The entrance to the abandoned Hyehwa Station was sealed off by yellow police tape and a rusted iron gate. A sign faded by acid rain read: [DANGER: E-RANK DUNGEON ZONE - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY].
Civilian access was strictly prohibited. Getting caught meant a hefty fine and a week in a holding cell.
I hopped the fence in two seconds flat.
[You have entered the 'Echoing Tunnels' (E-Rank).]
The air inside was stagnant, heavy with the smell of wet fur and sewage. The emergency lights flickered with a dying buzz, casting long, twitching shadows against the tiled walls.
My hands started to shake.
It wasn't my mind—I had faced death a thousand times. It was this body. This weak, 18-year-old F-Rank body that had never seen a monster before. The biological survival instinct was screaming at me to run. My knees felt like jelly, and my breath came in short, shallow gasps.
'Damn it,' I thought, looking at my trembling fingers. 'I can't fight like this. One hesitation and I'm dead.'
[Current Viewers: 45 -> 62]
[God of Mischief]: Look at him shaking! He's terrified.
[God of War]: Disappointing. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is cowardly.
[Goddess of Love]: It's okay to be scared! Run away! ( >_<)
I ignored the chat and gritted my teeth. I couldn't rely on willpower alone to override biology. I needed a system solution.
"Shop," I whispered.
The blue grid appeared. I navigated to the [Mental/Passive] tab. I had 250 DP left. It wasn't much, but it had to be enough.
I scrolled past the expensive mental fortress skills until I found the cheapest, nastiest option available.
[Skill: Cold Blooded (F-Rank)]
Description: Chemically suppresses the amygdala's fear response. Users may experience temporary loss of empathy and emotional detachment.
Cost: 200 DP
It was a skill usually bought by assassins or torture specialists. It didn't make you brave; it just turned off the part of your brain that felt terror.
"Purchase," I commanded without hesitation.
[Transaction Complete. Remaining DP: 50.]
Thump.
It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my brain.
The trembling in my hands stopped instantly. The tightness in my chest vanished. The damp smell of the dungeon no longer evoked disgust; it was just data. Olfactory input.
I looked at the darkness. I felt nothing. No fear. No excitement. Just cold calculation.
[God of Mischief]: ...Whoa. His eyes just changed.
[God of War]: The fear is gone. He bought a suppressor? Ruthless.
I adjusted my grip on the Nameless Void Shortsword. The blade seemed to drink in the dim light, becoming a sliver of nothingness in my hand.
"Iron-Tooth Rats," I stated flatly, identifying the scratching sounds echoing from the platform below. "Weakness: The soft spot behind the neck."
I walked down the broken escalator, my footsteps silent thanks to the damp moss covering the metal steps.
Squeak.
At the bottom of the stairs, three pairs of red eyes glowed in the darkness.
Three Iron-Tooth Rats. They were gnawing on an old vending machine, ripping through the metal casing to get to the sugar inside.
They froze, sensing me.
[God of the Hunt has entered the chat.]
[God of Darkness has entered the chat.]
[God of the Hunt]: I smell prey. The boy moves silently now.
I didn't charge. I didn't hide.
I picked up a discarded soda can and tapped it against the metal railing.
Cling. Cling. Cling.
The sound rang out like a dinner bell in the silent station.
The three rats hissed, their hackles rising. Then, from the tunnels deeper in, more screeches answered.
Five. Ten. Twenty.
The darkness of the tunnel seemed to ripple as a wave of fur and teeth surged forward.
[Goddess of Wisdom]: He is calling them? Why?
[God of Mischief]: Is he suicidal?
[Spirit of the Forest has entered the chat.]
"Twenty-four," I counted, my voice devoid of inflection. "Optimal density for farming."
I turned and ran back up the escalator. Not out of fear, but out of strategy.
The rats shrieked in a frenzy, chasing the fleeing prey. They scrambled over each other, a tidal wave of claws and hunger.
I vaulted over the turnstiles at the top of the stairs and spun around.
The turnstiles created a natural chokepoint. The wide platform narrowed down to three small gates, each only wide enough for one person—or one giant rat.
"Enter," I said.
The first rat leaped over the turnstile, jaws snapping at my throat.
Swish.
I guided the Void Shortsword into the path of the leap. The Cold Blooded skill meant I didn't flinch as the beast's rotting teeth came inches from my face.
The blade passed through the rat's skull with zero resistance.
The rat split in two mid-air.
[Experience +15]
The sword pulsed. A faint red mist rose from the corpse and was sucked into the black blade.
[Durability Repaired.]
[Sharpness Increased temporarily.]
The second and third rats jammed themselves into the turnstile, stuck in their greed to reach me.
I stepped forward. Stab. Stab.
Two dead.
I stepped back.
The pile of carcasses grew, forming a barricade that made it even harder for the remaining rats to attack. They were climbing over a wall of their own dead, only to be met by a black streak of death.
My stamina was draining—my stats were still garbage—but my mind was a machine. I calculated the stamina cost of every swing.
'Swing: 2% stamina. Dodge: 1% stamina. Kick: 5% stamina. Too high. Stop kicking.'
[Level Up!]
[Level Up!]
A golden light flashed around me, refilling my stamina bar instantly.
[God of Golden Coins has entered the chat.]
[God of Golden Coins]: Efficiency! Time is money! Look at that kill rate!
[God of Mischief]: He's farming them like mobs! HAHA!
[God of War]:[Donation: 500 DP] MORE BLOOD! DON'T STOP!
I didn't stop.
For ten minutes, the turnstile was a meat grinder.
When the screeching finally stopped, silence returned to the station.
I stood amidst a mountain of fur and blood. My clothes were soaked, but mostly with the filth of the dungeon.
I exhaled, a cloud of white breath forming in the cold air.
[Combat Ended.]
[Enemies Defeated: 28]
[Level: 1 -> 3]
I looked at the Void Shortsword. It was humming, vibrating with a low, satisfied purr. The blade was a polished, obsidian mirror.
[Weapon Growth: 2% -> 5%]
I wiped the sweat from my forehead and looked at the chat.
[Current Viewers: 94]
[God of the Hunt]: A clean hunt. No wasted movement.
[Goddess of Wisdom]: He utilized the terrain to negate the numerical disadvantage. Also, purchasing the mental suppression skill was a logical choice.
[God of Golden Coins]: But he left the loot! Boy! Pick up the teeth! The teeth are worth money!
"Not yet," I said, stepping over the pile of corpses. I looked down into the darkness of the train tunnel.
My [Mana Perception] was picking up something.
Not a rat.
Something bigger. A dense, pulsing knot of mana about fifty meters down the track.
In the future, the Hunter Association published a paper on "Dungeon Ecology." It stated that monsters in a dungeon were hive-minded. If a significant percentage of the "worker" class was wiped out in a short period, the "Alpha" would leave its nest to investigate the threat.
The ground vibrated.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
Heavy footsteps.
A massive figure emerged from the shadows. It was a rat, but it stood on two legs, nearly two meters tall. Its fur was white, and it held a crude spear made from a stop sign.
[Field Boss: Albino Rat King (D-Rank)]
A D-Rank boss against a Level 3 F-Rank Hunter.
Normally, this was a death sentence.
I grinned—or at least, the muscles in my face contracted into a smile. The Cold Blooded skill made it feel mechanical, but the intent was there.
"Finally," I said to the camera. "The main course."
[God of War]: YES! A BOSS!
[God of Darkness]: The light of its life... extinguish it.
[God of Storms has entered the chat.]
[God of Storms]: I sense turbulence. Make it thunderous, boy!
I checked my Status Window. I had 4 unassigned stat points from the level ups.
"Put everything into Agility," I commanded mentally.
[Agility: 7 -> 11]
My body felt lighter. The world seemed to slow down just a fraction.
The Rat King roared, brandishing its stop-sign spear.
I didn't retreat to the turnstiles this time. That trick wouldn't work on something that could smash through concrete walls.
I lowered my stance.
"Hey, chat," I said, my eyes locked on the boss. "Who wants to bet I can kill it in under sixty seconds?"
[God of Mischief]: 60 seconds?! It's a D-Rank! You're Level 3!
[God of Mischief]:[Bet Initiated: 1000 DP Pool]
[God of War]: I bet on the boy! 500 DP!
[Goddess of Wisdom]: Statistically improbable. I bet against. 200 DP.
The Rat King charged.
I tightened my grip on the void blade.
"Time starts... now."
[Status Update]
Name: Lee Jin-Woo
Level: 3
DP: 550 (50 remaining + 500 Donation)
Viewers: 105
Active Effects: Cold Blooded