The seconds after Jera's cold, two-word statement—"Just... doing my job"—were chaotic.
The news reporters, smelling a story bigger than a simple dungeon collapse, surged forward like a wave. They were a wall of bodies, cameras, and bright, blinding lights.
"Mr. Walker! Please! Just one more question!"
"Who do you work for? Are you independent?"
"The people are calling you a hero! What do you say to that?"
Jera's helmeted face gave them nothing. He felt a flash of genuine, cold annoyance. These people were a problem. They were inefficient. They were loud. And they were in his way.
He needed to leave, but he couldn't use his full speed. He couldn't vanish. That would only create more, harder-to-answer questions.
He focused, dialing his Agility to a level that was high, but still humanly believable.
[Action: Evasive Maneuvers. Agility Multiplier Roll: $\times 8$.]
He used the smallest multiplier possible. To the crowd, it didn't look like a superpower. It looked like impossible luck.
He stepped to the left, and a reporter who was lunging for him tripped over a camera cable. He turned, and a gap in the crowd opened for just a second. He slipped through it. He never pushed, he never shoved. He simply flowed through the chaos, a ghost in plain sight.
"He's getting away!"
"Stop him! Sir! Mr. Walker!"
By the time the news crews untangled themselves, Jera had rounded a corner, entered a crowded public street, and blended perfectly with the afternoon foot traffic. A block later, he slipped into a deserted alleyway and activated his [Aetheric Shield]. The shield, set to Level 512, bent the light and sound around him, making him completely invisible.
He was gone.
He reappeared in his Infinite Fortress seconds later, his high-end DM-100 Mining Rig dematerializing into his Unlimited Inventory.
He stood in the silent, dark chamber made of multiplied rock. The noise and lights of the media felt a thousand miles away.
"This is a complication," Jera said to the empty room.
His plan had been to be a ghost, a "Miracle Miner" whose exploits were just rumors in the Guild. But his "rescue" in Sector G had turned him into a public figure.
Fame was a liability. It meant more eyes. More eyes meant more investigations. More investigations meant more risk of his secret—the Multiplier System—being discovered.
He looked at his Status. Level 71. His goal was Level 100, and then Ascension. This new fame was a wall built between him and his goal.
He needed to control the narrative. And the best way to do that was to become the most boring hero in the world.
In her office at the Hunter Bureau, Captain Elara Kane was having the worst day of her career.
"Let me get this straight," she said, her voice dangerously quiet. She was speaking to a terrified-looking Bureau technician. "You are telling me that 'Cain Walker'—a B-Rank Miner—is now the most popular Hunter in New York."
"His... his approval rating is ninety-eight percent, ma'am," the tech stammered, holding a data tablet. "The news is calling him the 'Silent Savior.' The 'Working-Class Hero.' The Iron Hand Guild's stock price has tripled in the last two hours. They're already running commercials about him."
Kane rubbed her temples, a headache building. "And the surveillance team?"
"Total failure, Captain. He vanished. Again. It's like he just... dissolves into the air. We can't track him."
"And the S-Rank mana signature we detected?"
"We ran a match against every registered Hunter in the database. S-Ranks, Ascended... even global watch lists. Nothing. The signature is... it's clean. Too clean. It has no 'flavor,' no personal trace. It's like pure, raw, perfect mana. No known Hunter can do that. Not even the Ascended."
Kane stood up and walked to the window, looking down at the city. The Bureau was supposed to be in control. They were the law. They monitored the dungeons, the Guilds, and the S-Ranks.
But they couldn't control this.
"He's not a miner," Kane whispered. "He's not a Hunter. He's something else."
She replayed the footage of Jera lifting the 10-ton beam. The way his suit strained. The fake grunt of effort he gave. She had analyzed that sound. It was a lie. He wasn't straining. He was acting.
"He's playing a game," she said. "He wanted us to see that. He is advertising his power, but hiding his purpose. He is the most dangerous anomaly this city has ever seen. He is a one-man army, and the public thinks he's a saint."
Her orders were now compromised. She couldn't arrest a public hero without cause. She couldn't attack him; he was clearly more powerful than her entire division.
"Double the investigation," she ordered. "But do it quietly. I don't care about his 'Cain Walker' alias anymore. I want to know who he really is. Find out where he came from. No one is born with that kind of power. He has a past. Find it."
The news of the "Miracle Miner" didn't just hit the Bureau. It hit the Guilds. Hard.
In his secret office, the shadow broker known as "The Vault" was laughing. His encrypted comm-link was flashing with calls from the most powerful Guild Leaders in the world.
"No, Mr. Kenji," The Vault said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. "I cannot give you Mr. Walker's private contact. Yes, I am aware your Azure Sentinels Guild is the richest in Asia... Yes, I see the offer. One billion credits as a signing bonus? How generous."
He hung up, and another call immediately came in.
"Lord Valerius," The Vault said. "The Crimson Guild! An honor. Ah, you don't want to hire him. You want to offer him... 'partnership'? A seat on your council? And the deed to a private dungeon?"
The offers were insane. Every Guild on Earth wanted Cain Walker. A man with the strength of an S-Rank, who was not registered with the Bureau, was a free agent of unimaginable value. He was a nuclear weapon, and he was for sale.
The Vault, as Jera's official (and only) broker, was in the most powerful position of his life. He compiled the top ten offers. They included:
$2.5 Billion credits (cash) A fleet of private jets An entire S-Rank dungeon, all loot rights included A private island in the Pacific The hand of a Guild Leader's daughter in marriage
The Vault typed up the list and sent it to Jera's untraceable comm. His message was simple:
To: C.W.
From: The Vault
Subject: You're popular.
The market is very, very hot. Attached are the opening bids. My commission is 10% on any successful contract. Let me know which one you'd like to accept.
In his Infinite Fortress, Jera saw the message from The Vault. He scrolled through the list of offers. His face, illuminated by the comm's screen, remained perfectly still.
He looked at the offers of billions of credits. He looked at the S-Rank dungeon. He looked at the offer of marriage.
Then, he pressed one button: [Delete].
The message, and all the billions of credits it represented, vanished.
Jera's wealth was already infinite. He had multiplied S-Rank crafting materials in his Inventory worth trillions. These offers were insulting. They were ants offering a human a crumb of sugar.
The fame, the offers, the investigations—they were all just noise. They were distractions from the real work.
His Status showed Level 71. It was not enough.
He put his DM-100 Rig back on. He was going back to work.
His plan was simple. He would accept the fame. And he would smother it with boredom.
He would show up to his shift. He would mine. He would kill D-Rank monsters. He would be the most powerful, most famous, and most boring man in the world. He would be so grindingly normal in his routine that the news crews would have nothing to film. They would get tired, and they would leave.
He walked out of his fortress, ready for his 6:00 AM shift.
Jera's plan backfired the moment he arrived at The Ironworks.
The entrance was a circus. Hundreds of reporters, fans, and Guild agents were waiting for him. They screamed and surged forward when they saw his familiar mining rig.
He ignored them all. He pushed through the crowd, his [Aetheric Shield] acting as a gentle, invisible barrier. He clocked in, grabbed his contract for a D-Rank salvage run, and walked into the dungeon.
A dozen people tried to follow him. The Guild guards stopped the reporters, but they couldn't stop other registered Hunters.
A team of three Hunters, wearing the sleek, blue-and-silver armor of the Azure Sentinels (the Guild from Asia), followed him at a distance. They were spies, sent to evaluate his power.
Jera knew they were there. He could hear their breathing, their heartbeats. He ignored them. He walked into his contracted sector and began his "work."
He found a nest of Iron-Husks and began killing them. Punch. Kill. Store. Punch. Kill. Store.
He was fast, but he kept his movements in the B-Rank range. He didn't use his shield. He didn't use his speed.
The Azure Sentinel spies watched from a hidden alcove.
"This is it?" one whispered. "This is the 'Miracle Miner'? He's just... mining."
"He's strong, yes. A high B-Rank. But he's not lifting 10-ton beams," another said, disappointed.
"Wait... shut up. What's that sound?"
A new, wet, slavering sound echoed from a side tunnel. A creature emerged, one that didn't belong in this D-Rank zone.
It was a Corrosive Ravager. A C-Rank monster known for its thick armor and its ability to spit acid that could melt Hunter armor in seconds. It had wandered up from a lower level.
The monster saw the Azure Sentinel spies. It roared and charged.
"C-Rank! Engage!" the team leader yelled. They drew their weapons—mana blades and an energy rifle—and opened fire.
Their attacks sparked uselessly off the Ravager's thick, wet hide.
"It's not working!"
"The acid! Watch out!"
The monster spat a glob of green acid. The team leader dived, but the acid splashed his shoulder, and his expensive armor began to hiss and smoke. He screamed in pain.
The monster raised its claws for the killing blow.
It never landed.
A black-suited figure suddenly appeared between the monster and the spies. It was Cain Walker. He hadn't run; he had just stepped into the fight.
The Corrosive Ravager, its kill stolen, roared in fury and swiped its massive claws at Jera's head.
Jera didn't move. He didn't block. He just... punched.
[Action: Unarmed Strike. Strength Multiplier Roll: $\times 8. (The lowest possible)]
His fist, moving with the casual, bored speed of a man swatting a fly, connected with the monster's chest.
It was not a normal punch. There was no CRUNCH of bone. There was only a single, sharp sound: THOOM.
A shockwave, visible as a ripple in the air, exploded from Jera's fist.
The Corrosive Ravager—a C-Rank beast that had just shrugged off A-Rank energy bolts—disintegrated. Its top half was instantly vaporized into a fine, red mist. Its legs were driven into the stone floor.
Silence.
The three Azure Sentinel spies stared, their mouths open, their bodies frozen in terror.
Jera slowly lowered his fist. He looked at the red mist coating his arm, then at the spies. He made a "tsk" sound of annoyance.
He turned to the spies. They flinched, expecting to be killed.
Jera's helmeted face just stared. His digital voice was flat and cold.
"Clear the area. You're in the way of my mining route. Your fight was... messy."
He turned his back on the three petrified A-Rank spies and walked calmly down the tunnel, whistling a quiet, tuneless song as he went back to his "work."
That night, the rumor mill started again. The "Miracle Miner" wasn't just a hero. He was a monster. He didn't just fight C-Rank beasts. He one-shot them. Accidentally. And he was annoyed by it.
The mystery of Cain Walker had only grown deeper.