Investing In My Lv.999 Devoted Wife Makes Me a Tyrant

8 | The Grind Begins

Morning 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.