CHAPTER 31: CHAPTER NO.31 PENALTY ZONE

[Location: Morningstar, New York]

I ran all the way from the basement to the kitchen like a starving wolf, lungs burning, legs heavy, vision tunneling in and out. My stomach wasn’t just growling—it felt like it was trying to claw through my spine, gnawing from the inside. Every step echoed too loudly in the silent manor halls, each thud of my boots dragging muck across the polished wood floors.

"Food," I muttered under my breath, voice hoarse, dry. "Anything edible. Hell, even semi-edible."

The fluorescent light above the kitchen flickered once before buzzing steadily, stabbing into my skull like a migraine. The polished marble counters reflected the light in hard gleams, too clean, too sterile, almost mocking me. They were pristine, perfect, untouched—like they belonged to a showroom, not a manor where someone had just staggered back from a swamp-dungeon hellscape dripping in poison and blood. The contrast made me dizzy.

My boots left faint smears of black muck across the tile floor. I didn’t care. I’d already shoved that greedy bastard Muramasa back into the System Inventory before I even made it halfway up the stairs. Its veins had still been pulsing when I stored it away, hungry, throbbing like it wanted more. My palm still tingled where its malice had seared through me.

It almost sucked me dry. My HP bar had plummeted to the red, a single digit away from blinking into oblivion. The thought of collapsing in that swamp, eaten alive by my own sword while the dungeon swallowed me whole, sent a delayed shiver through my bones. My skin was cold, clammy, even though my body burned with the aftertaste of venom and lifesteal recoil.

I slumped against the fridge, panting. My hand fumbled for the handle, yanking it open with a groan of hinges that sounded too loud in the silence. The cold air burst over me like a slap, but my focus tunneled on the shelves inside.

Eggs. Milk. Bottled water. Leftover meat neatly wrapped. A bowl of grapes, freshly washed, glistening in their glass dish. And—

Sandwiches.

Stacked, wrapped, and perfectly aligned on a plate like Grayfia had been anticipating this very moment.

My knees almost buckled.

I ripped through the sandwiches like a rabid beast that hadn’t tasted civilisation in a decade. The first was gone in two bites, the second vanished before I even remembered chewing, and the third I didn’t so much eat as absorb into my bloodstream. My jaw worked on instinct, my throat burning from forcing everything down so quickly, but I couldn’t stop.

Now I know why Luffy eats like a maniac after every fight. His rubber body or not, that endless hunger makes sense—Haki isn’t free. Neither was mine.

SPIRAL energy. That was the cost. Every pulse of Observation Grid, every surge of Armament Core, every clash of Conqueror’s Will—it had drained me, eaten into reserves deeper than just mana or stamina. It had chewed on my very essence.

I shoved another sandwich into my mouth, half-chewed, and leaned against the counter, chest heaving. My stomach stretched with each swallow, but the emptiness didn’t ease immediately. It wasn’t physical hunger alone—it was spiritual exhaustion, my body trying to rebuild what the dungeon, the fight, and Muramasa’s greed had carved out of me.

My hand shook faintly as I reached for a bottle of water. The cap snapped off under too much force, and cold liquid spilt over my chin as I gulped greedily. It felt like life itself dripping back down my throat.

"This is not enough..."

It wasn’t just physical hunger gnawing at me. It was deeper, rooted in the marrow, chewing on the essence I’d burned. SPIRAL energy—that was the price. Observation Grid, Armament Core, Conqueror’s Will—all of them drank from the same well, and in that dungeon, I’d opened the floodgates. Add Muramasa’s little "feed me or die" tantrum, and I’d been left a walking corpse who just happened to be breathing.

I staggered to the pantry, yanking it open. More food. Crackers, preserved jars, cans. I didn’t bother with order. I grabbed what I could, tore through it with teeth and fingers both. Crunching salt, swallowing too fast, choking and forcing it down. My body didn’t care for taste or refinement; it demanded tribute.

"This is not enough," I rasped between gulps. My voice sounded alien, frayed, like gravel dragged across metal.

The hunger wasn’t normal. Every sandwich, every mouthful, disappeared into the pit and left nothing behind but the ache for more. It was as if the dungeon had stamped me with a curse: you will never feel full again.

Minutes blurred into a frenzy. I raided the shelves, the cabinets, the drawers. Cold chicken, hard cheese, stale bread—gone. Jars of pickles, packs of jerky, fruit, nuts—all gone. The refrigerator, once overflowing, looked gutted. The marble counters were a battlefield, scattered with empty dishes, wrappers, and crumbs.

And still... emptiness.

My hands shook as I braced myself against the counter. My reflection stared back faintly from the glossy marble—pale skin, sweat slicking my jaw, eyes faintly glowing with residual willpower. Hunger carved sharp shadows beneath them.

I had emptied the kitchen. Every bite had burned into the void, fueling something I couldn’t see. My SPIRAL energy flickered at the edge of my senses, crawling sluggishly back like a fire trying to reignite after rain. My HP bar, at least, was stable, the lifesteal effect having done its part. But the exhaustion—the hollow gnawing that stretched from throat to spine—remained.

My knees buckled. I slid down against the cabinets until I was sitting on the cold tile floor, one hand clutching an empty water bottle, the other trembling faintly in my lap.

Still with a moment of clarity, I checked the time on the nearest wall clock, which showed both time and date.

My gaze first checked the date: 04 Dec 2012.

Hush~

Still the same day, I entered the dungeon early morning, right after Grayfia left for the Hell Realm.

As for time—

Shit! Shit! SHIT!

23:59:55

...56

...57

...58

...59

Buzz!

00:00:01

Tti-ring!

[Notice: You have failed to complete your Daily Quest. You will be transferred to the "PENALTY ZONE" for an allotted amount of time.]

.

..

...

RUMBLE!!

A violent tremor shook my entire body as I lost all sensation of my surroundings, the kitchen gone. The trashed wrappers are gone. Damn, the whole mansion was gone.

Finally, after what felt like eternity, my senses started coming back online, but what is saw was—

WHERE IN THE FLYING FUCK AM I?!

Sand.

Endless, burning, horizon-to-horizon sand.

The kind of sand that didn’t glitter prettily under sunlight like a postcard but hissed with heat, sucking moisture out of your skin before you could blink. The kind that got into your eyes, your ears, your mouth, your soul.

I blinked once, twice. Nothing changed. The kitchen was gone, the fridge was gone, Grayfia’s neatly stacked sandwiches were gone. What replaced it was a wasteland that stretched forever, a scorched desert plain under a sun that looked more like a furnace vent than a celestial body.

The System chimed again.

[Penalty Zone – Desert of Attrition]

[Duration: 4 Hours]

[Objective: Survive.]

[Reward: +30 Stat Points, Random Loot Box (Blessed)]

[Failure: Immediate Death.]

"...Fantastic," I muttered. My lips already felt cracked just saying the word.

A dry, choking wind blew past me, carrying grit that stung against my skin like tiny knives. I coughed, instantly regretting it when my throat scraped like sandpaper. The moisture in my body was already evaporating.

No resources. No food. No water. Just me, a desert, and a ticking death sentence.

The cruel brilliance of it dawned on me quickly. The dungeon had nearly killed me with monsters and poison. Now the penalty zone was going to kill me by making me wish for monsters. At least you could stab those. You can’t stab thirst. You can’t conquer hunger with willpower.

I lifted a hand to shield my eyes and froze.

...My hand was trembling. Not from fatigue this time. From weakness.

The System didn’t restore me before dropping me here. My SPIRAL reserves were still drained to embers. My body still hollow from Muramasa’s little evolution feast. My HP stable, sure—but stable didn’t mean strong. I was a ragged husk tossed into hell with no gear.

"Son of a bitch..." I rasped. The sound came out more like sand dragging across stone than an actual voice.

I took a step. My boot sank half an inch into burning grit. The heat scorched up through the sole. My whole body screamed at me to stop. My mind whispered that lying down, just for a second, might be easier. Just rest. Just close your eyes.

[Warning: Lethargy Debuff Applied.]

[Movement speed reduced by 30%. Stamina drains passively at +15%.]

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

I forced my legs to move, every step an act of rebellion against the desert itself. The sun overhead didn’t shift. The horizon never grew closer. I could’ve been walking in place for all I knew.

One hour in.

My tongue was swollen. My vision wavered like the air itself. My boots scuffed against sand that never ended. My whole body itched, burned, screamed.

The System chimed again.

[Warning: Hydration Critical.]

[User must find sustenance to survive.]

"Oh yeah? Find water where, exactly?!" I croaked, throwing my arms wide. My voice cracked, echoing pathetically into the empty waste. "What do you want me to do, piss in a bottle and recycle like Bear Grylls?!"

Silence.

Just the hiss of wind and the cruel, laughing shimmer of heat mirages dancing across the horizon.

Two hours in.

I was staggering now, barely upright. My SPIRAL energy was a guttering candle, Observation Grid flickering uselessly in my mind whenever I tried to force it. It showed nothing but waves of heat, the empty desert echoing back at me like a taunt.

Every minute felt like an hour. My thoughts blurred. My sarcasm grew thin, weak, unraveling.

"This... this is worse than the swamp," I muttered. My voice sounded slurred, alien. "At least... at least there... I could fight back. Here..."

My knees buckled. I crashed into the sand, face-first. Grit filled my mouth, burning against my teeth, my gums. I spat, but no saliva came out. My lips tore against the dryness.

I rolled over, staring at the blazing sun overhead. My chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged gasps. Every breath felt like dragging air through molten iron.

The System pinged.

[Warning: Survival threshold breached.]

[Emergency Penalty Trigger: Desert Predator Spawned.]

The sand shifted.

At first, I thought it was just my heat-drunk vision tricking me again. But no—the dunes moved. The ground trembled beneath me. A ridge of sand swelled, split, and exploded outward.

Something massive uncoiled from the earth.

A serpent.

Not just any serpent. A beast longer than a subway train, scales glimmering with molten heat, eyes glowing like coals. Its tongue flicked out, tasting the air. When it turned toward me, the sand melted faintly beneath its jaw.

[Penalty Zone Monster: Scorchfang Wyrm]

[Rank: A]

[Objective: Survive Encounter.]

"...I’m...fucked."

No weapon in hand. No SPIRAL energy. My body barely able to move. And now an A-rank predator in a survival penalty zone.

The wyrm opened its jaws, molten drool sizzling into the sand like acid. Heat waves blasted against me, threatening to sear the flesh from my bones even before it struck.

My heart pounded. Not from courage. From the pure, raw instinct of not wanting to die here like a dehydrated cockroach.

I forced myself upright. My knees screamed. My lungs wheezed. My head spun.

But I stood.

Because if I was going to die, it wasn’t going to be crawling in the dirt.

"Alright... desert bastard..." My voice cracked, but the words still came. "If I can’t kill you... Then I’ll survive you. That’s the quest, right? Just survive."

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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