[Location — Unfinished Apartment Building, 11:30 p.m.]
Malachi was back on the construction site, helping where he could. Earlier, he had tried texting Ryu, hoping to arrange another run into the dungeon, but the reply was blunt: don't contact me again. Their deal had been a one-time chance at awakening—nothing more.
Which meant, if Malachi wanted to test his skills, he'd have to go the legal route.
As he worked, he noticed something strange. His body felt… different. The weight of the materials didn't strain him quite as much, and the usual burn of fatigue in his muscles came slower than before. It wasn't a huge change, but it was enough to notice.
Glancing to the side, he caught sight of Kyle leaning against a wall, half-focused on his phone. Kyle had a habit of slacking when no one was watching, but Malachi had also seen him put in the effort when it really counted. Lazy, but not useless.
With nothing else to do, Malachi took a short break. He sat on a stack of concrete blocks and, almost on instinct, willed the panel to appear.
The familiar red screen blinked into view, hovering in front of him. Even now, he still couldn't quite believe it was real. His eyes scanned the display, but nothing had changed. With a quiet sigh, he dismissed it.
Pulling out his phone instead, he began scrolling through forums and official posts about the Association. If Ryu was off the table, then the only option left was to go legit.
From what he read, the process wasn't quick. First came the application—long forms that demanded every detail about a person's life, their awakening, and their medical history. Then came the background check and the mandatory physical evaluation. After that, the real hurdle: the field exam. Applicants were taken into a controlled dungeon under supervision, required to fight a monster while being monitored by licensed awakeners. Only if you passed all of that would you be issued an Association license.
On average, it could take weeks—sometimes months—just to get through the line of applicants. The Association wasn't exactly desperate to speed things up either; every new awakener was another person they had to track, regulate, and control.
And then there were the costs. Registration alone was a few thousand dollars, and that was just the start. Even licensed awakeners had to pay heavy fees—application renewals, dungeon access charges, and on top of all that, the Association took a percentage of every clear and every monster core sold.
Malachi leaned back against the cold concrete. Weeks, maybe months… piles of paperwork and money down the drain. No wonder so many people risked unreported dungeons. It was faster, cheaper—and if you lived, the rewards were all yours.
Accessing them wasn't exactly a secret. You didn't find them listed anywhere official, of course, but whispers carried in construction crews, shipping yards, even some late-night bars near the guild districts. Sometimes it was a friend of a friend, other times just someone bold enough to slip you a card with a number scrawled on it.
The going rate was steep. You paid cash up front, no refunds, and were blindfolded or driven to the site without question. If you were lucky, you'd get someone professional enough to make sure you came back out. If not… well, plenty of people vanished in unreported dungeons, their corpses fueling the rumors about just how dangerous they were.
Malachi rubbed his face. Risk stacked on top of risk. But compared to waiting months just to maybe swing at a monster under supervision, it was tempting. Especially now that he had a reason.
"Hey, break's over." The foreman's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
Malachi pocketed his phone, pushed himself up from the concrete blocks, and went back to work. The rest of the shift passed in a blur of hammering, lifting, and hauling. By the time midnight crept close, his body ached, but somewhere beneath the exhaustion was a flicker of something he hadn't felt in years—possibility.
---------
Malachi was just about to clock out when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He tugged off his gloves and checked the screen.
Ryu: I've reconsidered. I'll let you back in, but under one condition.
Malachi frowned, thumb hovering before the second message popped up.
Ryu: I'm not stepping inside with you again. Too much risk on my end. But if you want access, it'll cost you $1,000 every time. Cash. No exceptions.
Malachi's chest tightened. A thousand a run was steep, but compared to Association fees, licenses, and waiting months… it almost seemed reasonable. Almost. He could burn through his savings quick if he wasn't careful, but at least it was a door cracked open.
Pocketing his phone, he picked up his things and walked toward the site gate. His shift might've drained him, but that text lit a spark. The game had changed again, and this time, he was ready to play it.
----
Malachi left the site with Ryu's message still weighing on his mind. A thousand dollars every run. Pricey, but not impossible. It wasn't like he had another way in anytime soon.
That night, he sat at his desk with his laptop open, a blank notepad beside it. If he was going to pay that much, he couldn't walk in blind. Typing in "goblin weaknesses" brought up threads from hunters, leaked reports, and forums where rookies shared scraps of information.
They weren't the strongest monsters, but they weren't pushovers either. Small, fast, and vicious in groups. Crude weapons, usually rusted blades or clubs, but enough to cripple if he wasn't careful. The consensus was clear: fight smart, don't get surrounded, and never underestimate one.
He jotted down notes, tapping his pen against the paper. To survive, he'd need more than guts. A decent weapon, protective gear, and some kind of plan. His savings could cover it if he was careful, but it meant every choice mattered.
Closing the laptop, Malachi leaned back in his chair, exhaustion settling in again. Still, for the first time in years, there was a goal in front of him. Tomorrow, he'd start preparing.
And soon… he'd test himself against the goblins.
The guys online made it sound easy—"just grab a blade and stab"—but he wasn't dumb enough to think it would be that simple.
He had his steel-toe boots from work, and those would do fine. A decent jacket could help too, even if it wasn't armor. Weapons were trickier. Guns were out of the question unless you were licensed, so he thought about a machete—cheap, easy to get at a hardware store, and no questions asked. He could probably pick one up tomorrow. A flashlight, maybe rope… nothing too heavy since he'd need to move fast.
The more he listed things off in his head, the more the cost stacked up. He'd already owe Ryu a thousand bucks just to step inside. Now gear? Supplies? He had to be careful not to drain his savings too fast. Still, the thought of stepping into that place without even a knife made his stomach twist.
---
Malachi leaned back against the headboard, the glow of his phone screen lighting his tired face. He'd killed goblins before, but that was with Ryu at his side, practically holding his hand through the whole thing. If he went back in alone, there wouldn't be anyone to slow them down or bail him out if things went sideways. He'd have to move fast.
He scrolled through an old forum post about dungeon timers. The numbers still made his head spin. The last time, he'd only spent about two hours inside, but when they came out, almost eleven hours had passed outside. If that happened again, he couldn't afford to waste a second—every moment spent inside cost him nearly half a day out here.
That meant efficiency. No standing around, no hesitation. Get in, kill as many goblins as he could, and get out before he racked up another lost day.
---
The next evening, Malachi had his backpack slung over one shoulder, the straps biting into his palms from the weight. A cheap combat knife, a sturdy crowbar, and a few rations—nothing fancy, but all he could afford after pulling a thousand from his savings.
He met Ryu near the same truck yard where they'd arranged things before. Without a word, Malachi handed him the envelope of cash. Ryu thumbed through it, smirked, then pocketed it.
"Good," Ryu said, leaning back against the truck. "You should know though… this dungeon isn't just goblins. They've got a hobgoblin running things. Big, mean bastard. If you run into it, don't fight—just get the hell out. You're not ready."
Malachi's grip tightened on the strap of his pack. He wanted to argue, to say he'd handle it, but instead he just nodded.
Ryu tilted his chin toward the shadows between the warehouses. "Gate's already open. Don't die in there. Bad for repeat business."
Malachi stepped past him, the faint shimmer of the unreported dungeon's entrance rippling like heat haze. He pulled his phone out before going in, opened the stopwatch app, and set it to run. If two hours turned into eleven again, he wanted to know exactly how much time slipped by.
With a deep breath, he stepped through the gate.
The dungeon air hit him like a damp, rotting blanket. It reeked of mildew, copper, and something sour, like meat left out too long. Malachi gripped the crowbar in his right hand, every muscle in his body tight. Without Ryu walking ahead, the silence felt suffocating.
Then, the shuffle of bare feet. A guttural snarl.
A goblin stumbled out of the shadows, its jaundiced eyes gleaming. It was smaller than him, but twisted—green-gray skin stretched over wiry muscle, jagged teeth dripping with saliva. In its hand was a rusted blade, little more than sharpened scrap.
The thing lunged.
Malachi barely sidestepped, swinging the crowbar with both hands. The steel connected with a sickening crack against the goblin's temple. It squealed, reeled, but didn't fall. Instead, it slashed wildly, the blade grazing Malachi's forearm, hot pain cutting into him.
"Damn—" he hissed, teeth clenched.
Instinct roared louder than fear. He drove his knee into the goblin's gut, then brought the crowbar down on its skull again, harder. This time, bone caved with a wet crunch. The goblin dropped, twitching, blood pooling dark beneath its head.
Malachi stood there, chest heaving, blood dripping down his arm. His stomach churned—not from the wound, but from the sight. The goblin wasn't just dead; its skull was smashed in, the smell of iron and rot mixing in the stagnant dungeon air.
Then—
A red panel blinked into view before his eyes.
[Killed one Goblin. Gained 50 XP.]
[XP: 50 / 1000]
Malachi staggered back, almost dropping the crowbar. "It… really works," he muttered, staring at the floating screen while the goblin's blood still dripped off the metal.
---
The next few fights came easier.
At first, Malachi's swings were wild, his grip slipping as sweat and blood mixed in his palms. The crowbar felt too heavy, his arms too slow. But the more he fought, the more natural it became. He learned to anticipate the goblins' lunges, to twist his body just enough to let their rusted blades glance off his jacket instead of his skin.
His crowbar cracked skulls. His knife opened throats. Each kill was just as brutal, but his fear dulled into a razor focus. By the tenth goblin, he no longer flinched at the wet spray of blood. By the fifteenth, he was moving with grim efficiency, finishing them off before they could even scream.
The twentieth goblin came at him snarling, jagged teeth snapping as it swung a crude club. Malachi ducked low, drove the crowbar straight into its ribs, then yanked it free in a gush of blackish blood. The goblin crumpled, twitching once before going still.
He stood over the corpse, panting, covered in sweat and gore. His arms shook, but not from weakness—from the raw adrenaline pounding through his veins.
Then the panel appeared.
[You have leveled up!]
[Level: 2 — XP (0/2000)]
[Gained 5 Free Attribute Points]
[New Passive Skill Unlocked — Passive Healing (heals small injuries over time)]
[New Active Skill Unlocked — Recruitment (adds someone awakened or un-awakened to your guild, allowing them to benefit from your Guild Master Job Title)]
Malachi staggered back in shock. He glanced at his forearm where the goblin's blade had sliced him earlier. The wound stitched itself together before his eyes, the pain fading into a faint itch until nothing remained but smooth skin.
He froze. "…No way."
For the first time in years, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
The panel flickered again, shifting into something more detailed.
[Status Panel]
Name: Malachi Grey
Title: Guild Master (S+)
Level: 2
XP: 0 / 2000
Attributes:
Strength: 8
Agility: 7
Endurance: 8
Intelligence: 6
Perception: 6
Free Points: 5
Skills:
Passive:Passive Healing (NEW)
Active: Recruitment (NEW)
Malachi stared, heart hammering. His whole body still buzzed with adrenaline, but the sight of those free points made him swallow hard. It felt… real now.
"Alright," he muttered, gripping the crowbar tighter. "If this is like a game, then…"
He focused on the numbers and willed the free points into his stats. Three went into Strength, one into Agility, one into Endurance.
The change was instant. His muscles tightened, his grip on the crowbar firmer than before. The faint ache in his legs vanished, replaced by a springy lightness. His chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath—it felt easier, cleaner, like his whole body had leveled up.
"…Holy shit." He flexed his arm, the crowbar feeling almost lighter now, like an extension of him instead of dead weight.
Glancing at his phone, he saw the stopwatch: 00:30:14. Only half an hour had passed inside, though by now nearly three hours might have ticked by outside. He tightened his jaw.
"Still got time."
Wiping the crowbar clean on a goblin's ragged tunic, Malachi pressed forward, deeper into the dungeon's twisting tunnels. The air grew colder, heavier. Somewhere in the dark, another snarl echoed.
And this time, he was ready.
---
The deeper Malachi went, the thicker the air became. The goblins stopped coming in scattered twos and threes and began attacking in small packs. He fought harder, sweat stinging his eyes, his crowbar cracking bone and his knife carving through sinew. Each fight sharpened him. Each corpse hardened his resolve.
By the time his XP bar hovered just below another level, his arms were streaked in drying blood—half his, half goblin. His breaths came ragged, but his strikes were cleaner, his body moving with a strange rhythm he hadn't felt before.
That's when the growl shook the chamber.
A hulking shadow stepped into the dim torchlight, towering over the smaller goblins that skittered at its heels. Its skin was a deeper shade of green, its tusks jutting past a crooked jaw. The hobgoblin's yellow eyes locked onto Malachi, and it gripped a jagged iron club the size of Malachi's torso.
"…Shit," Malachi muttered, backing up, crowbar raised.
The hobgoblin charged. The impact rattled his bones as the club slammed into the stone beside him, sending shards flying. Malachi barely rolled aside, swinging his crowbar up into its ribs. The steel bent with the impact, leaving only a shallow dent.
The hobgoblin roared and backhanded him across the face. Pain exploded in his jaw, the world spinning as he hit the ground hard. His vision blurred. He tasted blood.
"No—" he growled, pushing himself up, refusing to stay down.
The club came again. Malachi raised the crowbar, but the sheer force ripped it from his hands, sending it clattering across the chamber. His palms burned raw.
Desperate, he drew his combat knife. As the hobgoblin raised its club for the killing blow, Malachi surged forward, ducking inside its swing. He plunged the blade deep into its side, hot blood spraying across his arm. The hobgoblin howled, swinging wildly, grazing his shoulder and tearing a gash into his back. Pain flared, but he didn't let go.
With a scream, Malachi drove the knife upward, burying it beneath the creature's jaw. He twisted hard. The hobgoblin convulsed, its club dropping with a heavy thud. With a final shudder, the monster collapsed, blood pooling beneath its massive frame.
Malachi staggered back, chest heaving, knife slick in his grip. His whole body ached—cuts stung, his ribs screamed, and his clothes were in tatters. But he was still standing.
Then, something clattered onto the stone floor beside the corpse. A small, black-bound tome shimmered faintly in the torchlight.
[Item Obtained: Skill Book — Dash]
[Grants: +20% Speed for 5 seconds while running]
[Killed: Hobgoblin. Gained 100 XP.]
[Level Up!]
[LEVEL: 3 — XP (80 / 3000)]
[Gained 5 Free Attribute Points.]
Malachi wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing blood across his cheek. He bent down, snatched the book, and shoved it into his bag. His injuries still stung, but his passive healing was already dulling the pain.
"Guess… that's a win," he muttered, forcing himself to his feet.
He retrieved his bent crowbar, shoved it through the loop of his pack, and made his way toward the dungeon's exit.
The world shifted as he stepped back into the night air. The shimmering gate winked out behind him. Ryu was nowhere to be seen.
Malachi pulled out his phone—signal flickered back. The time read 11:57 p.m. Hours gone in the blink of an eye. He stripped off his bloody shirt, replacing it with the spare he'd stuffed into his pack, then slung the bag over his shoulder and headed home.
By the time Malachi made it back to his apartment, his legs felt like lead. He tossed the bloody pack onto the floor and slumped into the chair at his tiny table, sweat sticking his shirt to his skin.
The system panel flickered open the moment he focused on the book.
[Would you like to learn the skill: Dash?]
[Yes / No]
He swallowed, then willed it to Yes. The book in his hand dissolved into faint red light, vanishing between his fingers. His chest tightened for a second as a surge of energy pulsed through his legs.
"…It worked." He flexed his calves, the muscles feeling tense, coiled—like they were begging to move.
[Status Panel]
Name: Malachi Grey
Title: Guild Master (S+)
Level: 3
XP: 80 / 3000
Attributes:
Strength: 11
Agility: 8
Endurance: 9
Intelligence: 6
Perception: 6
Free Points: 5
Skills:
Passive: Passive Healing
Active: Recruitment
Active: Dash (NEW)
Malachi scanned the numbers, then frowned. His cuts and bruises hadn't faded after leveling up. He pressed a hand against the stitched scar on his shoulder—still sore, still raw.
"So… that's not automatic," he muttered. "Guess the healing was just from the first level… a perk to get me started."
With a sigh, he pushed the free points into Strength again, the last two into Endurance. Warmth spread through his chest and arms as his muscles seemed to tighten beneath the skin. He flexed his hand, testing his grip—it was stronger, steadier.
After stripping off the rest of his ruined clothes, he dragged himself into the shower. The water ran pink at first, washing away blood and grime, stinging where it touched the still-healing cuts. For once, he let himself just stand there, breathing in the steam, letting the ache fade little by little.
When he finally collapsed onto his bed in fresh clothes, his mind drifted back to the crowbar propped against the wall. The bent metal was nearly useless now. He'd need something better if he was going back in. A real weapon.
With a groan, he pulled out his phone and opened his banking app.
Account Balance: $8,920
The $1,000 he'd paid Ryu still stung, along with the money he'd burned on the knife, crowbar, and pack. But at least his construction job was steady. The last two days of work had already put some back in—small deposits, but steady.
Malachi lay back, staring at the ceiling. His life felt like it was finally shifting, tilting into something bigger than just carrying plywood and clocking out. He had the system. He had the power.
Now he just needed the tools to match.
Malachi's stomach growled loud enough to echo in the quiet apartment. He cursed under his breath, realizing he hadn't eaten all day. Pulling the half-squashed rations from his pack, he tore them open and chewed slowly. They tasted like cardboard and salt, but right now, they were a feast.
By the time he finished, his eyelids felt heavy. He barely had the strength to shove the wrappers aside before collapsing into bed.
The hum of the system faintly lingered in his head as he drifted off, the glow of his stats burned behind his eyes.