The stench of blood clung to the cracked concrete walls, sharp and metallic, even over the reek of mold. Flickering lamps buzzed overhead, their dying glow struggling to pierce the dungeon's oppressive darkness.
Asta tightened his grip on the chipped blade in his hands. It rattled slightly against his palm, not because of the cold, but because his hands wouldn't stop trembling.
"Stay in the back, Hollow. You'll just get us killed."
The words came from a broad-shouldered man ahead of him, the leader of tonight's raid party. He didn't even look at Asta when he spat them, as if acknowledging his existence was already a waste.
Asta bit his tongue and stayed quiet. He was used to it.
They always called him Hollow. Not by his name. Not by "Awakener." Just Hollow, the failure.
He was a failure, wasn't he? Among those who awakened powers when the Voids tore open the skies ten years ago, Asta was at the bottom of the chain. No sigil, no strength, no abilities. While others conjured fire, steel, or healing light, his soul had awakened empty. A hollow vessel.
And yet, he still came. Every raid. Every suicide run into the Voids. Not because he believed he could be useful, but because his sick sister needed medicine he couldn't afford any other way.
The guilds paid scraps for Voidsweeper fodder, but scraps were better than nothing.
He forced his breathing to steady and looked around the chamber.
The dungeon walls pulsed faintly, as if alive, veins of black crystal crawling outward from the Rift's core. Monstrous shrieks echoed in the distance. The veterans in front of him moved with confidence, shields raised, spells crackling at their fingertips. He trailed behind, gripping his useless sword.
It had always been like this: they entered, they cleared, he survived if luck permitted. He was tolerated only because someone needed to carry potions and loot bags.
But tonight felt different. The Void was too quiet.
The leader barked, "Formation! Shadows incoming!"
And then they appeared.
From the cracks in the crystal, figures slithered out, things shaped like men but wrong, their bodies black smoke solidified into claws and jagged teeth. Shadows, the lowest-class fiends.
The party roared, shields clashing, flames bursting. The veterans fought like a storm. Asta stayed back, swinging clumsily only when a straggler rushed too close.
For a while, it seemed routine. Then… the ground trembled.
A fissure split across the chamber, swallowing two hunters whole before they could scream.
Asta's stomach dropped. "No… not this."
The leader's eyes widened in terror. "A double Rift?!"
The walls split open as a second chamber revealed itself, blacker than night, swallowing their light. From it, something crawled forward. Not a shadow spawn, not a beast, but something worse.
A knight.
Tall, armored in obsidian plates. Its helm hid its face, but two glowing white slits burned where eyes should be. It carried a sword that looked forged from the night itself.
The room fell silent.
The strongest of the raid team screamed, "Retreat! It's a Monarch-class!"
Chaos erupted. Hunters scattered, pushing each other, desperate to flee. Fireballs fizzled against its armor like sparks against stone. Blades shattered on its shield.
The knight moved once, and half the raid was gone, bisected cleanly.
Asta froze, breath caught in his throat. His legs screamed at him to run, but his body wouldn't move. Around him, the hunters who had mocked him moments ago fell like insects, their blood painting the floor red.
Then the knight turned.
It looked directly at him.
Asta staggered back, clutching his chest. His heart pounded so violently he thought it might explode.
Why me? I'm nothing. I can't fight this. I can't...
But before he could think further, the knight moved. Faster than his eyes could follow, its blade plunged into him.
The world went black.
⸻
…And then, a sound.
[Initializing… Shadow System detected.]
Asta's eyes snapped open. He was lying in the same dungeon chamber, but… it was empty. The corpses of his comrades were gone. The knight was gone.
A translucent screen hovered in front of his vision, letters glowing faintly:
[Welcome, Hollow Vessel.]
[Qualification: Death confirmed.]
[You have been chosen as the Shadow's Heir.]
Asta's trembling hand reached out. His fingers passed through the screen like mist.
Another line appeared.
[Your first commandment: Rise.]
And in the silence of the dungeon, as shadows pooled unnaturally around his feet, Asta realized with bone-deep terror…
Something inside him had awakened.