___________________________________________
I now fully understand that Earth is no Paradise. It's a land soaked in blood and sin.
Are there truly no gods left on Earth?
If so, then I will become one.
The Seer once said: There are no coincidences in this world. Everything is Fate.
If so…
May I never kill the innocent, and may I die as a Knight.
Words left by the King of Knights, Ruler of England.
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After the site had been stabilized and the casualties accounted for, Zhou Weiren pulled me aside once more. He handed me a small envelope—thick, heavy, and warm from his palm.
"A partial settlement," he said. "Standard bounty for the goblins and so on. It'll take a few days for the paperwork to finish. Once the Association reviews the footage, they'll wire the rest to your account."
I nodded. "Thanks." This time, unlike with the couple, I did not refuse. This was my just reward, after all.
"Don't thank me yet." Zhou pushed his glasses higher. "Someone from the Guild Association will come to find you tomorrow. Expect a full debriefing. They'll want a play-by-play of the incident. They might also strong-arm you into selling your rights to the Gate. The choice is yours."
"I'll be ready."
He clapped my shoulder once. "Rest while you can. You've got a long road ahead."
Then he turned and walked off, the dragon on his robes gleaming under the Gate's residual light.
Sofia gave me a small wave and trudged behind him, while the guy who was talking to her glared at me for a few seconds before walking after her.
***
I spent the rest of the afternoon moving through Abyss City like a wraith. With half the payment secured, I stopped by a supply shop, picking up rations, extra bandages, mana ointment, and a new pair of gloves. Nothing fancy—just basic essentials. I didn't have the luxury of upgrades.
I would have loved to buy a few Healing and Mana potions, but that stuff was fucking expensive. Sadly, I couldn't recreate them with my current understanding. Alchemy was simply too complicated and time-consuming.
The city buzzed around me as usual. Sirens echoed in the distance. Neon signs flickered. Above, ancient walkways groaned under the weight of movement. Life in District 20 didn't stop for anyone, not even when monsters spilled out onto the streets.
Seeing people my age go on dates and have fun made me wince a little. I knew very well that it was thanks to the sacrifice of many people, Awakened or not, that we could enjoy such precarious peace.
It felt weird going from a zone that was silently mourning to one that was acting like nothing happened.
But that was life.
By the time I made it to the Cleaning Zone, dusk had fallen.
Gate 47 stood like a rotten scar in the middle of the South Waste Disposal Zone, cordoned off by rusted fences and dim floodlights. The air reeked of sulfur and sewage. Trash crunched underfoot as I stepped into the designated staging area.
Gates were usually well-guarded and protected. They were strategic resources that could be mined constantly and sometimes even used for farming or real estate.
But not all Gates were equal. Once a Gate lost its value and everyone was sure it posed no further danger, the Association disposed of it.
Gate 47 was such a gate. From what I understood after doing some research, it was just a low-level Gate that produced slimes. Although those slimes produced acid dangerous to normal people, they weren't even considered F-rank.
Usually, slimes could be extremely useful, but the ones here were poisonous and contaminated with toxic, twisted mana from the abyss.
Monsters' cores were also a form of currency, as they were used for technology and development. In the past, even Level-0 mana cores like this were considered valuable resources.
But not anymore.
These days, all you could power with Level-0 mana cores were things like TVs or refrigerators. It was far cheaper to just pay the electric bill than to bother with expensive magic-tech devices.
For those reasons, dungeons like this were essentially worthless for any legitimate business. Some would use the twisted mana to create drugs, but even that wasn't very lucrative because of the high death rate it caused; as such, production had mostly ceased.
Drug dealers were bastards, but they needed their clients to be alive. Killing your regular clientele wasn't good for business.
Every few months, Hunters would be sent to clear out everything and avoid overflow, and Cleaners would follow suit. That would be it.
Scavenging such a place wouldn't yield much, but it would be the best way to build a solid crew.
"Looks like the newbie is finally here." A scratching voice greeted me when I arrived.
There were already six people there. I gave them a brief glance while apologizing for my lateness. One of them scoffed, but I chose not to engage. There was no need to act too hostile at this point.
My attention was on the sixth individual.
Iron Fist.
He was in full combat gear—body armor worn and patched, combat vest loaded with tubes of ammunition. Slung over his back was a custom-built submachine Gatling gun, each chamber humming faintly with bluish energy. Mana-absorption rounds, I guessed. Expensive. Lethal. A little too overgeared for a waste dungeon.
"I thought you'd retired," I said as I walked over, giving him a heartfelt smile. I knew why he was here. He did not need to come, and this made me even more emotional.
"I thought I did, too." He didn't smile. "But you know how it is. You disappear for one day, and find out someone joined a Cleaner squad."
I didn't argue—I knew he was right. I wished I could simply tell him to go back to his bar, but he was even more headstrong than I am.
He gestured with his thumb. "Meet your team."
I nodded and focused on those who had been observing us in silence.
Of the five, two were Black men—one tall and broad-shouldered with a mohawk, the other lean, with cybernetic implants running along his neck. Both looked quiet, hardened. The remaining two men were white, both wiry and carrying basic rifles that had seen better days.
And then there was the woman.
She looked to be in her mid-twenties, her blond hair pulled back tightly, a small iron rosary dangling from her belt. Her armor was reinforced near the chest and arms, clearly modified to protect the casting zones—a basic cleric's rig. Her gaze met mine, calm but curious.
She was the only F-rank Hunter in the squad. I was surprised they had gotten a healer—they could be very expensive. Then again, this might just be a side gig for her.
If there was one silver lining, it was that, for once, I wasn't the weakest in a group. But this wasn't something to brag about.
"Name's Jana," she said simply.
The mohawk guy nodded. "Marquez."
"Teemo," said the wiry white guy.
"Jules," said the other.
The last one, with the cybernetic implants, just grunted. His name wasn't important, it seemed.
Iron Fist stepped forward. "We'll wait five more minutes. Jana, show him the paperwork. Gate activity is low, but that doesn't mean it's safe. Rule number one—assume nothing about a Gate, especially one in a dump like this."
His tone silenced any remaining chatter.
I adjusted the gloves I'd bought earlier, flexing my fingers. The nerves in my arm still ached from the earlier fight. My whole body ached.
But I was here now.
This was the road I'd chosen.
****
After Iron Fist took some distance, Jana approached me.
"Hi Cain. Don't mind Richard. He can be kind of a dick sometimes. But he means well." She chuckled to herself and looked me up and down. "So, you're aware of what purification involves?" Her voice had a sing-song quality to it, almost as if she was chanting her words. She was cute in a certain way.
"I'll admit that I only know from hearsay. It's dungeon cleaning, right?" I knew a little more than this, but playing know-it-all in front of someone experienced was not smart.
"Tsk, tsk."
"There goes another one, marching off to die."
I heard a few tongues wagging behind me from the group, but I ignored them. This was something I was used to from the Guild.
Jana, still smiling, handed me a form.
"You know purification isn't easy, right? And it's dangerous."
"Obviously."
"Though our activities might seem suspicious, the government has legally sanctioned us. Because of that, we need to make sure of a few things. Please read through this and sign at the bottom. Just remember, no take-backs later!" She seemed a little too happy for someone who was essentially telling me I was risking my life.
I glanced at the paper she gave me.
[Application for Magic Purification Participation]
[Body Contamination Consent Form]
[Body Responsibility Agreement]
[Acknowledgment of Terms and Conditions]
The forms were full of legal jargon, but the main points were clear.
I would accept full responsibility if I contracted a magical illness from contamination, suffered a bodily mutation, or, worst-case scenario, transformed into a corrupted creature; the team and government would not be held accountable.
There was also a clause about a 20% fee, no lunch or snacks provided, and mandatory private insurance enrollment from one of the four major insurance agencies.
Wow, this is a new level of shady.
I could feel my eyes twitch slightly.
The so-called "four major insurance agencies" were nothing but legal thugs.
They were all private insurance companies, and the labor office had partnerships with these no-name insurers. You were required to enroll in their plans. They'd deduct that amount from your pay.
But hey, at least they were offering insurance, right?
Yeah, right. They would probably do everything in their power not to pay out, but there was no helping it. In my current situation, I'll have to put up with it.
Any other labor office would likely have the same terms, and I couldn't count on Guild Insurance anymore.
I let out a groan and read everything twice. This might be a standard contract, but you never knew if some bastard tried to slip in a slave or devil contract.
I had no intention of selling my soul at the moment.
"You guys surprisingly follow the law." I said, more as a jab than anything. But it was true.
"Hehe. The government officially sanctions cleaning jobs, you know. So, we gotta keep the office paperwork clean to not piss off the IRS." She shuddered even as she said this, and with just cause.
The IRS was one of the top Guilds in America. A good portion of the members were official Hunters. Getting caught by them was never pleasant.
After finishing the paperwork, I handed it back to the woman, who immediately put it away with a smile.
***
Once I'd finished signing, I joined the line waiting for the bus, which would take us to the Gate. Richard gave me a once-over, clearly unimpressed.
"So, this bastard's our newest recruit?" He tsked and shook his head.
Didn't like what he saw? Well, the feeling was mutual.
"Don't mutate. If you do, I'll kill you." With those words, he closed his eyes.
I shrugged and found a seat near the front of the bus.
Behind me, the other men started whispering. I did not bother trying to figure out who was who. It was just a waste of time.
"Think he'll mutate right away?"
"He's a newbie, but he should last a few rounds. After the job's done, who cares?"
"As long as he takes the suppressant, he'll be fine."
"We just need to get paid."
"Damn it. All this for a few thousand… What the hell are we doing?"
"People like us don't get jobs that pay this well often. If you hate it so much, why not try becoming a superhuman?"
"Hah… I envy Richard. And Iron Fist, too."
The mention of Iron Fist quieted some of them.
Iron Fist stood in the back of the group, silent and unreadable behind his visor. The massive combat gear he wore groaned slightly with every shift of his body. His submachine gun rested on his shoulder, its barrel gleaming with fresh mana-absorption runes. A monster of a weapon for an equally imposing man.
Guns were usually not useful against monsters, but the situation changed when they were magitech and mana-enchanted weapons. This was one of the most expensive paths someone could take. That he had a powerful cybernetic arm was already impressive, but the machine gun took the cake.
"Didn't expect Iron Fist to be here, huh?"
"Yeah, he must've volunteered. Heard he was worried."
"Worried about the rookie?" Someone scoffed.
"Worried about Richard getting someone killed, more likely."
Iron Fist didn't respond. He didn't have to. The presence of a veteran like him shifted the mood of the group.
Their situations were similar—each had a part of their body either mutated grotesquely or replaced with strange prosthetics. This was what happened when people with no resistance to mana explored continuously dangerous zones like the Gates.
One had hedgehog-like quills instead of hair. Another bore a set of strange gill-like breathing organs along his neck—light mutations that gave him a fishlike quality, but nothing more. The third one looked half-zombified.
The only people who showed no sign of mutation were Richard, Iron Fist, Jana, and me.
Mutations resulted from constant exposure to mana without the right protective gear or the right magical level. It was a form of corruption, though some people called it forced evolution.
Awakened had higher resistance, while those without mana needed the right gear. When the corruption reached 100%, a mutation would occur, and the subject would lose their sanity, becoming nothing more than a mindless beast that needed to be put down.
Some scientists argued Awakening itself was a form of mutation. In both cases, one would get enhanced strength and the ability to manipulate mana. The only difference between the two forms was that one was stable and controlled, while the other was unstable and devoured sanity.
One man, looking envious, muttered, "I heard Richard took a mana reflection scan last time, and you could faintly see the mana circuits."
"No way—really?"
"Yeah, that's what he said."
"Still not enough to hit F-rank, though?"
"Not yet. But he's close."
"Lucky bastard."
"Even being close to F-rank is something to brag about. It means he's close to Awakening."
"Life's so unfair. Some of us spend months in this hellhole just to ruin our bodies, while others slowly get stronger."
"You're just now realizing life's unfair? You should've studied your ass off and gotten into a Hunter university, dumbass."
"What was I supposed to do? I wasn't smart enough!"
When your mana circuits were fully established and you unlocked traits, that's when you hit F-rank, which was the technical lowest-ranking possible for a Hunter.
Of course, I was the exception.
I glanced at Richard with renewed interest.
He really is something.
However, my gaze soon shifted to Iron Fist.
Then again… he's something else entirely.
A veteran with dozens of cleared gates under his belt. He'd even been a D-rank once.
Then something changed. Not trauma—an incident eight years ago. No one knew the full story, but ever since, he'd survived everything thrown at him. His nickname came from the absurd number of kills and the reinforced prosthetic gauntlets embedded into his arms.
***
When the pause imposed by Iron Fist ended, we all entered the bus. Because some dungeons were extremely large, the Guilds had created special vehicles powered by mana stones. Only these vehicles could function inside a dungeon.
The driver entered the bus. He glanced at me, wrinkling his nose before tossing a plastic bag my way.
"You're the rookie, right? This is the suppressant. Inject yourself with it at the end of each day. If you don't, you'll die or you'll get killed."
Before I could say anything, the cleric girl sitting nearby leaned over.
"He's new. He probably doesn't know. The suppressant helps hold back the contamination until we can get proper purification. We're working three days straight, so don't skip it."
Her voice was calm but firm, but her words made me frown a little.
Three days of continuous purification. For ordinary people, that was enough to cause serious damage.
That was why, at the end of each day, you injected the suppressant to keep the mana contamination in check until you could deal with it after the job was over. Whether you rushed to a temple for purification, drank holy water, or found some other way, that was up to you.
It wasn't surprising that all these guys showed signs of mutation. The pay was already meager, and holy water was not cheap.
I sighed inwardly, deciding not to argue. I would leave tomorrow to meet the Association for my report, either way. There was no need to mention it now and make the atmosphere worse.
Nodding at Jana's words, I looked at the bag. Inside were two 1cc syringes and a 2cc ampoule of medicine—the suppressant.
But I won't need it.
Thanks to my high Resistance trait, whatever was inside that dungeon had nothing on what was corrupting my body.
In a way, I was already on the road to corruption, but in a far different way. The corruption I had experienced as a child differed in level and rank from that which this small dungeon could provide.
I shoved the plastic bag into my backpack.
The driver took his seat, and the bus rumbled to life.
Richard grumbled. "When are they going to get a new bus?"
"Boss won't even part with a coin," someone else muttered.
Iron Fist, still silent, opened one eye, then closed it again. His grip tightened slightly on the Gatling gun. "Let's just survive the shift."
He was the strongest here. But he never let his guard down. This was something I respected and needed to emulate.