Thirty minutes passed since the rookies entered the raid gate, yet danger had not truly revealed itself. Lee Seong-jun had not needed to lift a finger, walking silently while his companions cut down the weak creatures that appeared. The contribution points that determined one's standing in a raid meant little to him; what truly mattered were the elite and boss monsters that had yet to appear.
The enemies so far were laughably weak. Giant Rabbits of C-rank scattered across the city-like terrain were incinerated in moments by Kim Hye-young's flames. Her firestorms consumed them with ease, but the faint frown on her face betrayed unease. Something about this situation was wrong.
Others felt it too. Jeong Yun-ho, the assassin, and Lee Dong-ju, the archer, exchanged uneasy looks. The reports had predicted agile, deadly beasts in darkened terrain, yet only harmless creatures had shown themselves. By now, nearly half of the sprawling underground city had been cleared, but the strongest monster sighted was still only C-rank. For a gate measured as A-rank in difficulty, this was absurd.
Everyone understood the implication: the elite and the boss hidden deeper inside would be monstrously strong. Their sudden absence now was a storm gathering in silence.
As the hunters debated, tension boiled. Dong-ju wanted to retreat, Yun-ho argued for scouting, and Hye-young dismissed their fear as wasted time. Raised within guilds, used to command but not compromise, none of them could agree. Voices grew louder, pride clashing like blades.
Then danger struck.
Seong-jun's body moved before thought. His hand reached out across the air and caught something invisible to the others. An arrow, meant for Kim Hye-young's skull, trembled in his grip. Gasps filled the air. A breath later, another arrow flew, striking Lee Dong-ju's shoulder as he barely twisted aside. Blood stained his archer's arm—crippling for one who relied on the bow.
The attack came from above. All eyes turned to a mansion rooftop, where shadowy figures stood with bows drawn. Their black hair, dusky skin, and sharp ears revealed their identity. Dark Elves.
The truth of the gate was unveiled. The earlier monsters were nothing but a veil; the true predators were these assassins of the underground. Elite among B+ class, Dark Elves were famed for ambush and stealth, killing without trace. In this dim labyrinth of stone houses, they were a nightmare—capable of striking and vanishing, driving hunters into exhaustion long before a boss fight. To let them slip away would doom the raid.
Even before shouts of alarm finished, Song Seung-jun and Jeong Yun-ho were already leaping toward the mansion rooftop. But the distance was deceptive, and the elves had the advantage.
It was then Seong-jun moved.
Planting his feet, he shaped his hands into a form unseen by modern hunters. Blood surged through his body, racing like fire through channels of power. It gathered at his fingertips, crimson light pulsing like a living heart. His eyes gleamed with the aura of the Blood Demon, the martial sovereign whose shadow spanned time itself.
From his hand, the art of Blood Transformation Martial Technique – Crimson Bullet was born.
Bang! Bang!
Two explosions cracked the silence, not from gunpowder but from raw force. Two lines of red tore the air, faster than mortal sight. On the rooftop, both dark elves collapsed before they could loose another shot.
The system's cold voice confirmed the kill: two B+ class elites slain in an instant.
The hunters froze. What should have been a battle of pursuit and attrition ended in the blink of an eye. Even Song Seung-jun, normally unreadable, showed shock. Confusion spread—what had Seong-jun just done? No spell, no known skill, no artifact.
Yet while others questioned, Seong-jun only reminded them of what mattered: the danger was not over. Scouts had been slain, but more enemies surely lurked. Kim Hye-young, regaining composure, declared they must work together. In ordinary green raid gates, each guild's rookie could operate alone, but against the Dark Elves even unity might not be enough.
Still, pride refused to yield. Lee Dong-ju, clutching his wounded shoulder, confronted Seong-jun with anger. He accused him of sensing the ambush yet keeping silent. But Seong-jun merely smirked, his words colder than any blade:
Had Dong-ju not declared earlier that he would never need his help?