The ruins were alive with shadows.
Jericho staggered on trembling legs, sweat and blood mixing across his face. The void energy flickering in his hands pulsed weakly, barely enough to keep him standing. Wolves circled him, their growls deep and hungry. Skeletons clattered from the rubble, sockets burning with pale flame.
His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. The faint taste of void still clung to his tongue, acrid and sharp. For a brief moment, clarity pierced his fear.
"Affinity," he muttered, voice hoarse.
The word slammed into him like a hammer. How could he have forgotten? Every awakening had two parts: the class… and the affinity. But the nobles at the tower hadn't bothered with the second test. They had seen Cowboy and laughed. Trash wasn't worth testing further.
His jaw clenched, anger smoldering. If they had tested me… if they had seen this void inside me… He shook his head. It didn't matter. He was here, alone, surrounded, his life dangling on a thread.
But deep inside, something bloomed—a bitter seed of rage, buried but alive.
The wolves closed in. Jericho's instincts sharpened, his body shifting with sudden precision. Not skill—never skill—but instinct. The Cowboy class whispered in his blood, sharpening his eyes, his reflexes. His hands moved with desperate timing, as though guided by some unseen rhythm.
A wolf lunged. Jericho flung rubble with frantic force. The stone cracked against its snout, stunning it mid-leap. But another skeleton slashed with a jagged bone blade. Jericho ducked, void sparks flashing as his arm blocked the strike, the energy clumsy but enough to deflect.
The fight was chaos. His movements were wild, messy, sloppy. He wasn't a warrior. He wasn't trained. His void affinity was raw, untamed, leaking out in sparks and bursts. But it kept him alive.
He roared, smashing a stick into a skeleton's skull. Bone cracked. Blue flame died. His Status Panel flared briefly with EXP gained, but Jericho hardly saw it.
The world narrowed to survival.
[New Combat Protocol: Circulate Void Affinity. Direct energy flow toward limbs for reinforcement.]
The voice was cold, sharp, unfeeling.
Jericho hesitated, suspicion crawling in his chest. The System had tricked him once already. But what choice did he have? He channeled the void, forcing it into his arms and legs.
His body responded instantly—lighter, faster. His strikes carried more weight, his dodges sharper.
Yet the truth hit him. The System gave him just enough to survive. Never more. It felt like a leash tightening around his throat.
Minutes stretched into hours. Jericho fought like a cornered animal. Wolves lunged, claws tearing flesh. Skeletons slashed, blades of bone cutting into his skin. Blood soaked his rags.
Each kill brought a flicker of EXP. His panel whispered:
[Level Up: Lv. 3.]
But the numbers meant nothing compared to the pain. His body screamed. Hunger gnawed. Exhaustion clawed at him.
And then he realized the worst truth of all: the dungeon would never let him rest.
The longer he stayed, the more monsters appeared. This wasn't survival. This was a gauntlet. Progress or die.
Jericho's heart sank.
The ground trembled. A deep growl rolled across the ruins, louder than the others.
Jericho turned, blood dripping into his eyes. From the shadows, it emerged—a massive wolf, black fur bristling, eyes glowing like molten fire. Its shoulders rippled with muscle, claws carving stone with each step.
On its back sat a skeleton unlike the others. Taller, armored in fragments of rusted plate, wielding a jagged lance of bone. Its sockets burned brighter, intelligence gleaming in its hollow gaze.
Jericho's Status Panel blared:
[Floor Core Detected.]
[Destroy the core to proceed to the next floor.]
In both monster's chests pulsed glowing crystals—the dual cores.
Jericho's blood ran cold. A mounted warrior and his beast. A synergy of martial skill and primal savagery.
"This… is the boss."
The wolf roared, charging. Jericho dove aside, rubble exploding where he stood. The skeleton's lance swept, cutting the air inches from his chest. He rolled, scrambled to his feet, void sparks flashing desperately in his hands.
The wolf snapped at him, fangs tearing into his arm. Jericho screamed, slamming void energy into its snout. Black sparks burned its fur, forcing it to release him.
The skeleton struck, lance grazing his ribs, blood spilling hot.
Jericho staggered back, gasping. His body shook. Death was seconds away.
But instinct screamed louder. He circled void energy into his legs, leaping onto rubble. The wolf lunged, the skeleton's lance thrusting forward. Jericho twisted, void guiding his hand. He hurled stone with pinpoint aim.
The rock smashed into the skeleton's chest. The crystal pulsed, cracking.
The boss shrieked, wolf staggering under the blow.
Jericho's heart pounded. "The core…!"
He surged forward, void energy flooding his fists. He struck again, smashing the skeleton's chest. The crystal splintered, nearly shattering—until the wolf twisted, protecting its rider.
Claws raked his side, tearing flesh. Jericho screamed, collapsing, blood pooling. The wolf pinned him, jaws snapping for his throat.
He shoved his glowing hand into its chest, void sparks erupting. The crystal within flickered. With a roar of desperation, Jericho slammed his forehead into the wolf's snout, void surging into the strike.
The crystal cracked. Shattered.
The wolf convulsed, howling. The skeleton screamed as its own core exploded, fragments scattering into the night.
Energy ripped outward, a surge that flattened rubble and silenced the ruins.
The monsters dissolved into ash. Silence followed.
Jericho lay sprawled, bloodied, skin torn, breaths shallow. He was at death's door, vision blurring.
His Status Panel flared:
[First Floor Cleared.]
[Quest Completed: Survive your first night as a free man.]
[Reward: Cowboy Skill – Void Marksmanship (Lv.1).]
Knowledge flooded his mind, searing like fire. Images of a revolver, of void energy shaping into bullets, of precision beyond mortal sight.
His first skill.
Jericho's body trembled. For the first time, he wasn't powerless.
Yet doubt gnawed. "Wait… how do I use a skill without a weapon? I don't even have a revolver… nothing."
The ground shook. The ruins dissolved into black mist.
[Proceeding to Floor 2.]
The System's whisper echoed coldly as the world tore him upward.
Jericho screamed, blood dripping from his lips, as the dungeon tower dragged him into the next trial.