01. Trial of Inherited Class (1)

Cold. That was the first thing Alden felt—an icy shock rushing over his body, as if the world itself had shoved him into the depths of dark water. 
 

His ears were deaf to all but the roar of silence, a deafening nothingness that pressed against his skull. But his mind? His mind surged with chaos, a violent storm of memories he desperately wanted to forget.
 

Cruel laughter rang in his ears. Mocking jeers that cut deeper than any blade. Insults that stuck to him like bad dreams, the kind you can't shake off no matter how hard you try.

They echoed through the darkness, stubborn and venomous, refusing to vanish. The longer they lingered, the more suffocating they became. Each word was a weight pressing down on his chest, making it harder to breathe, harder to think.
 

Alden slowly closed his eyes. He gave in to the numbness creeping through his limbs, accepted whatever fate expected him. His screams—if he'd even made any—dissolved into nothing. His chest burned with a tightening pressure that made each breath a struggle, each heartbeat a labor. Some primal instinct kicked in then, forcing him to inhale despite everything.
 

That was when the void swallowed him whole.
 

“This is the end”, he thought, floating in that endless blackness. “This is how it ends.”
 

He had failed. Everything he'd chased, everything he'd longed for, had slipped through his fingers like sand. The realization settled over him slowly, creeping in like frost. 
 

Guilt came next, faint at first, barely noticeable. But it grew. It always grew. Until it formed something solid—a weight he couldn't ignore. A drive, strange and foreign, to somehow set things right. To undo what couldn't be undone.

And then, whether hallucination or something divine, he heard it.
 

A voice.
 

"Heaven awaits those who deserve it."

Alden tensed. What was that? The voice spoke of the afterlife, but the sound was unlike anything human. It was ethereal. Almost angelic. The words reverberated across the unseen vastness surrounding him, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.
 

"For those who end as victors in the Hall of Valor."
 

The voice continued, drawing confusion like fog across Alden's mind. What did it mean? What was this Hall of Valor? 
 

Then something changed.
 

The void flickered, like a television screen losing signal. From absolute darkness came blinding brilliance. A vast, empty white expanse stretched as far as the eye could see. Alden stood there, somehow upright, on an invisible surface he could neither feel nor comprehend. It was like standing on air itself, or maybe nothing at all.
 

"What? Where am I?" he murmured, his voice sounding strange in his own ears. He turned in slow, cautious circles, searching for anything. Nothing. Just endless white in every direction.
 

"Greetings, Reincarnator. Welcome to Ascendria. The world of the chosen, fated to ascend to Heaven."
 

Alden narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he struggled to understand. Ascendria? What kind of place was that? And what did they mean by chosen? 
 

The words floated around him like riddles, each one spawning more questions than answers. He wanted to shout, to demand real explanations, but something held him back. Maybe fear. Maybe curiosity.
 

"Here, reincarnators must advance to attain true Peace of Mind. To discover their true selves and deepest desires."

The voice paused, and Alden could have sworn he felt it looking at him.

"Those who fail will be granted endless chances to improve. But those who choose stagnation will remain forever in Ascendria, bound to its laws. Forever trapped. Forever searching."
 

Alden stood speechless, completely disoriented. A bead of sweat slipped down his temple. Could it be a simulation? Some elaborate trick? He didn't know. But what he did know, what he felt in his bones, was one undeniable truth: He was alive again. 

Somehow, impossibly, he had been given another chance. And this life would be nothing like the one before.
 

He looked down at himself and froze.
 

At first, he didn't recognize the person he saw. The body was familiar but wrong, like seeing an old photograph you'd forgotten existed. But gradually, recognition dawned. It was him. It was Alden. But not the Alden who had died.
 

This was him from twenty years ago, when he'd still been a teenager. Fresh-faced, without wrinkles, without the heavy burdens etched into every line of his expression. Messy straight black hair fell across his forehead. A defined jawline. Sharp brown eyes that held something he'd thought he'd lost long ago.
 

"All reincarnators are blessed with an inherited class."

The voice continued, pulling his attention back.

"Each class grants unique abilities. They are essential to survive battles, defeat monsters, and conquer the dungeons that await in this world."
 

Before Alden could form a question, before he could even open his mouth, a hologram materialized before him. A translucent panel floating in mid-air, displaying text that looked both alien and strangely familiar. Like something from a video game, but far too real.
 

[Data Information]

Name: Alden  

Race: Human Reincarnator  

Level: 1  

Class: Unknown  

Affinity: Unknown  

Role: Unknown  

Status: Not Awakened  

Title: None

That was all he had. No powers listed. No impressive titles. No legendary weapons or magical abilities. Only mystery and the vague promise of more to come. But something clicked within him as he stared at that single word. Reincarnator.

So it was true. He had been given another life, thrust into this bizarre reality without knowing how or why.

"Who are you?" he demanded, finding his voice at last. It came out stronger than he expected, tinged with anger and confusion. "What is this all about? What do you want from me?"
 

The voice didn't acknowledge his questions directly. Instead, it continued with its script, its purpose.

"Complete the Trial of Inherited Class to discover your destined role. Survive, and step into the world of Ascendria as a true reincarnator. Heaven blessed."
 

Of course he hadn't received a direct answer. That would be too easy. But before he could protest, before he could demand real answers, a radiant light flared beneath his feet. It grew brighter and brighter, glowing with an intensity that should have burned his eyes. 

His skin began to fade, turning translucent as if dissolving into the light itself. A fierce pull yanked at him, a force utterly beyond his ability to resist.
 

In a blink, everything changed.
 

Gone was the mystic void, the endless white expanse. Now, he stood in a dim chamber constructed of rough stone and deep shadow. The scent of dust and age filled his lungs, thick and musty. Damp stone. Old wood. Decay.

This time, it felt completely real. He had been reborn into Ascendria. His new world, whether he wanted it or not.
 

Alden looked down at himself again. He was clad in ragged, sleeveless brown cloth that barely qualified as a shirt, and patched, torn trousers that looked like they'd fall apart if he moved too quickly. 
 

He had nothing else. No weapons. No armor. No supplies. Only his bare hands and his will to keep moving forward. This wasn't some grand palace or noble estate. Just a ruined room, abandoned and forgotten.
 

"So the trials have begun?" he muttered, his voice low and rough. His eyes scanned the darkness, adjusting slowly to the gloom.
 

The chamber was small and cluttered with debris. Strewn about were simple items that looked like they'd been left behind by previous occupants: stones of various sizes, broken board wood with rusty nails still embedded, a few gnarled sticks, and a single torch mounted on the wall.
 

Alden moved quickly, grabbing the largest piece of wood—heavier than he'd expected, solid enough to use as a weapon or shield. He snatched the torch from its bracket, feeling the heat against his palm. The weight of it was reassuring somehow, proof of the physical reality around him.
 

He pushed open the old wooden door. Its hinges groaned in protest, the sound echoing unnaturally in the silence. Beyond the doorway, darkness loomed like a living thing.
 

A corridor stretched before him, disappearing into shadows his torch couldn't quite penetrate. Cold air slithered across his exposed skin, raising goosebumps on his arms. He took a deep breath to steady himself, his heart hammering in his chest. 

His thoughts still reeled from everything that had happened. But slowly, clarity began to surface through the chaos.
 

Survive.
 

That was all that mattered now. He had to survive. This second chance, however it had come about, couldn't be wasted like his first life had been.
 

With slow, careful steps, Alden raised the torch higher and pressed onward into the corridor. Thick dust coated everything, disturbed only by his footsteps. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling like curtains, some so dense they looked like sheets. 
 

From somewhere in the shadows ahead, strange sounds echoed. Skittering, clicking, the sound of many legs crawling across stone.
 

Fear crept up his spine, cold and insidious. He gripped the wooden board tighter in his free hand, holding it like a makeshift shield across his body. His breathing quickened despite his attempts to stay calm.

Then the torchlight revealed what lay ahead, and his blood went cold.
 

An intersection branched off in three directions, and every surface was covered in thick, ropey webs. Dozens of nests clung to the walls and ceiling, pale eggs pulsing within like grotesque hearts. And near them, movement.
 

Spiders emerged from the shadows. Not normal spiders. These were large as dogs, some even bigger. Their bodies were covered in coarse black hair, and their multiple eyes reflected the torchlight with an unnatural gleam. Their fangs—oh God, their fangs—glistened with a foul-looking slime that dripped onto the stone floor below, hissing slightly where it landed.
 

Alden stumbled backward, his body moving before his mind could catch up. Shock froze him in place for a heartbeat. These things... their venom alone could probably end him with a single bite. He'd seen documentaries about tarantulas, but nothing that size. Nothing so clearly hostile, so clearly designed to kill.
 

And now, somehow, he was expected to fight them? To kill them?
 

He looked behind him, hoping for an alternate route. Nothing. The corridor he'd come from led back to an empty room with no other exits. No escape route. No way out except forward, through the nest.

This was it. Life or death. His newfound life balanced on the edge of a piece of wood and a guttering torch. If he failed now, would he get another chance? Would he reincarnate again, or was this it? Would he even remember this if he died?
 

No.
 

Alden clenched his teeth hard enough to hurt. He wouldn't let it end like before. Not in failure. Not in defeat. Not alone and forgotten.
 

He had failed once. He wouldn't fail again.
 

The spiders advanced, their legs making soft clicking sounds on the stone. More emerged from the nests, drawn by his presence. Ten of them now, forming a semicircle that cut off his path forward.

Alden adjusted his grip on the wooden board, feeling splinters dig into his palm. His breathing steadied. Ready to face them all.