When The System Spoils You For No Reason-Chapter 63 - Sixty Three

"Emotion without reason is blind. Reason without emotion is dead." — Blaise Pascal

...

After Neon sent Michael away from the dragon, Michael materialized in a forest.

He collapsed to his knees. Pressed his palms into the dirt. And wept—raw, gasping sobs that tore through him until his throat burned and his chest ached.

When the tears finally dried, he stood.

Revenge. The word settled into him like a stone in deep water—cold, heavy, sinking to the bottom of everything he was.

He needed information first. Context. Location.

The forest felt familiar in a way that made his skin prickle. Within hours, he confirmed it: Ameriga’s Danger Zone.

In the other world, he’d made this place his habitat. Trained here. Studied its ecosystems. Mapped its territories.

It was perfect.

In the other world, after awakening, he’d prioritized areas suited for growth. The Danger Zone had been one of them.

But then, he’d been a machine. Training was function, not sacrifice.

This time, he’d had other desires. Things he liked. Spending every waking moment in a forest surrounded by monsters hadn’t been his idea of living.

That complacency had cost him everything.

Not again.

Now, Michael would abuse his talent without restraint. Emotions would be repressed. Human concerns, discarded.

Only one thing remained.

Revenge.

Cold. Calculated. Absolute.

---

"Are you really a cousin to dragons?" Michael muttered, sitting cross-legged atop a drake’s corpse. "Must be a distant bloodline."

Around him, the forest floor was littered with bodies—drakes, wyverns, winged serpents. Anything with even a trace of draconic heritage.

He’d been in the Danger Zone for four years.

Four years of relentless hunting. Four years of deletion.

It had no direct effect on Karys. But it curbed the temptation to charge in blind, drunk on rage.

He could indulge emotion. He couldn’t afford to abandon logic.

Now, he wasn’t at the level he’d reached in the other world—not yet. But he’d carved out territory in the deepest part of the zone. Claimed dominance over SSS-ranked monsters.

Breakfast, lunch, dinner.

"The time has come."

Michael slid off the drake’s body, boots hitting dirt with a muted thud. He glanced sideways and smiled—faint, humorless.

"I’ll be going now, guys. Be nice."

During his time here, he’d broken the zone’s apex predators. Made them submit.

With his departure, the hierarchy would rebuild. Not quite to what it was—he’d culled too many for that—but close enough.

---

Shimmer.

Michael appeared at the site where Karys had killed his father.

The landscape had warped into something semi-apocalyptic. Clouds stained dark red, buildings reduced to skeletal ruins.

"Where are you?"

He closed his eyes. Felt for the aura—vast, arrogant, unmistakable.

"Oh. There you are."

Shimmer.

---

"Dragon. Are you ready to die?"

His voice arrived before his body.

"Hmm?" Karys didn’t move from where he lounged atop a pile of treasures, two beautiful human women draped at his sides. "Who are you again?"

He yawned.

"Another human sent to kill me?"

"Have you forgotten already?" Michael’s tone was flat. "How arrogant."

"You do look familiar." Karys squinted. "But I’m sorry—I don’t remember weaklings."

He stretched lazily.

"Though for you to expect me to remember... I suppose I must have let you go. I’ve only spared a handful since arriving here."

"Let me jog your memory."

Michael’s aura flared.

The pressure cracked the ground beneath them.

Karys straightened, eyes sharpening. "You seem very familiar... Wait." His expression shifted. "You’re that kid. What’s happening?"

"Sit back. Lounge. Relax." Michael’s smile was a blade. "Don’t run."

"This is impossible—"

Karys started to rise.

"It’s been four years. Humans don’t get strong this quickly. Surely—mphm—"

Michael appeared before him in a blink, hand clamping over the dragon’s mouth.

"You mean this meager strength?" His head tilted. "This is nothing compared to my true power. But I’m out of time, and this is more than enough for you. Don’t you think?"

Karys’s eyes widened.

"For the past four years," Michael continued, voice soft, conversational, "I’ve thought about what to do to you. How to repay you." He paused. "I had an idea in the second year. Tempered it in the fourth. Now, seeing you, I’ve refined the plan."

He leaned closer.

"Instead of fighting you—giving you the pleasure of struggle—I’ll torture you. To the point where you feel the pain of the millions you’ve killed." His voice dropped. "Especially the father who died protecting his inadequate son."

Karys tried to speak. The sound died against Michael’s palm.

"Oh, do you have something to say?" Michael’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Sorry. But in my presence, speech is for the strong. And you, dragon, are quite weak."

He removed his hand.

"Too weak for the nuisance you’ve caused. It just goes to show how fragile we humans are. And how unfair the heavens are to dragons."

Karys opened his mouth.

"I’ve been studying your kind for four years," Michael said, cutting him off. "You have the weirdest talents. The best boons. You need to reach certain ages to progress in strength, within a confined framework, you only get to pass that framework when you reach a certain age. You can’t be harmed by weaklings—or equals. Even those stronger than you inflict damage based on complex variables. And your regeneration?" He laughed—short, bitter. "Even fatal wounds heal in moments."

His expression hardened.

"So yes. Of course humans on Earth don’t have the means to kill you." He stepped back. "But unlucky for you—you met me." 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

Michael’s gaze was empty.

"Dragon, you will suffer. You will heal. You will suffer again. And you will beg for death." He paused. "Then I’ll decide if I kill you or not."

WHAM.

A field of aura crushed down on Karys like a physical weight.

"First," Michael said, voice clinical, "You have one month to move a muscle."

Compressed fire lances materialized above Karys—hovering, superheated, vibrating with restrained violence.

They fell.

Each one pierced clean through—hands pinned to stone, legs impaled, stomach punctured. Karys convulsed, mouth opening in a soundless scream.

"As long as I have mana," Michael said, "they’ll exist. And I have mana for days."

He walked to the pile of treasures. Sat. Rested his chin on one hand, the other draped across his lap.

And watched.

Apathetic.

Still.

---

Michael tortured Karys for ten years.

Burning him down to charred bone, then healing him. Tearing limbs. Removing organs. Dehydration. Psychological torment.

By the second year, Karys had given up.

Michael found a mental specialist. Healed the dragon’s trauma.

Then began again.

Karys relapsed every six months the first year. Every two months by the fifth year. Every two weeks by the eighth. Every week by the ninth.

By the tenth year, it was daily.

"You have quite the weak mind, dragon." Michael’s tone was conversational, distant. "For a monster of your caliber, you should have higher resistance." He tilted his head. "If this were a smut novel, you’d be tamed for a sex slave by now."

He paused.

"I just got a new torture idea. But there’s no SSS-ranked who would stoop low enough to rape you. Any other rank would be too weak to do anything."

His expression flattened.

"Well. This marks the end of our time together."

"I have a question, human."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Ask away."

"I can understand becoming that strong in four years," Karys rasped, voice hoarse, broken. "But how have you grown even stronger without doing anything these past ten years?"

"You’re dying," Michael said slowly, "and you’re checking out my power level?"

Karys said nothing.

"Well, I forgot to hide my strength. I was revenge-driven." Michael shrugged. "But it’s none of your business, dragon. Your race isn’t the only one blessed by the heavens."

He snapped his fingers.

A pillar of fire erupted from beneath Karys, incinerating him in an instant.

Michael stood still, watching the flames consume the dragon until nothing remained but ash and silence.

"Father," he whispered. "I’ve gotten revenge."

A tear slipped down his cheek.

"Revenge?" A voice cut through the air—cold, familiar. "Is that what you’d call this? Since when have we done that?"

Michael turned sharply.

His surroundings had changed. The ruins were gone. In their place: a white void, endless and featureless.

He looked toward the source of the voice.

And saw himself.

"It was fascinating to feel emotions," the other Michael said, tone detached, clinical. "So I let you do what you pleased. But you turned into this?" He gestured vaguely. "Is this what emotions would do to me? A fascinating test."

He stepped closer.

"From not having emotions to having them. One loses control. Becomes drunk on the euphoria of sensations never felt before. Loses track of the mission. Allows emotions to dictate life." He paused. "Then, when faced with repercussions, falls deeper into the abyss of emotion. Becomes a human monster."

His gaze was empty.

"Torture? That’s a low even for me. And I don’t care about things like this."

He smiled—faint, cold.

"I thought after Mother’s death, you would become better. Well, you did. Until Father died." He shrugged. "Anyway, you showed me the ups and downs of human emotion. I prefer simulating."

Michael stared at him.

"Are you deleting me?"

"Is your emotion causing you to deny the truth?" The other Michael’s voice was steady, almost gentle. "Do you want to fight your fate? You know you’re only a fragment made from a trial. Accepting me is the way to pass."

He tilted his head.

"You should feel it. You don’t want to lose to Zeke. Well—"

"I felt the pain," Michael interrupted, voice cracking. "I lived the life. Why do you get to determine who becomes prime?"

"Because I’m stronger. Because I allowed your birth. Because you’ve suffered, and it’s only logical to be assimilated—so you end your suffering." The other Michael’s expression didn’t change. "Or have you become addicted to pain? Giving and receiving?"

Michael opened his mouth to protest.

"Begone."

The word was final.

Michael faded.

Leaving only the other Micheal— well the original.

He stood alone in the void, silent for a long moment.

Then spoke.

"So, Tower. Did I pass your trial?" His tone was flat. "Even if I didn’t, this mental trial of yours is useless to someone like me."

[ CONGRATULATIONS. YOU HAVE PASSED THE TRIAL OF THE FIRST FLOOR. ]

"Thank you for the congratulations."

---

[ CONGRATULATIONS. YOU HAVE PASSED THE TRIAL OF THE FIRST FLOOR. ]

Kai looked at the notification, grinning wide.

"I knew it had to be fake. My family could never hate me—I’m their adorable little kid."

He stretched, rolling his shoulders.

"What torture. Yeon’s spoiling me for the torture she gave me in this trial."

---

[ CONGRATULATIONS. YOU HAVE PASSED THE TRIAL OF THE FIRST FLOOR. ]

Aaron exhaled slowly, smiling.

"You really had to make me leave this kind of life. Just for a trial."

He shook his head.

"Phew. I wouldn’t want to face a trial of this level again." His smile widened slightly. "I wonder what the others faced."

---

What’s up with the darkness? Am I blind again?

The Tower and its useless trials. I get dying a hundred times, but what the hell is being transmigrated as a blind person?

The first time was so good you had to do it again?

Who’s coming to kill me? Quickly—I want to see.

Who’s tugging at me?

Ahh—bright light. The light hurts.

"Oh, a healthy boy!"

What’s with this giant?

And who’s the owner of that child? Make him shut up.

The wailing seems a little too close to home.

Is this not my throat I feel the vibration from?

Wait.

Am I the baby?

Have I been transmigrated as a baby?

I’m being passed around? I’m not a hoe.

That should be the least of my worries!

I’ve never been transmigrated as a child—well, not a newborn.

After so many deaths, you want me to experience being born?

You cruel Tower.

---

It’s been five years since I’ve been born. Again.

The only birth I remember, by the way.

Are we supposed to remember our births?

Well, if not, then I’ve been traumatized.

I’ve been thinking—this trial seems like the plot of a novelkiss I read before. Well, except the white void arc. That would make this a potential new story.

I’m writing this when I get out of here.

And I’m definitely knocking the Tower down a floor.

You see what I did there?

The phrase is "knock down a peg," but I said "knock down a floor."

...Forget it.

I’ve been born into a middle-class family in a medieval era. Second child of four.

Large family, I know.

It’s quite endearing, to be honest.

But I’ve been on edge.

When will I die?

---

Maybe I’m not dying anytime soon.

’Cause right now, I’m enjoying the medieval times.

---

Should never have said I was enjoying this.

"Take the women! Kill the men!"

Bandits attacked our town.

Classic medieval trope.

Now I’m a victim of it.

"Hey—if you can’t even work a farm, why you carrying a blade, you rejected knight?"

If I was going to die, I wouldn’t die a coward.

And I’m definitely not seeing my family die before me.

Zeke rose from his kneeling position and ran toward a bandit.

"You brat—die!"

The bandit swung his sword.

Zeke dodged, fluid and precise, moving to the man’s back. Locked his hands around the bandit’s neck. Dropped to the floor, dragging him down. Jammed his hands into the man’s throat.

He stood, picking up the fallen sword.

"A useless sword from a useless human." Zeke swirled the blade, testing its weight. "Come on. Let’s see how you do facing someone with little to no sword experience."

"Kill the child!"

The leader’s voice cracked across the square.

"Zeke, stop!"

"Sorry, Mother." Zeke’s voice was steady. "But this is how a real man dies."

He raised the sword.

And I don’t plan on dying without taking a few of them with me.

A bandit rushed at him.

Zeke weaved right, using the sword’s pommel to shove the man off-balance. Focused on the next one—parrying his blade, pivoting to the side, pushing him stumbling past.

Then, with force, he turned. Swung.

The sword cut clean through the first bandit’s neck.

He walked to the second and drove the blade through his chest.

Tilted his head to the side. Caught an incoming attacker in his peripheral.

Turned. Kicked.

The bandit crumpled.

Another came from his side. Slashed.

Pain flared across Zeke’s ribs.

As he turned to face the attacker, another blade bit into him from the opposite side.

"Why do villains like jumping heroes?"

Zeke gave a weak smile.

Blood dripped into the dirt.

---

Darkness again?

Am I experiencing another birth?

Zeke felt himself being tugged.

Ah, shit.

Here we go again.

—