Super Righteous Player
Chapter 430 - 427: I am Sisyphus_1

Chapter 430: Chapter 427: I am Sisyphus_1

Not even light, only the abyss of rotting, stench-ridden blood.

So-called "companions" who couldn’t even utter a word.

That was the hell where all was absent.

Beyond the fragile threads of a spider’s web, not a half-step could be borrowed.

——The true, inescapable deadlock.

Only when "he exerted all his strength and then failed," would a second of time pass.

Beyond that, there was nothing to interact with, nothing to investigate; no force to wield, not even an objective for completion provided.

It simply had him repeat failure.

Just like the suffering Sisyphus once endured.

Annan was convinced that this was indeed a most exquisite trap.

For even here, with limitless physical strength——even falling from great heights, one could immediately revive; but the human spirit will still wear out in the end.

It wasn’t tiredness.

It was numbing to despair... directly destroying all the wits of a soul from the spirit up.

The difficulty of this shard of fear was not in the fragile spider silk itself... but in the unknown.

The unknown brought endless fear.

It was the fear of "how many more times must I fail here?"

The rule starkly different from the previous shards of fear——for other fears, one just needed to "decisively flee" or "bravely enter" into that fear to leave it behind.

Because, whether it was "sudden invalidation of power," "unstoppable Sacrifice," or something else... they were all just temporary, fleeting fears.

Only "the fear of continuous failure" can last a lifetime——it cannot be overcome by the thought of "just endure and it will pass."

After one failure, will there not be another to endure?

"Common sense tells you that’s impossible."

It’s just a grown-up’s fairy tale.

To add value to one’s failure, to make the failure less of a "failure"... it’s nothing but a placebo for self-comfort.

Annan didn’t need such things.

——Failure is failure.

Unable to succeed, hence the failure, that’s all.

No excuses needed, no reasons necessary, no need to append a deceitful value to failure——

For, one should not fear failure to begin with.

"One should never stop in their tracks in the face of failure."

Annan clenched the spider silk again.

Alone, in an abyss devoid of light and sound, he struggled upwards.

Those people had long given up on following Annan.

They merely stayed silent, looking up at Annan.

Looking at Annan, who kept failing.

Wishing for his success?

No.

More likely... they were probably hoping for, waiting for Annan to give up.

Yet on Annan’s face, there was not the pain, not the struggle they wished to see.

Only joy.

Concentration. Seriousness. Total focus.

With all his might——to fail.

"If no one else will do it, I will."

——Two hundred times.

"If no one else sacrifices, I will be the Sacrifice."

——Four hundred times.

"If no one else persists... I will persist to the end."

——Six hundred times.

That was a willpower beyond what any normal human could possess.

Like the training of an ascetic monk... though aimed at victory, failure too was a precious harvest.

Those who revel in disaster.

Those waiting for Annan to give up.

...They had even given up on that very sentiment itself, slowly regarding Annan as a deity, a symbol to admire and worship.

But Annan remained unchanged.

Not enduring pain.

But reveling in pain.

No...

In this seemingly eternal hell, Annan began to grasp his own essence.

More accurately, he was enjoying "being alive."

Just like when one is bored, even the text on a manual or the ads in a newspaper can be read over and over again with great interest.

He didn’t know how long he had been there.

Even his original purpose, his murderous intent towards Denton, had faded with the passage of time.

It was as if he had lived a hard and troubled life within a dream.

——But even at the most despairing moment.

When Annan had completely turned into a bloodied figure... his ice-blue pupils still shone with a pure light.

"Have you rested enough?"

Annan then shouted again, "Those who are willing to invigorate their spirits and crawl with me—

"Come follow me!"

There was no high-spirited promise.

There was no fervent atmosphere.

Only silence.

Only the silent followers—

Not all of them, but a sparse few dozen.

But after Annan fell again, new people joined in, and some left the rope.

It was not a meaningless follow and imitation.

It was simply, impossible to ignore.

Even though they already knew that the goal’s end was failure...

But how could they stand still, seeing such a dazzling person struggling to climb up?

Trial and failure.

Getting used to failure.

Adapting to failure.

And then—

"—to defeat failure."

This is the destiny of humanity.

Annan slowly, for the six hundred sixtieth time, grasped the silken thread.

"Will anyone come with me?"

Dazzling brilliance shone in his eyes.

More than ten minutes had passed outside.

But in Annan’s mind, there was no thought of "stalling for time waiting for Salvatore."

Just like a captain launches an expedition to the sea of certain defeat with laughter.

From the first few attempts, Annan didn’t look back at those following him.

Or rather... Annan had been certain from the beginning that there would definitely be people following him.

Because struggling towards the heights is enough to fill a person’s soul.

Annan never needed anyone to follow him in order to provide the determination and confidence to keep going.

But he noticed... this time, not a single person followed Annan’s climb.

It wasn’t like they had given up again.

Rather, they raised their heads, silently watching Annan.

As if they sensed something—

Only this time.

Annan climbed out of the narrow bottleneck alone.

He woke up again in the corner between the rubble and the wall.

Everything he had experienced felt like nothing but a dream.

But that radiant smile remained on Annan’s face like a scar left by a flame.

He slowly opened his eyes.

The dazzling light sparkled from the depths of Annan’s eyes.

"...Six hundred sixty-six, the number of the beast, huh?"

Having finally climbed out of hell, completing a seemingly impossible task, Annan was of course joyous in his heart.

—But what pleased him even more was that Denton had submitted.

Yes, this nightmare in itself had no end.

It was just repeating meaningless failures.

Yet Annan, who kept experiencing failure, never shrank back... but Denton, the one who designed this level intending to murder Annan there, actually became fearful in front of the ever unchanging and even more exhilarated Annan.

He truly feared Annan’s fearlessness.

Absolutely mad, a reckless fiend.

Yet it seemed to carry with it a kind of divinity...

Like a butterfly just breaking out of its chrysalis, struggling to lift its wings.

"—You have conceded again, Denton!"

Annan shouted with laughter, laugh uproariously, "You possess all my memories, yet you cannot defeat me!

"You think you can kill me?

"I am the loser! I am the fiend! I am Sisyphus!"

What does not kill me, makes me stronger!

Annan was absolutely certain.

Now, he was different from before he was tortured by the endless falls in hell.

Although the change might not be significant, a change had certainly occurred, a metamorphosis had happened.

"You still have one last chance, Denton."

Annan opened his eyes and looked at the painting before him.

His gaze sparkled like the stars.

A glorious, delicate flame burning under the ice-covered lake.

This death trap, layer upon layer, was also transformed by Annan into a trial for purifying the soul.

"What kind of gift will you give me next?"