Return Of The Strongest Player

Arthur's eyes snapped wide, a bolt of fear coursing through his body. Shudders raced down his spine as the chilling abyss that awaited souls after death felt hauntingly real. Wait... was it truly cold?

Arthur couldn't remember the sensation clearly, yet it still felt so real. His heart raced, while a sharp pain that originated from his chest coursed across his body.

'Did I… die? Again?'

His most recent death was vastly different when compared to his first one. Instead of a tranquil mind devoid of the specifics of the situation, this time, Arthur returned to the world of living with a vivid memory of what had transpired.

He couldn't put it into words. 

It was sickening, to say the least.

He observed his surroundings and found himself curled up in the space connected through the stairs on which he had descended. The black cuboid was only a few meters away, while Arthur's senses had returned.

Arthur seethed with anger, at both the Blade Sovereign and the floating swords, for his death. Although he'd been pulled to the world of the living shortly after his death–which he couldn't explain the specifics of–the sensation was traumatizing.

With a frown, he lifted the falchion from the ground, gripping it harder.

He treaded along the predetermined path, arriving at the place of his death. It wasn't long before the flames spilled yet again, and the barrage of attacks began. 

Arthur–this time–cleared his mind and focused on utilizing only his sight and touch, and planned on eliminating the need to focus on sight in the near future. As the barrage of the swords became more and more intense, Arthur focused on his sight and touch instead of hearing.

It wasn't long before his sense of hearing faded.

'Yes… I can manage it this time.'

Arthur was glad that his senses seemed to have improved. Or, perhaps, he'd simply adjusted to what came as a surprise during his past "life." 

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The swords were rapid, and only increased in speed as time passed. Sweat trickled down Arthur's forehead. He was forced to push both his body and mind to its limits, preparing to eliminate the need to rely on the sense of sight.

But it wasn't as easy as it sounded.

As soon as his vision was engulfed by the eternal abyss, Arthur lost his most vital sense aside from touch. 

Within barely two seconds, the tip of a sword dug into his neck yet again, ending his life.

*

Arthur shot up with a similar expression as after his second death. His eyes were bloodshot, while a frown was plastered over his face, displaying his annoyance. A trace of fear was visible, too.

He composed himself before returning to the same space.

He died yet again.

*

Arthur awakened and rushed to the space to attempt the trial yet again. 

He died.

*

The pattern repeated itself over 200 times, with each death improving Arthur's management of his senses by a tiny, barely noticeable amount. His indifference towards death rose with every blade that pierced his neck. 

Eventually, a cold air that wasn't previously present revolved around his body, symbolizing his emotionlessness towards a phenomenon every living being was fearful of. Yet, Arthur was uncaring of it.

The cold/hot abyss which he couldn't describe in words…

The cold blade that touched his neck before blood splattered…

They were scary at first, but eventually devolved into a part of the process. The abyss didn't feel like anything after a few deaths, while after Arthur lost the sense of touch, he couldn't feel anything before death approached him rapidly.

After 258 deaths, Arthur–with a detached expression plastered over his face–slowly treaded along the "predetermined" path, arriving at the space in which he had suffered most of his previous deaths.

It wasn't long before the flames spilled, and the barrage of the swords began.

Arthur avoided most of the swords, only slashing those that were heading for his vital organs. It wasn't long before hundreds of tiny cuts and scabs piled up on his body, gushing out blood at a tremendous pace.

Arthur's breathing turned ragged, and his body weakened significantly. But that was not his concern. Death loomed over him, but it didn't seem to concern him in the slightest. No, he was more focused on his objective.

Eventually, his sense of sight vanished, leaving him in an eternal abyss.

For a regular person, the sensation would scare them shitless. But Arthur continued swinging as if he was not fazed. It wasn't long before he began losing control of reality, as if his existence was merging with the abyss.

The loss of one's sense of touch.

Arthur was indifferent to even that. He wasn't certain how, but he was now capable of perceiving approaching objects without the need to rely on any senses. It was as if he'd delved into a new realm of perception.

A realm of sixth sense.

A realm of a sense beyond human comprehension.

Arthur continued fighting despite being unable to sense anything. He was relying on intuition and that "sixth" sense. Wounds continued to pile up, but he ignored them and focused solely on his vital parts.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

The floating swords that rushed to pierce Arthur's body shattered left and right, unable to end the man's life for the 259th time. With a total of 259 deaths in the span of his existence, Arthur couldn't care less if they did manage to get him.

That was a dangerous mindset.

No matter how fragile life might be, if one didn't treasure it, it would all be for naught.

Arthur's mind was free of thoughts, and a faint smile hung on his lips, as if he were enjoying the battle. He couldn't hear, taste, smell, see, or touch. But the thought of battle caused him to salivate.

Far away, a figure nodded in satisfaction at that mindset.

A few hours passed, and the assault of the swords weakened before gradually coming to a halt. Arthur's senses returned, and a jolt of pain assaulted his body.

During the time in which he'd lost his sense of touch, Arthur had been cut several hundreds, perhaps thousands of times. The pain rushed across his body, causing the crimson-eyed man to fall to the ground, screaming.