[“It’s a boy…
how are we going to raise him?”] [You were born into a poverty-stricken family.] [You are the eighth child of this household.] [Your mother’s voice is weak and numb.] [Your father squats on the threshold, his rough palms rubbing his face forcefully, his fingernails caked with dirt and exhaustion.] [He looks at you, crying weakly on the heated brick bed.] [“Better to…
let him go early.
It’ll save him from a life of suffering.”] “What the f—?!” Outside the simulation, Ray blurted out a piece of British slang.
“Getting strangled by my own father right at the start?!
Even ‘Hell Difficulty’ shouldn’t be played like this!” But at this moment, he could do nothing but pray.
“Oh, incompetent Host, are you just going to watch yourself…” “Shut up!!” Ray interrupted the system.
With a hint of worry, he continued reading.
[You are wrapped in a layer of tattered, coarse cloth.] [You have been brought to a forest far away from the village.] [Your father lowers his head, looking at you in your swaddling clothes.
Those large, calloused hands slowly reach toward your neck.] [“Don’t blame me…
child…”] [He closes his eyes and begins to apply pressure with his hands.] [The sensation of suffocation instantly grips you!] [The air is cut off, your vision begins to darken, and your life instincts scream frantically!] [Is it going to end just like this?] [To die in such a filthy place?] [“No!
You’ve got to be kidding me!”] [“I haven’t done anything yet!”] [“I want to live, I want to survive!!”] [Under extreme crisis, you think quickly and see a way out.] [You open your mouth, marshaling all the strength you can muster, and then—] [“He…
tui!!!”] [A mouthful of viscous liquid shoots from your throat, accurately splattering across your father’s face!] [“Ah—!!
My eyes!
What is this!
It hurts so much!”] [Your father lets out a shrill scream, his hands snapping back to cover his face.] [The acid isn’t very toxic, but it made direct contact with his eyeballs.] [For a malnourished farmer, this is devastating.] [Like a cockroach sprayed with insecticide, he stumbles back, flailing his arms wildly, making guttural “he-he” sounds in his throat.] [Finally, he falls backward onto the cold, rocky ground.
His body twitches a few times, then goes still.] [You survived.] [But you soon realize the crisis is far from over.] [Minute by minute, time passes.] [Cold and hunger transform into a pair of large hands, once again squeezing your throat.] [There’s no other way.] [You begin to cry, using all your strength, hoping this sound in the wilderness might attract even a passing woodcutter or hunter.] [However, only the sound of the wind answers you.] [My dear, this place is far too remote.] [On the first day, your eyes darken from hunger.] [On the second day, your father’s corpse begins to emit the smell of rot.] [This smell attracts several vultures.] [They feast greedily upon the “food.”] [You are powerless to drive them away; not a drop of venom remains.] [But the moment you stop moving, they will eat you…] [On the morning of the third day, you weakly crawl out of your swaddling clothes.] [“No…
can’t die…
absolutely cannot die here…”] [“I want to live!!!”] [A tenacious will to live sustains you.] [You turn your head and look at the rotting corpse.] [You open your mouth.] [“Urgh…
ugh…”] [“Eat…
only then can I live…
only by living…
is there hope…”] [Numbly, you repeat this in your consciousness over and over, like chanting a spell, fighting against the tremors and self-loathing deep within your soul.] [In this ultimate moment of discarding everything just to survive.] [You seem to break through some kind of shackle, and a glimmer of light ignites in the depths of your soul—] [“Ding!
Congratulations, Host, on awakening the talent ‘Unyielding Recovery’!”] [Unyielding Recovery (Blue): Your will to survive transcends common sense.
When on the brink of desperation, your bodily functions will break through certain limits (comprehensive improvement in combat power, willpower, etc.), bringing you a final surge of feedback to seek a slim chance of survival!] [A weak but definitely present warm current diffuses from the depths of your soul, barely stabilizing your near-collapsing physiological functions and giving your spirit a boost.] [“Came just in time…”] [You say weakly.] [Relying on this unspeakable source of “food” and your newly awakened passive ability, you struggle bitterly on the line between life and death for another two days.] [The afternoon of the fifth day.] [Just as you are about to fall into a coma again, you hear a sound—] [“Clip-clop…
clip-clop…”] [It’s the sound of horse hooves!
And the sound of wheels rolling over the ground!] [Hope explodes like a clap of thunder!] [Using your last ounce of strength, you let out a hoarse but desperate cry!] [This cry carries far across the silent wilderness…] [A moment later.] [An ornately decorated carriage stops not far away.] [A guard dismounts and walks over cautiously to investigate.] [“Miss, there’s a baby here!
He’s still alive!”] [The guard shouts in surprise.] [The carriage curtain is pulled back by a fair little hand, revealing a face as exquisite as a porcelain doll’s.] [“How could there be a child here?”] [Her voice is crisp, carrying the distinct accent of the nobility.] [“From the marks, it looks like an attack by magical beasts.
Look, there are adult bones nearby.”] [The young girl sighs softly.] [“How pitiful…
both parents gone, all alone here…”] [She turns to the guard, her tone returning to calm: “Take him back with us.”] [The carriage slowly starts up as the guard carefully picks you up.] [Leaning against the guard’s warm chest, listening to the rhythmic sound of the horse’s hooves, your nerves, stretched to their limit, finally find a moment of relaxation…] [You survived.] [In the most humble way, you have pried open a tiny crack in fate.]