NOVEL'S EXTRA: I Will Die at the Peak-Chapter 88: Time Beggar

The cool night wind gently drifted between the bare, curving hills. Dust particles scattered through the air, swirling in brief circles above the ground before freezing abruptly upon reaching the strange yellow field ahead. It was as if an invisible threshold had disrupted the natural flow of air and time.

At the center of the yellow zone, the entire group of forty men was suspended in mid-air, torn apart like a frozen painting.

Droplets of blood, tense fibers of muscle, shattered bones, organs flung outward—

All clearly distinguishable, hovering in the air. Neither falling nor moving forward. Time had turned into an image.

And within that image, only one remained alive: Corc.

Short black hair stuck to the sweat on his face. Eyes wide open, staring at the man in front of him, a mixture of shock and utter incomprehension frozen in his gaze.

The old man—or whatever he was—stood directly in front of him. His eyes were calm, but within them echoed the cold vibration of a consciousness that saw everything.

Slowly, he raised a hand and touched Corc’s cheeks.

In a deep, nearly whispered voice, he spoke:

"Spirits as pure as yours are almost extinct in this world. Everything decays; and for me, time has become harder and harder to obtain. I suppose I’ll need to build another farm of pure souls."

When his words ended, he placed his hand atop Corc’s head, bowed slightly to meet his eye level, and looked directly into his eyes.

Then, he spoke:

"Time Transfer."

At those words, something shifted in the old man’s eyes. Inside the pupils, the shape of a clock appeared—its hands now turning in reverse.

At the same time, a change occurred in Corc’s eyes. His pitch-black pupils became circled with a yellow ring, yet his time moved forward—unlike the old man’s.

Two times flowed in opposite directions between two bodies.

The transition lasted only a few seconds, like a pulse of internal energy. Then, the old man released Corc’s head. Corc’s knees buckled, but he didn’t collapse.

The old man took a deep breath. He tore off the dirty, worn-out clothes on his body with his hands—yet the garments did not fall to the ground. Instead, they hung suspended in the air.

And in that moment, his transformation began.

First, his wrinkled skin tightened. The age spots vanished. Wrinkles smoothed. Muscles swelled, shoulders broadened, height increased. Veins became pronounced.

Warmth surged through his body. The color of his eyes changed from dull gray to radiant amber. His hair grew long and turned golden blonde. Standing before Corc now was a godlike figure—around 1.90 meters tall, young, powerful, with piercing eyes.

He drew another breath, lifted his head to the sky, closed his eyes, and fell into a moment of silence.

Then he spoke:

"Ahhh... There it is. Returning to youth still feels incredible. But..."

He turned his eyes back to Corc:

"I’ll need to find another pure one within three years. If not, this body will start decaying too. Anyway, this transformation will suffice for now."

He turned around and began walking away with heavy steps. Raised his right hand to shoulder level and snapped his fingers.

"Let time flow."

In that instant, the clock-shaped structure in the sky trembled and vanished. The circular area surrounded by yellow light faded instantly. Wind resumed, brushing over the ground. The torn garments once frozen in the air fell one by one, landing with a dry rustle.

Then, something horrifying happened.

As time began flowing again, the bodies of the frozen soldiers, which had hung in pieces, completed their gruesome forms all at once. As if triggered by an unseen command, they exploded simultaneously.

Lieno’s head separated from his neck and slowly dropped to the ground. A burst of blood shot from his throat with unstoppable pressure. The other knights’ bodies continued their suspended dismemberment.

Skin ripped apart. Organs scattered. Bones cracked. The ground became soaked with fresh blood. Silence transformed into a scream of horror—but no sound was heard. They had already died.

Corc stood motionless, as if turned to stone. Drenched in sweat. Lungs felt as if they were shrinking. He had just noticed the naked man walking ahead. His eyes were still searching for the old man—but what he now saw was someone entirely different.

He thought: "What is happening? Just a moment ago, there was an old man here. And now this naked man? Who the hell is this?"

Then he noticed something else.

A pungent smell.

A sharp stench—a mixture of metal, rot, and feces—hit his nose, filled his lungs. His stomach churned. He wanted to close his eyes but didn’t dare.

He slowly turned his head.

And in that moment, his vision darkened.

"No... no... This can’t be."

Before his eyes, all his comrades lay in pieces on the ground. Unrecognizable. His captain, his companions, the ones he once laughed and drank with, were now nothing more than piles of flesh.

"Captain... Friends, w-what h-happened to you..."

His voice cracked. Throat knotted. He stepped back, but his legs trembled, lost balance, and collapsed to his knees. The soil beneath him felt soft and wet—covered in blood.

His stomach could no longer take it. He turned and vomited, feeling as though his insides would come out.

Then he noticed one more thing: the one who did all this was still walking.

With trembling hands, he reached for his sword, pulled it up.

"I’ll... I’ll kill y—"

The sentence cut off. A weight pressed on his chest. He couldn’t breathe. His throat locked up; words no longer came out.

His fingers had shriveled. The edges of his nails turned purple. His skin dried and began peeling in fibrous strands. His capillaries became visible. Time had begun to reverse inside him, too.

"M-my hands..."

He touched his face.

The skin was rough, dry, and coarse. His cheeks were sunken, dark circles had formed under the eyes. Strands of hair had already begun to turn gray.

"No... This can’t be happening. No... This isn’t my body. This!"

But the body was no longer his.

His shoulders slumped, knees weakened. A deep pain spread through his body; organs burned, bones ached. Teeth started to fall out. One hit the ground with a soft thud, followed by another sliding out right after.

His skin cracked, the corners of his eyes split open. A groan rose from his throat, sounding like a scream trapped in silence.

And then the collapse began—from within.

He rotted.

From the inside out; rapidly.

Intestines melted, muscles loosened, skin turned purple, then gray. Flesh peeled like unsalted meat, flaking away in chunks. Fingernails tore off. The left eye slipped from its socket and clung to his cheek.

And finally — Corc’s body collapsed.

Never to rise again.

---

Elsewhere

Amon stood by the open window of his room late at night, watching the misty view outside bathed in faint moonlight. The stone-roofed houses of the city merged with the silhouette of distant hills, forming a foggy horizon.

Greenish smoke from the wooden pipe in his hand filled the room, drifting slowly among the shelves lined with books.

This peaceful silence was suddenly disturbed by a sharp chime coming from the Dalvano device in the corner. Amon turned his head, removed the pipe from his lips, and stood up.

He approached the device, picked up the crystal rod from the table, and inserted it into place with a single motion. As a soft vibration confirmed the connection, a slight smile formed on his face.

"Calling me at this hour," he murmured, "must mean it’s something delicate, Gurram."

The voice that came through the crystal was familiar, yet its tone had shifted. Gurram, who always spoke with careless ease, now sounded more restrained—his words carried a faint weight.

"Actually, I’ve got something you’ll want to hear."

Amon raised an eyebrow slightly. Gurram, when serious, was rarely wrong. He set the pipe aside and leaned in closer.

"What kind of information? Judging by your tone, it must be something important."

Gurram’s voice lowered, now barely above a whisper: "This is being kept under wraps. I learned it through a contact at TTAO. The Time Beggar has resurfaced."

The expression on Amon’s face shifted with a brief pause—first to surprise, then into a strange smile. He narrowed his eyes, tilted his head slightly.

"Hey... You’re serious, aren’t you? That’s no joke. Last I heard, he was declared dead ten years ago."

"It was a lie," Gurram said in a firmer tone. "The info’s solid. He wiped out an entire TTAO unit—over a hundred men. There’s panic inside the organization, but it’s being contained for now. No leaks.

They’re clamping down to avoid suspicion. Just thought you should know. I’m cutting off now—need some rest. Maybe we’ll talk again later."

The connection ended abruptly. The Dalvano device returned to silence.

Amon slowly removed the crystal from its socket and set it aside. Then he picked up his pipe, took a deep drag, held it in his lungs for a moment, and exhaled through his nose. The room thickened with smoke, and a faint glint danced in his eyes.

"Ahhh..." he muttered. "This is exactly the development I needed."

He turned back to the window, eyes scanning the city. The streets lay buried in darkness, with only a few scattered lights glowing from the windows of stone houses. While everyone below slept, Amon’s mind grew sharper.

"A Class X criminal returning to the field—enough to pull TTAO’s attention in another direction. And now, they’re saying that new group, Nepesis, has stolen a valuable sword."

He moved slowly toward his chair, sat down, and leaned back. Staring up at the ceiling, he took a long breath. This time, his smile was far more distinct.

"With TTAO distracted, my freedom of movement will expand."

The smoke in the room thickened slightly; the end of the pipe glowed one last time, then faded. Amon continued shaping his plans in silence, deep into the night.