---
The lantern flame sputtered as Logan pushed deeper into the Hollow Brook cave, its glow licking across jagged walls damp with condensation. The stone carried a faint green sheen, like moss had learned how to breathe in the dark. Each step crunched against gravel that seemed too loud, the kind of noise predators love.
"…You know," Logan muttered, shifting his grip on the rusty sword, "for a supposedly abandoned dungeon, this place is doing a fantastic job of screaming 'ambush imminent.'"
The air grew heavier the deeper he went. It wasn't just cold—it was like the atmosphere itself was compressing against his ribs, daring him to exhale too loudly. His pale red eyes flicked along the rough tunnel, catching every crack, every twitch of shadow.
And then—
[System Notice: Environment Detected – Hollow Brook Dungeon, Rank: Novice]
"Ah," Logan whispered. "There it is. The official death warrant."
The glowing panel lingered in the air, faintly blue. His gaze tracked it warily until another cascade of text followed.
[Commencing Orientation Protocol…]
[Host's understanding of combat progression deemed… insufficient.]
"Excuse me?" Logan squinted at the floating words. "Insufficient? I'll have you know I've survived seventeen years of nobles, backstabbing, and bad stew. That's experience."
The voice of Nyx Nexus was calm—calmer than usual, almost ceremonial.
[Beginning Instruction: Essence Progression Framework.]
"Oh no," Logan groaned. "This is the part where you pretend you're a library."
The dungeon's silence deepened, as if the cave itself leaned closer to listen.
---
[All life generates Essence, the primordial energy that sustains existence. It is harvested through strife, trial, and triumph. In this world, mortals convert Essence into growth.]
The words appeared in slow succession, steady and deliberate.
[Ranks are universal indicators of one's mastery over body, magic, and soul. They are absolute measures, transcending kingdoms, species, and even the gods themselves.]
Panels rearranged themselves into a vertical column, glowing faintly like script carved into reality.
Novice: One who has barely awakened. Power negligible. Survival by chance.
Beginner: Has tasted combat. Still fragile, but a step away from collapse.
Apprentice: Can stand against ordinary beasts and men. The true path begins.
Initiated: Those who grasp their essence flow, feared by the untrained.
Competent: Capable of shaping battles. A foundation for leaders.
Advanced: Among elites. Each strike resonates with Essence.
Master: Walking calamities. Few kingdoms host more than a handful.
Authority: Names whispered like storms. Reality itself bends around their presence.
[Each Rank contains Levels. Growth requires Experience—measured not by time, but by action, decision, and conquest.]
---
The glowing text pulsed once, as though sealing the declaration into the stone walls.
Logan blinked at the neat little hierarchy. "…So, let me get this straight. I'm literally ranked as 'negligible.' I've been insulted before, but this feels professionally crafted."
[Assessment: Correct.]
"Perfect. Just perfect. All I wanted was a magical system that tells me I'm bottom-tier trash while I'm standing in a monster-infested cave."
The system did not soften.
[Reality is not altered by your preferences. Survival is earned.]
Logan dragged his hand down his face. "…You really missed your calling as a motivational speaker."
The panels flickered again, showing another set of mechanics:
[Experience Points (EXP): Acquired through defeating enemies, surviving lethal trials, and completing quests.]
[Accumulated EXP increases Level. Level-ups enhance base stats. Rank ascension requires surpassing natural thresholds of Essence.]
[Note: Not all Experience is equal. Slaying a rabbit yields little. Facing a monster beyond your Rank yields more. True growth is measured by struggle.]
"Right," Logan muttered. "So basically, fight things that can kill me, or stay a Novice forever. Love that for me."
[Correct.]
He paused, sword tip scraping lightly against stone. "…You enjoy this, don't you?"
The system was silent for a moment, then responded in a tone almost amused:
[Probability of amusement: 72%.]
Logan exhaled through his teeth. "…I'm arguing with my personal doom calculator. Outstanding life choices, Logan."
He glanced at his status window again, where the stats floated faintly:
STR: D
AGI: D+
VIT: D
INT: C+
WIL: C
CHARM: B-
Luck: ??
But it was the Traits that drew his eyes, more than the numbers:
[Big Brother's Burden] – ???
[Fragment of ???] – ???
[Unyielding Embers] – Locked
Logan's lips pressed thin. "…Still redacted, huh?"
[Classification: Restricted.]
"Which means…?"
[Insufficient clearance.]
He stared at the glowing letters until his pale red eyes narrowed. 'So you're hiding something. Figures. Give me a spoonful of truth and then slam the door in my face.'
He flicked the panel closed with a sharp gesture, muttering under his breath. "…I'll find out eventually. Don't think I won't."
The system did not reply.
---
The silence in Hollow Brook grew oppressive again. The lantern flame bent sideways as if a draft crawled through unseen cracks. Logan felt the skin on his arms prickle—the unmistakable sensation of being watched.
He shifted his stance, blade angled low. "…And here comes the welcoming committee."
Something scraped against stone deeper within the tunnel. A guttural growl rumbled out of the dark—low, guttural, and far too close.
Logan's smirk flickered into place, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "…Alright then. Negligible Rank, bottom of the food chain, walking buffet… Let's see if I can still convince evolution to kiss my ass."
The growl deepened.
The lantern flame shivered.
---
The dungeon's entrance yawned before him like the broken mouth of a long-dead beast. Damp stone teeth dripped with water, and the air that spilled from within clung to his skin with clammy fingers.
"…Cheery place," Logan muttered, tightening his grip on the rust-patched lantern. The pale flame inside fluttered nervously as though it, too, wanted nothing to do with Hollow Brook.
The system's voice answered, calm as ever:
[Environmental analysis: Corruption density – low. Hostile signatures – active. Risk projection: Moderate.]
"…Moderate?" Logan snorted, stepping past the arch of blackened rock. "You say that like I won't be rat food in ten minutes."
The lantern's glow crawled along slick walls, revealing moss that pulsed faintly with green light. Droplets dripped in steady rhythm, echoing deeper than they should have. It wasn't sound—it was as if the dungeon itself was listening.
Each step sent his boots crunching over gravel and rat droppings. His shoulders tensed instinctively.
…Stay sharp. The guidebooks said the first floor was 'manageable.' But guidebooks don't bleed.
A rustle answered him from the darkness. Then a squeal.
Red eyes winked into existence—first two, then a dozen, glinting from the shadows ahead.
"Ah. My welcoming committee."
The creatures scurried into the lamplight: gutter rats, each the size of a dog, their matted fur slick with filth, yellow fangs jutting from wet mouths. They came in a swarm, claws scratching stone in a hideous rhythm.
[Engage cautiously. Target analysis: Gutter Rats. Low endurance, feral temperament. Strength in numbers.]
"…Yeah, I noticed."
The first rat lunged, teeth flashing. Logan twisted aside, lantern swinging. His borrowed iron dagger scraped free of its sheath, the edge catching the light. He slashed across the beast's flank, feeling the blade bite shallow.
It shrieked, stumbled, and another lunged from the side. Logan's free hand shot up, shoving the lantern in its face. Flame roared. The rat recoiled, shrieking as fur singed.
But the swarm didn't hesitate. Three, four more pressed in.
Logan's breath came fast. He slashed, stabbed, kicked, each motion driven more by instinct than finesse. A rat clamped onto his boot, and he cursed, twisting to ram his dagger into its skull. Hot blood splattered across his leg.
They were relentless.
"…This—hah—isn't—hah—moderate!"
[Maintain composure. Tactical recommendation: Target eyes and throats. Preserve stamina. Predict swarm rhythm.]
"Oh, predict a swarm? Sure, let me just download Rat Chess 101—!" His words cut off in a grunt as another lunged. He caught it with a thrust, his dagger jamming into its eye socket.
The creature spasmed, fell limp.
For a heartbeat, the swarm hesitated. Their bodies shifted, pacing, screeches echoing in the damp hall.
Logan's chest heaved. His arms shook. His lungs screamed for air.
…No. Can't falter. Cael and Mira… they're waiting. You stop here, you break your promise.
His grip steadied.
"…Alright," he whispered, voice low and hard. "Let's dance."
The next rat lunged. He sidestepped, dragging the blade across its throat in a clean line. Warm spray hit his cheek. The one behind stumbled over the corpse, and Logan drove his boot down with a crunch.
One by one, the swarm thinned. Not easily—every strike was sloppy, desperate—but each corpse bought him another breath. Another second alive.
Finally, the last rat squealed and turned to flee into the dark. Logan hurled his dagger. The blade sank into its back, pinning it to the mossy wall. It writhed once, then stilled.
Silence followed, broken only by the drip, drip, drip from the ceiling.
Logan leaned against the stone, panting, hands trembling around the lantern's handle. Blood smeared his cheek, hot and metallic. His dagger dripped red as it quivered in the wall.
"…Moderate risk, huh?" His voice was rough but steadier now. A smirk tugged faintly at his lips. "Guess I'm moderately alive, so you weren't wrong."
[Host survival confirmed. Essence fragments detected.]
The corpses of the gutter rats shimmered faintly. From each, small motes of pale light drifted upward before sinking into Logan's chest. He shivered, breath catching as warmth spread through his veins.
"…That's it? Feels like drinking bad coffee."
[Correction. Essence integration successful. XP acquired: +20.]
A small notification flickered across his vision.
[Essence Acquired: Tiny Fragments x6.]
Logan crouched, tugging his dagger free from the wall with a grunt. He wiped the blade on a rat's matted fur before sheathing it again.
The lantern flickered again, weak and nervous. Logan frowned. "…Don't you dare quit on me now."
As if mocking him, the flame sputtered. A fluttering sound rose from above—soft, leathery wings.
Logan's gaze shot upward.
From the ceiling, shadows peeled away. Dozens of pale eyes blinked open. Then came the screech.
Cave bats.
The swarm dove, wings buffeting air, fangs snapping. They weren't after him—they were after the light.
"Hey! Back off, this thing's the only reason I can see your ugly faces—!"
The first bat slammed against the lantern, nearly tearing it from his hand. Logan staggered, teeth clenched. He lashed upward with his dagger, slicing one from the air. Its body smacked wetly against the stone.
But the others didn't stop. They dove in coordinated chaos, shrieking, clawing. The lantern's flame guttered, dimming, flaring, dying.
"…Not good. Really not good."
[Recommendation: Extinguish light source. Rely on alternate senses until swarm disperses.]
"…You want me to fight rats in the dark?"
[Correction: You have already fought rats. These are bats.]
Logan barked a short, sharp laugh despite himself. "…Great. My system's a comedian now."
Another screech. Another slam against the lantern. The flame shrank, choking.
He exhaled slowly, gaze narrowing.
…If I hold onto this, they'll just keep coming. If I kill the flame myself, maybe…
Decision made, he drew in a breath and shoved the lantern against the wall. With a swift motion, he smothered the flame with his cloak.
Darkness fell instantly. The screeches faltered. The beating wings slowed.
Logan crouched low, pressing his back against the stone. His breaths were shallow, measured. He could hear them above, circling, searching—but not attacking.
Minutes crawled by. His muscles burned from staying still. His dagger was slick in his palm, ready.
Finally, the swarm dispersed. The leathery wings faded into the depths.
Logan waited a moment longer before tugging the cloak away. The lantern's flame was gone, but faint glimmers of moss still clung to the walls, offering the barest light.
"…Still alive," he whispered. Relief loosened his chest, though his voice stayed steady. "Guess that's something."
[Assessment: First encounter complete. Host has adapted efficiently.]
Logan chuckled softly, rolling his shoulders as he stood. His body ached, but his steps were firm as he pressed deeper into the Shallow Halls.
"…One floor down," he muttered, gripping the lantern's handle even though it no longer burned. "Only several more nightmares to go."
His pale red eyes glimmered faintly in the moss light as he disappeared deeper into Hollow Brook.
---
After the bats dispersed and silence reclaimed the Shallow Halls, Logan finally let himself exhale. He leaned his back against the slick stone, dagger loose in his grip.
"…First fight in a dungeon, and I already smell like rat guts." A short, sharp laugh escaped him. "Guess that makes me a professional now."
[System Update: Status Window refreshed.]
A faint shimmer crossed his vision, words settling in neat lines:
---
[Status Window – Logan Dex'Murphy]
Race: Human (Awakened)
Age: 17
Rank: Novice (Level 1/9)
EXP: [20/200]
STR: D
AGI: D+
VIT: D
INT: C+
WIL: C
CHARM: B-
Luck: ??
Traits:
[Big Brother's Burden] – ???
[Fragment of ???] – ???
[Unyielding Embers] – Locked
---
Logan stared at the screen for a beat, pale red eyes flicking across the glowing text.
"…Twenty points." He sighed, pushing himself upright. "At this rate, I'll hit Beginner sometime next century. Maybe."
Still, there was a spark in his voice. Determined.
"…One step closer."
Lantern in hand, he moved deeper into the dungeon.
---
The dripping grew louder as Logan pushed deeper into the Hollow Brook dungeon. Each step sent ripples across shallow puddles that clung to the uneven stone floor, the lantern's glow scattering in the murky water.
The air was heavy, damp with mold, and every breath felt like pulling in wet cloth.
Logan adjusted his grip on the dagger, his free hand holding the lantern out just enough to light his path. The glow threw long shadows across jagged walls, and sometimes—just sometimes—the shadows twitched in ways his eyes couldn't explain.
"...Cheery place," he muttered under his breath, voice low, sarcasm clipped. "If the rats don't kill me, the mildew probably will."
[Observation: Host's humor levels remain consistent under stress.]
The system's cold, detached tone slipped into his head like it always did, matter-of-fact.
Logan rolled his pale red eyes. "Glad you're keeping score. You got any actual advice, or are you just here to critique my stand-up routine?"
A short pause. Then—
[Advice: Remain alert. This dungeon is classified as Novice Rank, but irregular essence signatures are present.]
That word again. Irregular. It had shown up before the rats, before the bats, and now it pressed into his ears again like an unwelcome echo.
Logan narrowed his eyes, lantern swaying. "Alright, let's cut the bullshit. What exactly makes a dungeon… irregular? Because so far, this just feels like a glorified basement crawl."
For a moment, the silence stretched, broken only by the slow drip-drip-drip. Then the voice came back, steady and factual:
[Classification: Standard dungeons are structured Essence phenomena. They form naturally where leyline fractures occur, manifesting monsters and resources scaled to Rank.]
[Irregular dungeons, however… deviate. Essence anomalies. Creatures stronger than their Rank should permit. Sometimes altered by unknown interference.]
Logan stilled, lantern trembling just slightly in his hand. "So… you're telling me that something tampered with this place?"
[Unconfirmed. Data insufficient. But probability of external influence: 42%.]
He let out a slow breath through his nose. "Fantastic. I pick the one Novice dungeon that might have been hacked by a cosmic lunatic. Story of my life."
His feet splashed through another puddle, but his thoughts were far away.
If this really is irregular… then it's more dangerous than I planned. But I can't turn back. Not now.
Images of his siblings flashed unbidden in his head: his little brother's laugh, high and innocent; his sister's cool, distant eyes that cracked only when she thought no one was watching. They were waiting for him. Counting on him.
Failure wasn't an option.
"...Hey, system." His voice was quieter now, more controlled. "These monsters… how do they even work? They're not natural, right?"
[Correct. Dungeon creatures are Essence constructs. Simulations of lifeforms, fueled by ambient energy. They imitate behavior and instincts, but their purpose is singular: defend the core.]
Logan frowned, brushing damp hair from his forehead. "So they're… puppets."
[Yes.]
He tilted his head back against the wall, exhaling slowly. "Then killing them isn't killing. Just smashing glass puppets filled with light. That's… easier to live with, I guess."
He started walking again, steps cautious, lantern swaying. The corridor ahead widened into a jagged arch that opened into a larger chamber, shadows yawning across stone.
Something moved at the edge of the light. A low scraping, claws dragging against rock.
Logan froze. His heart spiked, but his pale eyes remained steady on the dark.
"System." His voice was low, steady. "What's the rule with Novice dungeons? What comes next after rats and bats?"
[Probability assessment: 67% chance of Stone Gnashers.]
"...And those are?"
[Humanoid essence constructs. Size comparable to goblins. Hardened epidermis. Jagged claws. Slightly coordinated. Dangerous in pairs.]
A thin smile tugged at Logan's lips. "So, ugly cousins of basement rats. Got it."
[Correction: Probability of Host's survival without adaptation—32%.]
Logan blinked once. Then twice. "…Thanks for the pep talk."
The scraping grew louder. More than one set of claws. The shadows deepened as though the dungeon itself leaned closer to watch.
Logan lifted his dagger, lantern held steady in his other hand. His grip was firm, pale red eyes calm but alive with a sharp spark.
'...Sister. Cael. I'm not dying in some hole. Not tonight.'
Logan's stance shifted. His mouth quirked in a faint, defiant smirk. "Alright then."
---