The corpse of the hobgoblin chief was already cooling at Aiden's feet.
The silence that followed its death was heavy, almost oppressive. Yet instead of relief, Aiden felt only a rush of exhilaration coursing through his veins. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from the aftershock of pulling on threads that weren't meant to be touched.
He crouched beside the body and ran a hand across the cleaver still embedded in its chest. Rusted and chipped, but usable. He tugged it free with effort, the metal groaning as it left the corpse.
The weight was almost unbearable for someone untrained, yet Aiden's lips curved faintly."Crude, but better than bare hands."
He slung the weapon over his shoulder and turned his eyes deeper into the dungeon. The air beyond seemed to pulse with faint life, faint inevitabilities waiting to be rewritten.
So, the skill set needs refinement.
The fight had taught him much. Tugging minor threads—like a goblin's footing or a falling stone—had been effortless. But the heavier the cause, the more resistance he felt. Twisting the boss's swing, severing its thread of survival… those had left him drained, a pounding ache behind his eyes.
There was a cost.
And a cost meant rules. Rules he needed to understand before the wrong fight killed him.
Aiden exhaled through his nose, a faint smirk tugging at his lips."Then let's run some experiments."
He wandered deeper.
The dungeon's corridors wound like veins, the flickering torches casting strange shadows. Eventually, the walls opened into a wider chamber.
Goblins. A nest of them.
Six in total, gathered around a crude fire pit. Their guttural chatter filled the air, one gnawing on a bone while another sharpened its blade with a stone. The moment Aiden stepped into view, the noise ceased. Dozens of beady eyes locked onto him.
The shriek came a heartbeat later.
The first goblin charged, blade raised.
Aiden didn't move. His eyes narrowed, threads flickering into sight. One line tied the goblin's ankle to the ground, another linked its weapon to his chest.
He plucked.
The creature stumbled, crashing face-first into the dirt. Before it could rise, he tugged another thread. Its own blade slipped from its grip and buried itself into its neck. Blood spurted, the goblin choking as it collapsed.
The others roared in fury, rushing as one.
Aiden smiled faintly."Good. Let's see how many strings I can weave at once."
The world slowed. Six threads. Twelve. Twenty. Each goblin's every swing, every step, every breath shimmered as luminous inevitabilities. The tapestry stretched before him.
His fingers moved as if playing an instrument.
One goblin tripped over its ally. Another's blade swung wide and struck its comrade. A third leapt, only for a stone to dislodge beneath it, its skull cracking against the wall.
The chamber dissolved into chaos. Monsters shrieked and turned on each other, their own momentum twisted against them. Aiden stood in the center of it all, calm as a conductor orchestrating an orchestra of death.
When the last one fell, gurgling on its own blood, silence reclaimed the chamber.
Aiden exhaled slowly, his body trembling from the strain. His head throbbed, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead."Six threads… simultaneously. Doable, but costly."
He collapsed against the wall, closing his eyes. His chest rose and fell, heart hammering from both exhaustion and exhilaration.
The stronger the change, the heavier the pull. Minor nudges cost almost nothing. But multiple manipulations… they drain me fast. And severing a thread entirely—that's lethal, not to the enemy, but to me if I'm careless.
His hand clenched around the magic cores he had harvested from the goblins, faintly glowing shards that hummed with mana. He could feel the energy bleeding into the dungeon air.
An idea sparked.
"What if… cores could offset the cost?"
He held one tightly, focusing. The threads shimmered faintly, clearer, steadier than before. The ache in his head dulled.
A slow grin spread across his face."So that's it. Magic cores are fuel."
He leaned back against the wall, staring into the flickering flames of the goblin campfire. The image of Sung Jinwoo flickered in his mind—weakest Hunter, hidden System, the Shadow Monarch's path.
Aiden chuckled softly."I don't need a System. I'll build my own."
He gazed into the darkness ahead, where the dungeon still stretched. His lips curved into a cold smile.
Every thread here belongs to me. And soon, the world outside will too.
The dungeon growled again, faint vibrations running through the walls. Not a boss this time, but something else—something stirring deeper.
Aiden rose, gripping the crude cleaver tighter. The threads shimmered faintly in his vision, calling to him like the whispers of a puppet stage waiting for its master.
"Alright then," he murmured, stepping into the darkness. "Let's weave."