The ingredients were snatched up almost instantly. People practically lunged for them, hands flashing like hawks diving for prey. Even the barbecue grill—its still warm, carrying the smoky smell of roasted meat—was purchased by someone who claimed the aroma alone was worth the price.
Coins stacked before Jack. It was a small mountain of wealth, the kind he'd only ever dreamed of.
Nobody questioned the value of those dungeon ingredients. In this world, anything dragged out from those dungeons was priceless—something people were willing to pay no matter the price.
Jack hadn't even named a price before the crowd turned rabid, voices overlapping in a frenzy of bids.
"Ten silver!"
"Twenty! I'll pay thirty!"
"Forty and a gold coin on top!"
The auction drew more onlookers, but the supply was small, and the last vanished into a someone bag in no time. When the dust settled, most walked away empty-handed, shoulders slumped and muttering in frustration.
A few lingered, sidling up to Jack with smiles that didn't reach their eyes.
"So, uh… where'd you find all that stuff?"
Jack answered them all the same way—with a calm smile and absolute silence.
Because what else could he do? Wade had never told him the exact location of the area that spawned these ingredients.
Of course, no one believed that. To them, Jack was just another adventurer guarding a juicy secret, milking it for all it was worth. Several broke away in a rush, already calling for their companions to form raiding teams. If they couldn't buy the goods, they'd hunt the source themselves.
Meanwhile, ordinary bystanders looked on with envy. They wished they had the strength or the nerve to go into the dungeon. But for common people, the dungeon was a dangerous place. The farthest they went was the outskirts, hauling supplies or odd jobs for adventurers. Day after day, they watched those same adventurers swagger back with loot and pockets jingling with coin—and the jealousy gnawed at them.
If the spot where Jack found these ingredients was even remotely safe…
Half the damn city would probably storm the dungeon by nightfall.
And that wasn't an exaggeration.
For this world, dungeons weren't an anomaly—they were part of everyday life. Across the continent, over three hundred had been charted. Nearly a hundred had become "dead" hollow husks emptied of monsters and treasure, some collapsing into rubble. The other two hundred still pulsed with life and danger. Where conditions allowed, people built cities around them like moths orbiting a flame.
Why not? Dungeon monsters never ventured outside of the dungeons. As long as you didn't step inside, you were perfectly safe. Hell, if an enemy nation invaded, the dungeon could even serve as a refuge.
Rumor had it the western continent—now under demon control—held dozens of untouched dungeons. But no human in their right mind would care; the west was drowned in toxic miasma. No ordinary lungs could breathe that air. Who would risk death for treasure?
Night draped the city. Lanterns flickered in windows. People slept.
Jack didn't.
He sat cross-legged, staring at the mountain of coins like a starving man eyeing a banquet. So much money. So much that it almost didn't feel real. His pulse thudded in his ears.
If all this were mine…
Then the ugly thought crept in:
Do I really have to hand this over to that monster in the dungeon? What does he need money for? He lives in the Dungeon.
Jack's throat worked as he swallowed hard, hands trembling faintly. The coins looked so heavy, so warm under the light.
But in the end, fear won over greed. Wade's shadow loomed too large in his mind to ignore. With a long sigh, Jack began gathering the coins—only to freeze when he realized the obvious.
He didn't have anything to carry them in.
The barbecue grill was gone. Even his old sack had been bought by some weirdo who muttered about using it as a medium for a "tracking spell."
Good luck with that, Jack thought bitterly, stuffing what he could into his coat pockets.
What he didn't notice were the eyes. Several pairs, glinting in the darkness, watching from rooftops and alleys. Hungry. Greedy. Plotting.
But then, as quickly as they appeared, those stares vanished—snuffed out the moment they spotted someone else nearby. Whether they left in fear or just to wait for a better chance, Jack couldn't tell.
"Hey! Sir! Hold up!"
The voice boomed like a drum, rough and commanding. Jack turned—and found himself staring at a wall of muscle. The man had to be over two meters tall, built like a tower in human skin.
It was "Ironblood" Terl. A silver-ranked adventurer.
Jack forced a polite smile. "What can I do for you?"
Terl grinned, wide and toothy, a smile that might've been friendly if it wasn't stamped on a face like a scarred anvil.
"Interested in joining a raid team?"
.
..
...
While the city buzzed with rumors and excitement, far below, Wade was hard at work sketching his vision into the dungeon's veins.
"Where should I put the Gourmet Zone…" he muttered, scratching his chin.
In his mind, the Gourmet Zone wasn't about bloodshed or shiny loot. It was going to be a lower difficulty, accessible, a place dripping with rewards that spoke to basic human desires: food, clothing, shelter.
Not magic items. Not relics. But ingredients.
The first image that sparked in his head came straight from anime Toriko. Those beasts—the kind that made your stomach growl and your survival instincts scream all at once.
The Pincer Fish: a seven-meter monster whose claws could pop a human skull like a grape.
The Barbecue Pig: a living mountain of sizzling flesh, smoke curling from its hide, each stomp enough to pulp three men.
Imagine dropping that in front of adventure. Who could resist?
He grinned. "Yeah… I'll stick it near the Swamp Zone. Add a shortcut—but make it a one-way unlock from the inside. Kind of like that bathroom door I found as a kid when I had diarrhea. They'll have to run the main route first before they can use it."
He even dragged surrounding monsters farther away, lowering the difficulty so newbies had a chance—after a few deaths of course.
When he finished, he open his interface to check Mana income. Still four digits. Steady.
"Half a month… maybe a mont," he murmured. "Then I can upgrade my Authority."
He leaned back. "Hopefully that unlocks outside access. Being cooped up down here every damn day is driving me nuts…"
(***)
Next morning.
As Sein Dungeon opened, the change hit Wade like a tidal wave. People traffic had exploded—easily one and a half times higher than yesterday, maybe double.
Don't underestimate my intel network. You're all here for ingredients, huh?
And not just adventurers. Ordinary people had poured in too, gambling their luck and lives for a shot at dungeon riches.
The result? Not quite a massacre. But close enough.
By noon, a few teams were sniffing around the Gourmet Zone's hidden entrance. Wade gave them till end of the day. They'd find it soon enough.
But he wasn't watching them. His gaze was locked on the Swamp Zone—where chaos was ripping the air apart.
.
..
...
"Surrender! You shouldn't have stolen the professor's research. Hiding in the dungeon won't save you!"
The voice belonged to a woman, tall but sickly thin, her skin almost translucent, like candle wax stretched over bone. She slammed her staff into the mud, and from the shadows, skeletal figures stirred. Eyes glowing red. Moving to her command.
First time someone's controlling dungeon monsters, Wade mused. He checked his system—yep, one tap and he could reclaim them. Dungeon Master authority was absolute.
"Lina, you know what the professor was really after!" the man snarled back, his voice ragged. His face was weathered, lips smeared with blood. He was barely standing, one hand pressed to his ribs. "He trained us to be his lab rats!"
"That old bastard wants our bodies!"
"Shut up!" Lina's face twisted with fury, pale lips curling back. "Don't you dare insult the professor!"
Her staff rose, magic flaring. "I'll kill you!"
"Come on, then! You think I'm afraid to die?"
Light ripped the swamp apart. Explosions churned mud and water into geysers. Monsters scattered as spells screamed across the swamp.
When silence finally fell, Wade strolled in like a shadow, crouched over the two corpses, and started looting.
Neither had a teleport crystal—clearly, they weren't pro adventurers, just happened to wander in.
It was rare to see anyone actually die in the dungeon. Even kids knew you had to bring a teleport crystal.
The woman's gear was: a few silvers, some coppers, half-spent potions, and a battered magic staff.
Rated: Worse than a Meteorite Staff.
"…This is interesting."
The man was just as broke—except for one thing: a thick stack of manuscripts, soaked in blood, clutched in his stiffening grip.
The first page was barely readable, but Wade could make out the title:
"The Art of Resurrection."