arm down with all his might at a hard rock layer on the cave wall where the mineral vein texture was clearly visible!
"Qiang——!"

A piercing crash suddenly rang out.

Sparks flew like fireworks in the dark mine, and the hard rock cracked open.

Without pausing or even glancing at the results, Varn raised his pickaxe high again and brought it down with the same force and determination.

Swing your arm, then drop! Swing your arm, then drop! ...

He was like a programmed, tireless, precision machine, frantically and persistently repeating the simplest and most primitive digging action.

The crisp, resounding clang of the pickaxe striking the hard rock was continuous, rapid, and powerful, becoming the only monotonous yet awe-inspiring melody in this absolutely silent and secluded world.

As he dug, chunks of ore of varying sizes were extracted and rolled down to his feet, piling up higher and higher until they gradually formed several messy little hills.

He was tireless, oblivious to the passage of time, just digging and digging, as if digging itself was the entire meaning of existence.

Sweat had already soaked through his thin linen clothes, clinging to his skin, and his bare arms were sore and trembling from the continuous explosive force.

His muscles burned like fire, but he was oblivious, all his senses focused on the moment the pickaxe fell with each swing.

As he relentlessly and frantically dug, the surrounding rock walls continued to recede and collapse inward, forcibly and brutally expanding the originally narrow mine space.

It had become a vast, empty "mineral warehouse," almost entirely filled with various shimmering ores. (End of Chapter)