The moment Set stepped through the Gate, the world shifted. The desolate field vanished, replaced by a cavernous chamber bathed in a sickly, dim glow. The air was thick with the stench of decay, and his eyes widened at the sight before him: a grim tableau of fallen Hunters, their bodies strewn across the stone floor, armor cracked and stained with dried blood. Some lay in unnatural poses, their faces frozen in expressions of terror or defiance. Set's stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. He clapped a hand over his mouth, his other arm clutching his abdomen as he fought the urge to retch.
This... His mind struggled to form words, the horror of the scene clashing with the fire of his ambition. He'd been ready to carve his path to power, to rise as a Hunter in this chaotic new world, but no amount of resolve could prepare a man for his first encounter with death's grim reality. The corpses were a stark reminder: this was no game. Failure here meant joining the silent ranks before him.
For thirty agonizing minutes, Set stood rooted to the spot, his breaths shallow and ragged. Slowly, his body adapted, a strange calm settling over him as his awakened physiology dulled the sharp edges of his fear and revulsion. His grip tightened on the hilt of his Fundamental-rank sword, its weight grounding him. "Alright," he whispered, his voice steadier now. "This was expected. I'm a Hunter now. Death... it's just part of the deal." The words felt hollow, but they steeled his resolve. He took a tentative step forward, then another, his boots echoing softly in the oppressive silence.
As he ventured deeper into the Dungeon, the carnage grew worse. Human remains mingled with the grotesque forms of slain monsters—goblins with twisted limbs, ogres slumped like fallen titans, their flesh rotting into the stone. Set's golden eyes scanned the shadows, alert for any threat. Then, without warning, a guttural snarl shattered the quiet. A goblin emerged from the gloom, its green skin glistening with sweat, its pointed ears twitching. Its sharp, jagged teeth glinted in the faint light as it brandished a rusted, chipped sword. Sensing Set, it let out a feral "Grrr!" and charged, its movements a blur of savage intent.
Set's heart lurched. He'd never seen a living monster before, and the goblin's speed caught him off guard. Before he could process its approach, the creature was upon him, its blade swinging in a vicious arc. Instinct alone saved him; he raised his sword just in time, the clash of metal ringing out with a sharp CLANG! The force of the blow sent him skidding back across the uneven floor, his boots scraping against the stone.
"Shit, a little heads-up would've been nice!" Set grumbled, his voice tinged with adrenaline-fueled frustration. The goblin didn't pause, rushing forward again with relentless aggression. Set shook off his shock and met the creature head-on, his movements clumsy and unrefined. He'd never fought before, never swung a sword in combat, and it showed. His strikes were wild, his footing uncertain, each clash of blades a desperate scramble. The goblin exploited every mistake, its blade nicking Set's arms and thighs, drawing thin lines of blood that stung with every movement.
But Set's body was adapting, his body was sharpening with each passing second. He began to anticipate the goblin's attacks, his reflexes quickening. After a near-miss that left his cheek grazed, he ducked under a wild swing and retaliated with a clumsy but forceful strike. His blade connected, slicing through the goblin's neck with a sickening SHK! The creature's head rolled free, its body collapsing before dissolving into a shimmer of mana. In its place, a single Golden Core materialized, glinting faintly on the blood-slicked floor.
Set's brows shot up, his breath ragged. "A Core? On my first kill?" The rarity of Cores was no secret—only monster kills yielded them, and even then, the odds were slim. Before his awakening, he'd poured every cent of his life savings into purchasing a single Core. A grin spread beneath his mask as he reached for it, but instead of absorbing immediately, a prompt flickered into existence:
[Assimilate Goblin's Essence?]
"Hell no!" Set blurted, jabbing the "No" option without hesitation. His Origin Assimilation ability was powerful, but the thought of merging with a goblin's essence made his skin crawl. The Core vanished, and he checked his system panel:
[Mana Capacity: 502]
"Only two points for an F-rank Core?" he muttered, a mix of disappointment and curiosity in his tone. Shaking his head, he popped a healing pill from his mana ring, the bitter taste fading as his cuts began to knit together. He pressed on, deeper into the Gate's labyrinthine depths.
The hours that followed were a brutal crucible. Set faced goblin after goblin, each fight a chaotic dance of survival. His inexperience showed—his swings were sloppy, his footing faltered—but his body adapted with uncanny speed, his muscles learning the rhythm of combat. Several times, he teetered on the edge of death, a goblin's blade grazing his throat or a claw raking his side. Yet, inexplicably, fortune intervened. A monster would freeze mid-strike, its eyes glazing over, or collapse without warning, as if struck by an unseen force. Set's lips curved into a knowing smile. Lucky Halo's doing its thing, he thought, gratitude mingling with amusement. He didn't question it further, throwing himself into each battle with growing confidence, determined to hone his skills through raw experience.
----
Three hours later, Set sat slumped atop the corpse of a massive goblin, the Dungeon's Boss. His white hair was matted with blood—his own and the monster's—staining his torn armor and cracked mask. His chest heaved as he downed a handful of healing pills and an elixir, their warmth spreading through his battered body, mending cuts and easing bruises. The Boss's defeat had been grueling, a chaotic melee that tested every ounce of his fledgling skill. Now, he rose unsteadily and approached a floating chest, its surface etched with faint runes that pulsed with mana.
"Alright, let's see what we've got," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "Low-level Gates don't usually give much—maybe a skill book or a basic weapon if I'm lucky." He flipped open the chest, only to find it utterly empty, not even a speck of dust within. Set blinked, then tilted his head back, glaring at the cavern's ceiling as if addressing an unseen overseer. "Uh, isn't something missing here?"
A prompt flashed above the chest, its text glowing with an eerie intensity:
{200 Years Sword Experience, 50 Cores}
Before Set could react, a torrent of knowledge flooded his mind—a cascade of techniques, stances, and strategies honed over centuries of swordsmanship. It was overwhelming but painless, each piece slotting into place with perfect clarity. He could feel it: the way to shift his weight for a perfect strike, the angle to parry a blow, the rhythm of a duel. When the deluge ceased, he stood before a pile of fifty Golden Cores, their collective glow casting his bloodied face in a warm light.
He reached out, pausing as another prompt appeared:
{Assimilate Essence of %^%$?}
Set's eyes narrowed at the garbled text, an incomprehensible name that set his nerves on edge. "Can't even read that," he muttered, hesitating. Deciding caution was wiser, he absorbed forty-nine of the Cores, leaving one untouched. His system panel updated:
[Mana Capacity: 2,509]
"Those were not F-rank Cores," he said, a grin spreading as he felt power surge through him, his rank leaping from Awakened to C in an instant. The difference was staggering—like an ant transformed into a hawk, his body thrumming with newfound strength. He could sense the mana flowing smoother, stronger, a river where there had once been a trickle. "Damn, this feels good."
Every kill in the Gate had yielded a Core, an absurd stroke of fortune that could only be the work of his Lucky Halo. The realization made him laugh, the sound echoing in the empty chamber. He could buy Cores with his infinite wealth, but at higher ranks, the sheer volume required became astronomical. Even S-rank, the highest known tier, was said to demand an obscene number of Cores—a fact whispered among Hunters. One might think 'So, what just buy them all!' However, it was not that simple, the Hunters market was controlled and ran by top families and the Hunters Association.
For one, Cores were sold majorly for those to awaken, not to rank up. This meant the volume of cores being sold was quite low.
Set didn't linger on the thought. He stepped through the exit Gate, the Dungeon dissolving behind him. He emerged back in the desolate field, the air crisp against his blood-streaked skin. In the distance, the black truck waited, its driver standing patiently beside it. Set's grin widened beneath his torn mask. "C-rank already, just from those Cores," he mused. "And that's not even counting the others I picked up in there. This luck is broken."
He strode toward the truck, his steps lighter despite his exhaustion. The driver's eyes widened slightly as he approached, her sharp senses catching the shift in his aura. Why does he feel stronger than me now? she thought, her composure faltering for a moment. She said nothing, merely nodding as Set climbed into the truck.
"Next Gate," he said, his voice brimming with determination. As the truck rumbled to life, Set leaned back, his mind already racing toward the challenges ahead. He'd grind through these Gates, one by one, until he could speed-run them with ease. The path to power was bloody, but with his luck, he was just getting started.