2026-08-20 16:51:42Morning came cold and gray through the glassless window.
Allen woke with his hand still wrapped around Seraphina's. Sometime in the night, her fingers had curled into a loose grip, the way a child might hold a parent's thumb. He didn't pull away. He just sat there, watching the pale light creep across the floorboards, feeling the faint pulse of warmth in her knuckles. 'She held on all night.' The thought settled somewhere deep in his chest, heavier than it should have been. Eventually, he had to move. He eased his hand free, slow and careful, and stood. His back cracked. His legs screamed. But the pain was distant now, muted by something that wasn't just Iron Will. He had money. He had skills. What he didn't have was the strength to protect any of it. He opened his System Panel. The screen materialized in front of him, translucent blue against the gray morning light. [Name: Allen Veton] [Level: 7] [Class: None] [Title: None] [HP: 70/70] [MP: 0/0] [Strength: 8] [Agility: 9] [Endurance: 7] [Intelligence: 1,247] [Skills: Calm Mind (Passive, Common), Iron Will (Passive, Uncommon), Night Vision (Passive, Uncommon)] [Talents: None] [Bloodline: None] [Equipment: None] Level 7. The same number that had been there since he was sixteen, since the day he'd first checked his status and realized he was never going to be enough. The skills were new. Everything else was the same. Strength 8. Agility 9. Endurance 7. Pathetic numbers that wouldn't intimidate a slum rat. But Intelligence. 1,247. An absurd, anomalous number that sat in the middle of his status like a joke. A genius who couldn't lift a training sword. A strategist trapped in a body made of glass. 'That has to change.' The slum market was louder in the morning. Allen moved through the crowd with his head down, his Copper heavy in his jacket pocket. He wasn't here for food this time. The weapon stall was a sad little thing near the edge of the market. A cracked wooden table covered in blades that had seen better decades. The vendor was a man with one eye and hands that shook when he talked. "Need a knife," Allen said. "Got plenty." The man gestured at the table. "This one's 3 Copper. This one's 10. This one'll cost you 20, but it'll actually cut something." Allen picked up the 10-Copper blade. A small knife, the kind you could hide in a boot or a sleeve. The edge was dull in places, but the point was sharp. Good enough. He wasn't planning to fight fair anyway. He also found a pair of worn leather boots. 15 Copper. Thick soles, cracked but solid. Better than the cloth things he'd been wearing since the Veton compound. At another stall, a leather jacket. Thin. Scuffed. It wouldn't stop a real blade, but it was better than bare skin. 20 Copper. 45 Copper total. He counted the coins into the vendors' hands, one by one. 2,730 left. Still a fortune by slum standards. Still nothing in the world of Hunters. "The nearest gate. Where is it?" [Violet: A gray portal has been detected two kilometers northeast. Energy signature consistent with an F-rank gate. Estimated time before break: 18 hours.] Allen nodded, adjusting the knife at his belt. He'd been a Hunter long enough to know the basics. F-rank gate. 1 to 2 days before it broke. Monsters weak enough that even he might survive. The Guild wouldn't send anyone to clear it. They never did for the slums. He'd also been a Hunter long enough to know that knowing the basics didn't mean much when you were Level 7 walking into a dungeon alone. "What are my odds?" [Violet: With Calm Mind and Iron Will, approximately 62 percent. With Night Vision, Host can navigate dark corridors without light sources. These are significant tactical advantages.] 62 percent. Better than he'd expected. Worse than he wanted. '62 percent chance I come back. 38 percent chance she wakes up alone.' "And if other Hunters show up?" [Violet: Survival probability increases if Host is not the only available target. Other Hunters can serve as effective distractions during combat.] Allen almost smiled. "You're telling me to use them as bait." [Violet: I am providing tactical probability data. Host's interpretation is Host's own.] A cold thing, this system. Practical. It didn't pretend to be moral. Allen found he didn't mind that. The shack was quiet when he returned. He'd spent 45 Copper at the market. Seraphina's eyes were open. They found him immediately, tracked him as he crossed the room and sat in the chair beside her. Her fingers moved against the blanket. A slow curl. A question. "I'm going into a dungeon," he said. Her fingers stopped moving. "F-rank gate. 2 kilometers northeast. 18 hours before it breaks." He said it the way he'd say anything else. Facts. Plain. She'd cleared S-rank gates solo. She didn't need him to explain what an F-rank gate meant. "If I don't clear it, monsters flood the slum. If I do clear it, I get enough Experience to hit Level 10. Maybe higher." He didn't tell her the survival rate. She didn't need to carry that weight. "I have a knife. Boots that don't leak. A jacket." He shrugged. "It's not much. But it's more than I had two days ago." Her fingers tightened around his. Weak. Trembling. But present. "I'll be back before dark." He reached out and touched her hand. "Door's wedged shut. Nobody's getting in." One squeeze. Understanding. Two squeezes. Stay. Her hand stayed still after the first. 'Go.' He lifted her hand and pressed it to his forehead, closing his eyes. "I'm coming back. It's math. Violet says sixty-two percent. I've beaten worse odds just by being born." He lowered her hand to the blanket and stood. "When I get back, I'll tell you everything. Every monster. Every kill. Deal?" One squeeze. 'Yes..' He turned toward the door, the knife heavy at his belt, the jacket creaking against his shoulders. His heart was beating faster than it should have been. Calm Mind was working, but it couldn't suppress everything. At the door, he looked back one last time. Seraphina's eyes were on him. Bright. Fierce. The eyes of a woman who had once been the most feared Hunter in the world, reduced to watching her husband walk out the door. "Don't go anywhere," he said. Her finger twitched. Something that might have been a laugh, if she'd had the voice for it. He closed the door behind him and started walking.
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24 | High Orc Lv.69
The tunnel narrowed as they moved deeper, the walls pressing close and damp. Allen led with Silverhowl in hand, the blade catching the faint blue-green glow that now bled from cracks in the stone. Maris and Fendrel followed, their breathing loud in the enclosed space. The air had changed again. It was colder here, wetter, and the smell of rot had thickened. They had been walking for 5 minutes since the last fight. The path sloped down, then flattened, then widened into a gallery whose ceiling vanished into shadow. The torchlight here was different. Stronger. Alive. "Stay close," Allen said. Maris moved up beside him. "Is this the deepest part of the dungeon.?" Allen didn't answer. He could feel it. A pressure in the air, a weight behind the eyes. The floor underfoot was cracked and uneven, littered with old bones. Some were beast. Some were not. They stepped into the final chamber. The room was vast, circular, with walls that rose into darkness. Blue-green torches burned in iron
23 | Skill Evolution
The tunnel did not end. Allen stepped over the last Gloomfang corpse and kept walking, his boots pressing dark prints into the wet stone. The gate's blue light was already gone, swallowed by the deep. Maris and Fendrel followed close, their breath loud, their weapons still wet. The air in this part of the dungeon was heavier. Not just cold. Wet. Heavy with the smell of old blood and something green, something rotting. "Boss?" Maris whispered. "Are we close to the boss?" Allen didn't answer. He was listening. Water dripped somewhere ahead, each drop returning a soft echo. That meant the space was large. A chamber. But the echo came back too fast on one side. The right side. The wall there was broken, opening into a wider passage. The corridor split. Allen stopped. Two paths lay before them. The right path was broad, its floor smooth from years of use. The left was narrower, rougher, the stone cracked and uneven. From the right came a sound like something breathing through a throat
22 | Imperium Thrall
The corridor was wider than Allen expected. The D-rank gate spat them into a passage carved from dark stone, the walls slick with moisture and glowing faintly with veins of pale blue moss. Allen's Night Vision peeled the shadows back, but the air was different here. Colder. Heavy with the smell of something sharper underneath. Sweat and old blood. Maris stumbled through the portal after him, catching himself on the wall. Fendrel came last, his boots splashing through a thin layer of water. The gate's blue light died behind them, sealing them in. "Stay close," Allen said. Neither argued. They moved forward, weapons drawn. Allen pulled Silverhowl from Dominion Cache, the blade appearing in his palm with a faint shimmer. Maris carried his short sword. Fendrel held his mace with both hands. The only sounds were their breathing and the drip of water from the ceiling. The corridor opened into a wide chamber. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like stone teeth. In the center, a pack of
21 | D-rank Aspirant
Morning came with the smell of mud and woodsmoke. Allen rolled off the thin mattress without waking Seraphina. She had curled onto her side in the night, her silver hair tangled across the pillow, one hand resting where his chest had been. He pulled the blanket over her shoulder and stood. The floor was cold under his bare feet. The room was still dark, but the slum outside was already stirring. He washed his face in the basin and pulled on a clean shirt. The sword stayed in Dominion Cache. No target on his back today. At the door, he looked back. Seraphina's eyes were open. "Go back to sleep," he said. Her eyes blinked twice. 'No.' Allen smiled. "Stubborn." He crossed to the bed and kissed her forehead. "I'll bring bread. Stay quiet." One blink. 'Yes.' The market was already full. Allen moved through the crowd. He stopped at a bread stall. The smell of warm dough hung around it. He focused, and a few copper coins dropped into his palm from Dominion Cache. He paid for 2 loa
20 | Bloody Hands, Gentle Touch
The first thing Allen did after the door closed was listen. He stood with his back against the rough wood. Outside, the slum was quiet in the way that only came after violence. No shouts. No running feet. No one banging on a neighbor's door to ask what had happened. The night had swallowed the sounds of Jack and Luke and the older man, and it had given nothing back. Allen let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His chest ached. His shoulders were still tight, his fingers still curled as if they expected the sword to be there. But the sword was in his hand, still wet, still heavy. He crossed the dark room to the bed. The candle had gone out when Jack fell. Only the faint glow of the slum outside came through the small window. Seraphina lay exactly where he'd left her. Awake. Her violet eyes were open, steady, watching him move through the dark. The blanket had slipped partway down her chest. Allen pulled it back over her shoulder, his knuckles brushing the warm skin
19 | Break-In
Allen lay flat on the roof, Silverhowl in his hand. He had been waiting long enough for the night to settle, and now the three figures had finally come. They moved like men who thought they were clever, keeping to the shadows as if the slum would protect them. From his spot behind the broken chimney, Allen watched them reach the door. Jack, thick and heavy, opening and removing the wedge. The thin one, Luke, kept looking over his shoulder. The older man stood a few steps back, arms crossed, as if he were already counting coins. Jack pushed the door open. Luke slipped inside first, knife out. Jack followed. The older man took one last look at the empty lane, then went in after them and pulled the door shut. 'They're all inside. Good.' Allen waited. He counted ten slow breaths, then slid down from the roof. The mud was soft and cold around his boots. He moved around the side of the house and stopped beside the small window. Just a rough hole in the wall, barely bigger than a man
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