And that kind of risk, that willingness to face death for the sake of power or a paycheck, *had* to be rewarded—because if it wasn't, then who would be foolish enough to try?
Before heading to the Awakening Center, Leo strapped a basic sword to his side. It wasn't anything fancy—just a cheap carbon-steel blade he'd ordered online. The edge wasn't razor-sharp, and the balance was slightly off, but for a first dungeon run, it would be enough. He didn't need perfection. He needed practice.
Leaving his apartment, he flagged a cab and made it to the center within a short drive. The district was bustling with activity, a mixture of hope, desperation, and business all blending together in a single city block.
As he walked toward the large, white-pillared building at the center of it all, he passed by newcomers with tired eyes and slouched shoulders—people who had failed their tests and were now trying to figure out their next step. Not far from them were guild recruiters, dressed in sharp suits or flashy gear, hounding those with potential, pushing contracts with too many small-print conditions and promises of fame that rarely came true.
The entire area around the Awakening Center was alive.
Shops flanked both sides of the street, selling everything an aspiring hunter might need: skill books, low-grade enchanted weapons, starter armor, healing potions, and monster cores stacked neatly in reinforced glass displays. These cores, harvested from defeated monsters, were prized possessions. Absorbing one could grant a small but permanent increase in a stat—strength, magic, vitality, or even perception, depending on the core.
Some hunters used them to grow stronger. Others, desperate for cash, sold them to the government or private dealers, fetching anywhere from a few hundred to several thousand dollars each, depending on the rarity and elemental alignment. Magic cores in particular were always in demand, as they provided more drastic boosts.
Leo glanced at one through a shop window—vibrant and pulsing with faint light—and muttered under his breath, "Guess I won't need to buy any vitality cores."
With his abnormal vitality regeneration, those cores would be wasted on him. He could sell them instead and use the profits to build up his strength and magic, the two stats he truly needed to raise. That, in turn, would allow him to take on higher-level dungeons without dying—and *that* was the only real goal.
Upon entering the Awakening Center, he was greeted by a receptionist, a young woman with a crisp uniform and an overly polite smile. She asked for his ID, name, date of awakening, and general background. After typing everything into the system, she motioned toward a hallway and told him he'd be evaluated shortly.
He was led to a spacious, sterile room lit with bright overhead panels. Behind a glass wall on the far side sat three evaluators—likely C or B-rank hunters turned staff—who watched with practiced, skeptical eyes. In the center of the room stood a simple wooden combat dummy, worn from countless evaluations.
Leo was instructed to choose a training weapon from the rack and demonstrate his combat capabilities.
Instead of picking up a weapon himself, Leo nodded and spoke clearly: "Copy."
In an instant, three clones shimmered into view beside him, identical in appearance and posture. Without needing further instruction, each grabbed a wooden sword and launched toward the dummy. Their attacks weren't flawless, but they were coordinated, aggressive, and fast—far more synchronized than most E-rank fighters.
From behind the glass, the evaluators took notes.
"Physical stats place him at F-rank."
"Clones look promising. Would be terrifying if his strength improves."
"Likely possible with consistent core absorption."
"Mana upkeep for three active clones at once isn't trivial... He's got control."
Leo allowed himself a small smile. He could hear bits and pieces through the intercom feed.
What they didn't know—and what he didn't plan on correcting—was that he wasn't using mana at all.
Unlike most skills, which drew from the user's mana pool and could only be sustained for short bursts, Leo's \[Duplicate] drew entirely from vitality. That was precisely why most people discarded the skill—it was inefficient, borderline useless, especially for anyone with standard vitality stats. But for Leo, with his virtually limitless regeneration, it was not just viable—it was overpowered.
He remained silent as they completed the evaluation.
A few minutes later, he was dismissed, and before long, a small envelope was handed to him containing his official hunter license. The card inside was thin, metallic, and slightly warm to the touch, with a golden hue that shimmered beneath the fluorescent lights. It displayed his full name, age, and newly assigned rank: E.
Not the lowest rank, but far from impressive.
Still, Leo nodded in quiet satisfaction. For now, this was enough. He hadn't shown his regenerative ability during the test, even though it might have boosted his rank. Revealing that particular trait could have drawn unnecessary attention, and in a world where the strong often vanished without explanation, keeping a few cards hidden was simply smart.
His rank could always increase later, especially once he started absorbing cores. But progress came at a cost.
Monster cores were expensive. Absorbing them was the only way to grow stronger outside of battle, and unless you were backed by a guild, funded by a wealthy family, or willing to risk your life daily, progress was slow. Some awakeners never made it past E-rank, simply because they couldn't afford to.
Before heading out, Leo stopped by the restroom to wash up. As he dried his hands on a thin paper towel, he summoned his system panel with a mental command:
---
**\[Leo]**
**\[Occupation: Hunter]**
**\[Strength: 10]**
**\[Magic: 10]**
**\[Vitality: — ]**
**\[Skills: (Duplicate – 10)]**
---
A small smile played on his lips. His occupation had officially updated to "Hunter," and more importantly, his skill proficiency had gone up. That must've been from the mass clone summoning he did back in his apartment. Skills improved through repeated use, and proficiency wasn't just cosmetic—it actively enhanced a skill's range, duration, and effectiveness.
A fireball skill that started as a spark could become a building-destroying explosion at high proficiency. It was like weightlifting: use it or lose it.
And now, it was time for his next move.
Leo exited the building and made his way to the nearest F-rank dungeon in the area—a place called Goblin's Keep.
The name didn't leave much to the imagination. Ten floors, goblins on every level, with each floor housing between ten and twenty monsters. Basic, repetitive, and low risk. The dungeon was often used as a training ground for fresh hunters, and fatalities were rare unless someone made a stupid mistake—like entering alone.
By law, the Association required a minimum of five people to form a dungeon party. The standard lineup was usually two knights to hold the front, two berserkers to deal damage, and one mage for ranged attacks and support. Anything more than that was unnecessary, and anything less was dangerous—unless your rank or skill set justified the risk.
Fortunately, Leo had already made preparations.
Inside the restroom, where he had privacy, he quietly activated [Duplicate].
Four clones appeared before him in a neat row, their expressions neutral, their bodies mirroring his down to every detail.
"All right,"
Leo muttered under his breath. "Take off your clothes."
The clones obeyed without question.