The second Lucen got back to his room, he didn't rest. 'I've slept enough already. Now, I just want to test the power of the ring.'

Lucen took out the Crimson Lord Mk IV and held it upright to his chest, the same as the warrior in the vision. He then spoke the same words as him.

"I will stand firm on my beliefs. I will step forward with courage."

Lucen waited for a few seconds, but nothing happened. Lucen blinked. Then blinked again, just in case the ring needed time to process.

He even tapped on the ring as if shaking it a bit would make it suddenly work, but of course, that didn't work.

"Do I need to speak in that language he used?"

Lucen tried to recall the language that was used and copied the tone and everything, but the same as before, nothing happened.

Lucen tried different poses and ways to say the words; he even tried using his past life's language, yet nothing was working.

Despite the failures, he wasn't really that irritated by it. Actually, he found it quite fun. It reminded him of the good old days in his past life with his friends when they re-enacted scenes from their favorite game, comic, anime, or manga.

In fact, he felt a little cool doing the pose and saying the line, in different languages no less. Still, no matter how he said it, nothing happened.

"Do I need to do something else? Should I infuse it with my aura or my mana?"

Lucen tried doing that, but nothing happened. He even tried infusing it with both at the same time, but still nothing happened.

"Okay. Maybe it activates with danger." Lucen looked at the sword in his hand and shook his head. "I don't think an artificial danger would do anything. Maybe there's something I'm missing."

Lucen lowered his sword and sat cross-legged on the floor as he tried to remember the vision he saw, what he felt. The wooden floor cooled the back of his legs, grounding him as he inhaled slowly.

"... Is that it? It wasn't the words that were important..."

In the vision, the warrior's vow hadn't been a chant. It was a conviction. A declaration born from a burning emotion. He showed unrivaled courage as he dashed forward against those eldritch horrors.

Lucen then looked at the ring. 'Is that it? The words were just a catalyst; what activated the ring might be his emotions. Is this like that superhero's ring? So what was he feeling at the time?'

Lucen could sense the emotion of the warrior at the time; he was sure that the warrior, like everyone else on that battlefield, was feeling fear.

'But more than fear, some other emotion was there, something that devoured his fears.'

"I will stand firm on my beliefs. I will step forward with courage." Lucen mumbled the words to himself and realized what emotion devoured the fear in the warrior's heart.

It was Courage, Courage so absolute it practically distorted the air around him. A force of will that didn't bend, didn't crack, didn't even consider retreat. He was afraid, but he wanted to save his allies, so he took that step forward.

'So I need something like true courage to make you respond... Could I perhaps cheat using Acting Adept?'

Lucen thought about it for a second, if that would work, but then shook his head.

'Nah... I'd better not test that for now. There will come a time when this ring will work. I don't need to force it, for now.'

Once Lucen made his decision, he went to sleep. Lucen drifted into sleep far faster than he expected.

A chill swept past him, carrying whispers he couldn't quite understand. A heavy, velvety darkness wrapped around him, quiet, warm, and almost comforting. Then the world tilted.

Weightlessness tugged at him, as though he were sinking underwater without ever touching liquid.

***

He opened his eyes and found himself standing in another battlefield. This time, the enemies were not monsters, but other humans. There were thousands of them, an army filled with aura knights and mages.

The person wearing the ring was standing in front of this army; behind him were the corpses of what looked to be his allies.

'Great, another cutscene while I sleep. Is this how it's going to be every time I go to sleep?' Lucen thought to himself as he continued to watch.

Men and women in mismatched armor, their colors inconsistent, their equipment worn. These weren't elite soldiers. They were villagers, farmers, hunters, and refugees.

Their bodies lay on the ground, no longer moving, despite being dead; a few had their eyes still open, looking at the enemy fiercely.

They were a militia that looked like it was protecting the village behind them, which seemed to have been deserted. Whoever they were protecting had already fled.

The warrior with the ring stood with his back to all of them. He was the only one alive. His posture was straight, immovable, yet Lucen could sense it.

The warrior was exhausted, he was bleeding, and barely standing. He did not fall. His breath was ragged, but there he was, not taking a single step back.

This warrior, who was wearing tattered rags, was holding a broken sword. He held the broken sword near his chest in an upright position, which was the same as the first warrior.

The warrior's shoulders rose and fell with visible strain, each breath a battle in itself.

A calm breath escaped him, white against the cold air. Then Lucen heard it. Spoken in another language, but he was able to understand it.

A whisper, not loud, not fierce, just a steady voice filled with conviction. It was a conviction so heavy it made Lucen feel his spine tingle.

"I will stand firm on my beliefs..." The warrior lowered his stance, sword dragging against the ground. "This is the path I choose."

At that moment, Lucen felt the undying resolve of the warrior. The ring on the warrior's finger flared, not like fire, but like burning coals buried deep beneath ash.

A muted, restrained glow. A glow that refused to die out, no matter how much the wind tore at it.

The faint red light pulsed in slow, heartbeat-like rhythms, matching the steady drum of the warrior's will.

A few knights rushed at him, but the warrior moved with extreme efficiency. Despite his sword being broken and his movements were those of an untrained person, each strike was able to reach the knights.

The mages started firing spells at him, the warrior dashed forward despite getting hit and burned, the warrior continued to rush at the enemy.

Despite the brutality of his movements, despite the blood pouring from his wounds, despite the trembling of his limbs, he didn't stop.

Every punch broke bones. Every kick shattered shields. Every bite tore flesh from armored knights who were too terrified to approach.

The enemy army, thousands strong, began to hesitate. Not because of the warrior's skill, nor because of his power. But because they were witnessing something they could not comprehend, it was a dead man refusing to fall.

A mage's spell finally hit the warrior in the chest, but the warrior didn't flinch. It was then that Lucen noticed that the warrior's eyes were hollow. His breath had stopped long ago. His wounds were far beyond what any human could survive.

Yet despite all that, his body moved on, simply because of his undying will, his resolve, his vow that echoed in Lucen's ear.

"I will stand firm on my beliefs. This is the path I choose."

The broken body took one more step forward. One more punch, one more impossible movement, and then, finally, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, he collapsed.

***

The vision ended, and Lucen woke up his breath ragged. He was sweating profusely. The lingering echo of the warrior's vow buzzed faintly at the back of his mind.

He looked around and saw he was in his room, and the sun hadn't even risen yet.

His heart hammered against his ribs, the echo of that final step still reverberating through him. Sweat plastered his shirt against his skin despite the chilly morning air.

"... Another one of those visions... Were all the owners of the ring bad*ss like that?" Despite his ragged breathing, Lucen couldn't help but comment.

"I wonder if I sleep again, will the cutscene continue, or will I get a new cutscene?"

His eyes drifted toward the ring, its blackened metal faintly warm against his finger. "Also, just how many of you are there?"

Lucen remembered the first vision; there were dozens of shadows, but only five of them seemed distinct and memorable.

"So does that mean this is going to happen three more times?" Lucen got up from his bed and headed to the desk on his side.

'I'd better start taking notes, so that I don't forget any important information.'

Lucen took a pen and parchment and started writing about his dreams. He used the language of his old world so that no one else could read it.

He wrote in tight, quick strokes, old habits from late-night college cramming sessions, or the time when he was analyzing a boss battle. The language from his past life flowed easily, comforting in a way he didn't expect.

Lucen yawned. "Alright, Notes done. Let's see if I'll get another cutscene."

Lucen went back to bed, and unlike what he expected, there was no other vision that night, and he was able to sleep normally.