The dull hum of an aging computer filled the cramped apartment. The curtains were drawn, casting the room in a dim, gray twilight. Faint light from a monitor illuminated the scene: a cluttered desk, piles of unopened mail, half-eaten meals gone cold.
In the center of it all sat a young man, his silhouette slouched like a wilted flower.
Harvey Elowin, twenty years old. Gaunt from sickness, pale from months without sunlight, and silent save for the rapid tapping of fingers on a keyboard. His messy brown hair hung in greasy strands, and his eyes—once bright—had dulled into a lifeless shade of ash. He looked like a ghost who hadn't realized he was already dead.
Harvey hadn't left his room in weeks. Not because he didn't want to. Because it didn't matter anymore.
The doctors said he had cancer in his brain—stage four. Inoperable. Six months left, they said. Nine had passed.
His reply? Lock the door. Boot the PC. Drown in the one place he could still fight back.
Epic Conquest.
A game of swords and sorcery. A world of demons, kingdoms, and hidden power. A place where he knew the rules.
Harvey's character, Alaster the Royal Knight, stood fully geared before the obsidian gates of the final dungeon. Harvey grinned weakly. "Almost there... just a few more minutes."
Then—pain.
A sharp spike pierced the side of his head. Harvey blinked, swayed, and clutched at his temple.
Not now. Please, not—
The world spun. His vision flickered.
His body slumped forward, head hitting the keyboard with a dull thud. The monitor lit his unmoving face.
The screen displayed a single word:
Loading...
---
Warmth. Air.
A gentle wind kissed his face.
Harvey gasped and sat upright, lungs heaving. He blinked against bright sunlight—not the stale fluorescence of his room. No beeping machines. No buzzing monitor.
Stone paved the ground beneath him. The breeze carried the scent of baked bread, leather, and distant smoke. All around, a bustling medieval city stretched to the horizon—towering stone walls, colorful awnings, and armor-clad adventurers chatting and trading.
Harvey scrambled to his feet.
"What the hell—?"
He looked down. No IV needles. No trembling limbs. His body felt... strong. Too strong.
He wore leather armor, a tunic underneath. A bronze dagger hung at his belt. His hands—clean, healthy, without scars.
Then a roar split the sky.
Harvey looked up—and froze.
A dragon, blood-red and massive, flew overhead. Its wings stirred the wind like sails. Gasps and cheers erupted from the crowd, who barely glanced at it.
He pointed, dumbstruck. "A dragon! That's a—!"
Laughter.
Someone nearby muttered, "Must be new."
Harvey's mouth went dry. He turned slowly in a circle. The market, the people, the signs—he recognized them all.
Brightveil City. The starting hub of Epic Conquest.
"No... this is insane." He ran his hands through his hair. "I died. I remember dying. So how... how the hell am I in the game?"
His heart thundered in his chest. Sweat prickled down his neck. Everything was too real—too tangible. He couldn't log out. No HUD. No menus. No help button.
"Okay... think. Think."
He turned down a side street, trying to gather his thoughts, when a voice called out.
"Stop! Thief!"
A man darted past him, clutching a small pouch. Behind him, a figure sprinted with graceful fury—flame flickering at her fingertips, red hair trailing like a banner of war.
Harvey's eyes widened.
"Wait... that's... Edna?!"
He knew that face. He'd seen it in game cutscenes, on character art, on guides. Edna—the Flame Witch. One of the main heroines.
His legs nearly gave out. "This really is Epic Conquest. I'm not dreaming. I'm in the game."
He staggered back into the main road—still in shock—when three rough-looking men blocked his path.
"Well now," one said, grinning. "You look lost. Got any coin?"
"I—uh..." Harvey fumbled, pulling a folded wad of his real-world currency from his pocket. "Here. Take it."
The thug stared. "What the hell is this? You trying to get stabbed?"
Harvey didn't even have time to respond.
A flash of steel. A sharp pain tore through his abdomen. He gasped, stumbling backward, warm blood soaking his shirt.
The last thing he saw was the blue sky spinning overhead as he collapsed.
---
Silence.
Then—wind.
Warmth.
Harvey's eyes flew open. He sat up with a cry, clutching his side—no wound.
He was back in the same spot. The plaza. The same breeze. The same vendors. Even the same dragon roaring overhead.
His mouth fell open. "No... no way. I died."
A merchant walked past, humming the exact same tune. A boy tugged at his mother's cloak, pointing at the sky. It was all identical.
A perfect reset.
Harvey's breath caught.
"I... went back in time."
He stared at his hands again, heart racing.
"This... this is my power."
It clicked. In the game, death was just a mechanic. But here? His real death had brought him into the game. And dying again sent him back—exactly twenty-four hours.
He stumbled to his feet.
"If I'm stuck here... if I can't log out... then this is my only weapon."
A second chance. A cheat code. A curse.
But also—an opportunity.
"I know this game. I know where the strongest skills are. Where the traps are. Where people die."
He looked toward the street where Edna had chased the thief. Her red hair had vanished from sight, but the memory lingered.
"I'm not just some player now," he said, clenching his fists. "This is survival. And I'm going to win."
Because in this world, the only way forward...
Was through death.
Again.
And again.
And again.