The Zero-Star Architect of the Abyss
The taste of copper was the last thing Kang-Jin remembered. That, and the rhythmic, sickening thud of the demolition charges vibrating through the reinforced obsidian floors of the "Aegis Gate"—his masterpiece.
"You're a genius, Kang-Jin," the Guild Master of the Iron Blood Alliance had told him just minutes before the betrayal. "But a genius who knows too many secrets is just a liability with a high salary."
Then, the world had collapsed. Literally.
Kang-Jin, the world's only Triple-S Rank Dungeon Architect, had been buried under five hundred tons of enchanted concrete and mana-treated steel. He died listening to the screams of the very people he had built the fortress to protect, realizing too late that the monsters weren't coming from the Rifts. They were the ones holding the detonators.
If I could just... build one more...
The thought flickered like a dying ember. Then, total darkness.
"Hey! Number 47! Are you trying to get fired on your first day, or are you just naturally this useless?"
The voice was like a bucket of ice water to the face. Kang-Jin's eyes snapped open. He wasn't under a pile of rubble. He wasn't choking on blood.
He was standing in the middle of a dusty construction site, the mid-day sun beating down on his neck. He felt a familiar, dull ache in his lower back—the kind earned from hours of manual labor, not from being crushed by a collapsing skyscraper.
He looked down at his hands. They were calloused, dirty, and remarkably attached to his body.
"Are you deaf?"
A large man in a high-visibility vest stomped toward him. Kang-Jin recognized him instantly: Foreman Choi. A bottom-tier manager for a third-rate construction firm that specialized in "Mana-Reinforced Basements."
This was ten years ago. Before the Great Cataclysm. Before Kang-Jin became the Architect of Humanity.
I'm back, Kang-Jin realized, his heart hammering against his ribs. The regression isn't a myth. It actually happened.
"I'm talking to you, kid!" Choi barked, reaching out to shove Kang-Jin's shoulder.
Before the hand could land, Kang-Jin pivoted. It wasn't a warrior's move—he wasn't a Hunter—but it was the calculated movement of a man who had spent a decade studying spatial geometry and movement patterns. Choi's hand swiped through empty air, his momentum carrying him forward until he nearly tripped over a stack of rebar.
"I'm awake, Choi," Kang-Jin said. His voice was raspy, unused to the youth of his own vocal cords. "Just a dizzy spell."
"Dizzy? You're a laborer! You don't get dizzy, you get paid!" Choi spat, though he looked confused by how he'd missed the shove. "Pick up those mana-crystals and get them to the basement. The mages are arriving in twenty minutes to set the seal. If the foundation isn't ready, it's your head."
Kang-Jin didn't argue. He picked up the crate of low-grade mana crystals. They were heavy, cold, and hummed with a faint, unstable frequency. To any other laborer, they were just heavy rocks. To Kang-Jin, they were a mess.
The alignment is off by three degrees, he noted automatically. The resonance is fluctuating. At this rate, this basement will cave in the moment a Class-E rift opens nearby.
He walked toward the half-finished structure, his mind racing. In his previous life, he had been a "late bloomer." He hadn't discovered his unique Class—[Abyssal Architect]—until five years after the Rifts began. By then, the world was already owned by the Guilds. He had been a tool for them, building their palaces while the rest of the world burned.
Not this time, he thought. This time, I don't wait for the System to find me. I'll force its hand.
He reached the basement, a dark, damp concrete shell. He was alone for a moment. He set the crate down and bit his thumb hard enough to draw blood.
In the future, there was a secret known only to the top-tier "Constructors." The System wasn't just a gift; it was a physical law. And like any law, it could be provoked.
Using his blood, Kang-Jin drew a precise, geometric seal on the raw concrete floor. It wasn't a standard protective ward. It was a [Gravity-Anchor]—a blueprint far beyond the current era's understanding.
"Incorporate," he whispered.
For a second, nothing happened. Then, the air in the basement grew heavy. The low-grade mana crystals in the crate began to glow with a violent violet hue.
[Ding!]
A sound like a crystal bell chimed in his mind. A screen of light materialized in the air, translucent and cold.
Kang-Jin smirked. He knew the System's logic. It was an AI of pure efficiency. If it found a variable it couldn't explain, it sought the most logical path to stabilize the anomaly.
[Class Awakening Initialized.]
[Congratulations! You have awakened as the Unique Class: 'The Sovereign Architect'.]
A surge of heat rushed through his veins. The world suddenly looked different. The basement was no longer just concrete and shadows; it was a grid of ley lines, stress points, and potential energy. He could see where the air flowed, where the earth groaned, and where the "mana-leaks" were wasting precious power.
[Current Level: 1]
[Active Skill Unlocked: 'Structural Analysis (Rank F)']
[Passive Skill Unlocked: 'Master's Blueprint (Rank EX)']
"Sovereign Architect," Kang-Jin muttered, testing the words. It was a different title than his previous life. Better.
"Hey! What the hell is that light?"
Foreman Choi stood at the top of the stairs, squinting down into the darkness. He had seen the glow of the System window.
Kang-Jin didn't panic. He stood up, wiping the blood from his thumb. The System window vanished with a flick of his thought.
"Just the crystals reacting to the dampness," Kang-Jin said calmly. "But you might want to tell the mages not to start the seal yet."
Choi stomped down the stairs. "And why the hell would I do that, you little rat?"
"Because," Kang-Jin pointed to a specific spot on the western wall, where a hairline fracture was beginning to form—invisible to anyone else. "If they apply the mana seal now, the resonance will hit that fault line. This whole building will drop into the sewer line by midnight. And I don't think your insurance covers 'Gross Negligence'."
Choi laughed, a wet, mocking sound. "You think you're an engineer now? You're a pack mule! Get out of here before I dock your pay for talking back."
Kang-Jin shrugged. He didn't need to convince Choi. He just needed to be out of the splash zone.
"Suit yourself," Kang-Jin said, walking past the Foreman. "But when the floor starts humming in B-flat, I'd suggest you run."
He walked out of the construction site and didn't look back. He had three hours before the "First Rift" would open in the center of Seoul—a minor event that the history books called the "Gangnam Tremor." Everyone thought it was an earthquake.
Kang-Jin knew better. It was the first "Dungeon Break" in history, and it happened to occur right underneath a high-end real estate development.
In his last life, he had been a victim of that day. In this life, he was going to be the owner of the aftermath.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cheap, cracked smartphone. He had exactly 45,000 won (about $35) to his name.
"Step one," he murmured, his eyes reflecting the blueprint of the city swirling in his mind. "I need to buy a shovel, some salt, and a very specific lot of 'useless' land."
The world was about to fall apart. Kang-Jin was going to make sure he was the one who put it back together—for a price.