The neon glow of streetlights flickered as Henry stepped onto the cracked sidewalk, the towering hospital fading behind him.
He had wasted no time leaving, despite the protests of the hospital staff. They had insisted he stay for further monitoring, but Henry had other priorities.
Because the moment he had woken up, the System had issued a command that sent a chill down his spine:
Quest Assigned: Register as a Hunter within 24 hours. Failure to comply will result in severe consequences.
He asked the system what the consequences were. Silence was his only answer.
Was it death? A loss of his abilities? A permanent debuff?
Henry didn't plan to find out.
He pulled up his hood and kept his hands in his pockets as he navigated the dim streets of Neo-Veridia. The city was alive, but in its own weary way—shadowed figures moved quickly, avoiding eye contact, some muttering into communication devices while others clutched their belongings tightly.
Neo-Veridia had been on the decline for years. Once a beacon of progress, the city's outskirts had become a graveyard of abandoned industries, leaving only the strongest to thrive and the weak to struggle.
It had been two weeks since he had last walked these streets.
And yet, everything still felt the same.
The same hunger. The same desperation. The same unspoken rule.
Survive.
When Henry stepped into the apartment, the air was thick with the scent of old coffee and damp furniture.
Lily was the first to react.
"Henry!" she gasped, rushing toward him. "You're home?"
He barely had time to respond before she threw her arms around him. He staggered slightly before patting her back.
"Yeah. I—uh—left the hospital."
Lily pulled back, frowning. "You what?"
Tom, sitting cross-legged on their worn-out couch, raised an eyebrow. "You just walked out?"
Henry nodded. "Didn't see the point in staying. They said I was fine anyway."
Lily exhaled, rubbing her temples. "They said you were fine? Henry, you were in a coma for two weeks!"
"I feel fine."
Tom tilted his head. "You look different."
Henry stiffened. "How?"
Tom squinted. "You just seem… sharper. Like you're more awake than before."
Henry didn't respond.
Lily sighed. "You should've at least let us know you were coming. We could've picked you up."
Henry glanced around. The apartment was still the same—small, cramped, barely holding itself together. His eyes flickered toward the kitchen.
"Where's Mom?" he asked.
The silence was immediate.
Lily's expression darkened. "She didn't even ask about you."
Tom crossed his arms. "We told her you woke up. She barely reacted."
Henry clenched his jaw.
She didn't care.
After Dad died, she became distant. Cold. Detached. But this?
This was something else.
"You don't have to think about her," Lily said softly. "It's just us now."
Just us.
Henry exhaled slowly. "Yeah. I know."
Sleep didn't come easily.
Henry lay on his bed, staring at the cracked ceiling, memories swirling in his mind.
His father. His death. The system.
And the name that haunted him—
Eric.
The finisher who had failed. The one who was supposed to secure the hunt. The one responsible for his father's death.
Henry's fingers twitched.
One day, he would have to face him.
But for now…
He had a deadline.
Tomorrow, he would register as a Hunter.
The smell of burnt toast filled the air as Henry woke to the sound of his siblings getting ready for school.
Lily was packing her bag, Tom finishing the last piece of their breakfast.
Henry rubbed his face. "You two should eat more."
Tom scoffed. "You're one to talk. You've been unconscious for two weeks."
Lily looked at Henry carefully. "You sure you're okay being alone today?"
"I'll be fine," Henry said. "I have… something I need to do."
Lily frowned but didn't press.
After a few words, his siblings left.
Henry stood, stretched, and took a deep breath.
It was time.
The Hunter's Association stood in stark contrast to the rest of Neo-Veridia. It was sleek, modern, and bustling with activity.
Henry entered the building, eyes scanning his surroundings. Large holographic screens displayed recent hunt reports, dungeon clearances, and ranking updates. People—some seasoned, others new like him—moved with purpose.
He approached the registration desk, where a woman with short, dyed-blue hair barely glanced up.
"Name?"
"Henry Eldrin."
"Age?"
"Twenty-one."
"Previous combat experience?"
Henry hesitated. "None."
She sighed, tapping at a screen. "Expected rank?"
"F1."
She raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. "That'll be fifty dollars."
Henry grimaced.
Money. Again.
He pulled out his bank card and placed it on the scanner. A small beep confirmed the transaction. The receptionist barely acknowledged it before sliding a sleek black ID toward him.
"Congratulations, you're now a registered F1 Hunter," she said flatly. "Try not to die."
Henry exhaled, gripping the ID.
That was it.
The first step.
But as he turned to leave,
Quest Completed: Register as a Hunter.
Reward: +200 EXP, +10 Skill Points, F1 Ground blade.
A rush of energy coursed through him. His fingers tingled, his muscles felt… more responsive.
And then,
New Quest Assigned: Defeat a Dungeon Boss, Solo.
Henry's breath caught.
A boss? Alone?
His grip tightened around the ID.
The system gave no explanation.
But he knew one thing
He wasn't ready.
Yet, he had no choice but to move forward.
But he had no other choice or any options.
The closest dungeon facility Henry knew stood like a fortress at the edge of Neo-Veridia's rundown district. Unlike the sleek skyscrapers in the city center, this place was built for survival—reinforced steel walls, high-tech scanning devices, and layers of barbed wire along the perimeter. The air here carried a strange energy, humming with the latent power of the portals inside.
Henry approached the security checkpoint, where a group of heavily armed soldiers stood guard. Their dark combat gear blended into the shadows, their faces unreadable beneath sleek helmets. The way they gripped their weapons made it clear—they weren't just here for decoration.
A Hunter ID meant access, but it didn't guarantee survival.
Henry pulled out his freshly registered card and held it up to the nearest guard. The man barely spared him a glance before scanning it with a handheld device. A small beep confirmed his status.
"First-timer?" the guard asked, his voice flat.
Henry gave a single nod. The guard's gaze drifted to the basic sword strapped to Henry's waist. His expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes—maybe amusement, maybe pity—before he waved Henry through.
"Don't die in there, kid."
Henry stepped forward without a word. The moment he passed the checkpoint, the air seemed to shift. The lobby was packed. Hunters filled the space, some adjusting their gear, others huddled in groups, murmuring over strategies. Along the walls, portals pulsed with eerie light, each labeled according to difficulty. The smallest among them wasn't any less dangerous.
Despite being among the lowest-ranked, the entrance he was heading toward carried a strange pressure, a faint pull on his chest. No matter how weak the monsters inside, every dungeon was a risk. The moment someone stepped in, all outside laws ceased to exist. No safety nets. No rescue squads. If things went wrong, they went wrong. If he died, no one would even recover his body.
And yet, he was about to step inside.
Henry exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. Hesitation had no place here. He wasn't there to hesitate. He was here to win.
He took a step toward the portal, but before he could reach it, a voice rang out.
"Hey, newbie!"
He turned his head. A group of four stood nearby, watching him with expressions ranging from amusement to curiosity. The man who had spoken was broad-shouldered, a thick scar running over one eye. His armor was noticeably better than the scattered F1 and F2 hunters nearby.
"You alone?" the scarred man asked.
Henry didn't answer right away. A young man with a shaved head clicked his tongue.
"Damn, he is. Soloing a dungeon in F1? That's got to be the dumbest thing I've seen all week."
The last of their group, a woman with twin daggers strapped to her belt, tilted her head.
"Maybe he's got a death wish."
Henry met their gazes evenly.
"I can handle myself."
The scarred man let out a low chuckle.
"You've got guts, I'll give you that. But dungeons aren't friendly places, kid. We're looking for a fifth member. You should join us."
Every rational thought told him to accept. A team meant backup. Safety. Higher survival odds.
But that wasn't an option. He already had an objective—one that left no room for allies.
He shook his head.
"I can't."
The group exchanged looks.
"Can't?" the shaved-headed hunter snorted. "What, you got a bet going or something?"
"Something like that."
And he had no intention of breaking the rule placed on him.
The woman raised an eyebrow.
"You really don't want to reconsider? F-rank or not, dungeons aren't predictable."
"I appreciate the offer," Henry said, voice steady. "But I have to do this alone."
A brief silence followed before the scarred man shrugged.
"You're an idiot," he said bluntly. "But I won't stop you. Just don't expect anyone to come looking for you when you get shredded."
With that, they turned away.
Henry ignored the lingering stares from those who had overheard. The whispers of "dead man walking" barely registered. At least, that's what he told himself.
A sharp buzz cut through the noise as an announcement echoed through the facility.
The tension in the room shifted instantly. Hunters moved with purpose, double-checking weapons, murmuring last-minute strategies. Some were already making their way toward the portals, their expressions grim. The pressure was thick in the air.
Henry approached the F-rank entrance.
A facility worker, older and likely a veteran, glanced at him.
"You sure about this, kid?"
Henry nodded.
The man sighed, adjusting his clipboard.
"First-timers who go in alone don't come out. Especially not without proper gear."
Henry's eyes flicked to his sword. It wasn't much, but it was all he had. It was a tool, nothing more—one he would make work.
"I'll manage."
The worker studied him for a moment before shaking his head.
"Your life."
Then he turned away.
Henry exhaled. No more delays. He stepped forward.
And the world changed.
One second, he stood in a brightly lit facility. The next, shadows swallowed everything.
Damp air pressed against his skin. The scent of wet stone and something metallic—blood, maybe—hung in the air. The only light came from bioluminescent moss clinging to the walls, casting eerie greenish-blue glows across jagged rock formations.
It was real.
His grip tightened on his sword.
Something shifted in the darkness.
A quiet shuffle. Then another.
They weren't alone.
A faint, chittering noise echoed, like mandibles clicking together.
His eyes darted across the uneven ground, scanning the spaces between jagged stones. The dungeon wasn't empty. The presence of hostile creatures had already become clear.
Five figures lurked at the edges of the dim glow. Low to the ground, their bodies were covered in jagged exoskeletons, limbs thin but unnervingly long, each ending in hooked claws that scraped against the stone.
He recognized them immediately.
Lesser Crawlers.
Weak on their own. Deadly in numbers.
One lunged.
Henry barely had time to react.
Instinct kicked in, and he stepped back, but the creature was faster than expected. A clawed limb lashed out, raking across his ribs. The stinging sensation was immediate.
He gritted his teeth. That was fast.
His counterattack was immediate—a downward slash aimed at the exposed underbelly. Too slow. The creature skittered back, and before he could adjust, another pounced.
They weren't hesitating.
Henry twisted, raising his arm to block.
A mistake.
A claw tore into his shoulder, burning pain shooting through his nerves. His grip faltered for just a moment. The impact was enough to make his sword feel heavier.
The sword suddenly felt heavier in his hands.
This was nothing like the training simulations. It had begun, and hesitation meant death.