The safe zone looked different after real bloodshed.
Barricades lined the streets—cars flipped, metal welded together, crude watchtowers built from scrap. People moved with purpose now, armed with system weapons and glowing interfaces hovering beside them. This wasn't panic anymore.
This was an organization.
Shadow slid into my shadow as we approached, his presence fading from sight. Eyes were everywhere. Guards watched from rooftops, their gazes lingering just a little too long on anyone who didn't look afraid enough.
I walked openly.
Let them look.
Whispers followed me as I passed.
"He's alone…"
"No hero emblem…"
"Is that blood on his clothes?"
Pathetic. They measured strength by appearances, by titles handed out by the System like toys.
Then I felt it.
Pressure.
Not hostile—commanding.
The crowd ahead parted like water as a man stepped forward.
The Paragon.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, clad in pristine white armor that looked untouched by battle despite the carnage outside the zone. Soft golden light clung to him naturally, not flashing or forced. A longsword rested at his side, humming faintly with power.
His face was calm. Too calm.
Blue eyes scanned the area—not searching for threats, but expecting none.
The System loved him.
I could feel it.
People smiled when they saw him. Relief washed over their faces. Some even bowed their heads slightly as he passed.
Disgust curled in my gut.
No one is that pure, I thought. And if they are… then they're just stupid.
His gaze met mine.
For a fraction of a second, the world seemed to narrow.
He studied me—not with suspicion, not with hostility—but curiosity.
"You're injured," he said calmly. "You should have that treated."
No accusation. No arrogance. Just… concern.
I almost laughed.
"I'm fine," I replied flatly.
He nodded, accepting it without question.
"I don't recognize you," he continued. "New Awakened?"
Something stirred in my chest.
Pride.
"I don't need recognition," I said.
A flicker of something—interest, maybe—passed through his eyes.
"That confidence will get you killed," he said, not unkindly. "This world rewards cooperation."
I looked past him—at the people clustering behind him, at the way they leaned closer to his presence like moths to light.
"And that," I replied, "is why you'll fail."
Silence fell.
The Paragon didn't react with anger. Instead, he smiled faintly.
"Perhaps," he said. "But until then, I'll keep people alive."
He turned and walked away, the crowd following him like a procession.
I watched him go.
Helping them survive. Teaching them dependence. Letting the System shape them.
Shadow stirred in my shadow, sensing my thoughts.
"Not yet," I whispered. "He's not ready."
A notification pulsed quietly at the edge of my vision.
I ignored it.
For now.
I found a quiet building near the edge of the zone and settled in, sitting against the wall as night began to fall. Tomorrow would be hunting. Planning. Expansion.
Heroes would gather allies.
I would gather power.
And when this fragile order finally collapsed—
I would be standing above the ruins, alone, exactly where I belonged.
The ground shook just before dawn.
Not the violent tremor of collapsing buildings or distant explosions—but something deeper. Ancient. Intentional. The kind of movement that made the air feel wrong.
I opened my eyes instantly.
Outside, alarms began to scream.
The words burned themselves into the sky, visible to everyone.
Panic erupted across the safe zone.
People ran. Heroes shouted orders. Guards scrambled to fortify positions that suddenly meant nothing. A dungeon appearing inside the city wasn't just a threat—it was a declaration.
This world wasn't meant to be reclaimed.
It was meant to be conquered.
I stood and stretched, feeling my blood stir with anticipation.
Shadow emerged from the floor beside me, eyes locked in the direction of the announcement. He could feel it too—the pull, the promise of stronger prey.
"C-grade," I murmured. "That means elites. Maybe a commander."
And loot.
The Paragon would be there. Of course he would. Leading teams, saving lives, basking in the system's approval.
Perfect.
As I moved toward the edge of the safe zone, another notification appeared—this one quieter, meant only for me.
I stopped walking.
Claim.
Not clear. Not conquer. Claim.
The system wasn't subtle anymore.
I smiled.
"So that's how it works," I said softly. "Heroes clear. Kings claim."
The skyline ahead twisted as reality itself split apart. A massive black fissure opened between skyscrapers, stone and runes spilling into existence where glass and steel once stood. A colossal dungeon gate formed, etched with symbols that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Monsters began spilling out almost immediately.
Civilians screamed.
Heroes charged.
And I… stepped aside.
Let them bleed first.
Shadow leaned closer to me, his form sharpening.
"We wait," I whispered. "Let them weaken it. Let them think they're in control."
In the distance, I felt it.
Something watching.
Something old.
Something interested.
Deep within the dungeon, a presence stirred—as if it had noticed me noticing it.
My blood hummed.
The Star Serpent's shadow brushed the edge of my thoughts.
Soon.
Very soon.
The dungeon gate loomed like a wound in reality.
Black stone fused with glowing runes, pulsing slowly—as if the structure itself were breathing. Heroes gathered at its base in organized groups, weapons ready, voices sharp with confidence and fear. The Paragon stood at the center, issuing calm orders, assigning squads.
I didn't join them.
I slipped away.
While their attention was fixed on teamwork and formation, I moved through a shattered service entrance half-buried beneath rubble. No banners. No witnesses. Just Shadow and me.
The moment my foot crossed the threshold, the world shifted.
Sound vanished.
Light dimmed.
I scoffed.
"Good."
The corridor stretched forward, carved from black stone veined with crimson crystal. The air was thick, heavy with mana and the coppery scent of blood. My heartbeat echoed unnaturally loud, as if the dungeon itself were listening.
Shadow fully emerged beside me, muscles coiled, eyes glowing faintly.
"Stay close," I murmured. "But don't interfere unless I say so."
Pride stirred.
This place will acknowledge me.
As I stepped deeper, torches ignited one by one without flame—pure mana burning blue along the walls. The dungeon reacted to my presence differently than it would a group.
I felt it measuring me.
Judging.
Another notification appeared—this one slower, deliberate.
My lips curled into a thin smile.
"So you can tell," I whispered.
The floor trembled.
From the darkness ahead came movement—low growls, scraping claws, the sound of heavy bodies shifting through narrow passages. Not the weak mobs heroes would farm at the entrance.
The dungeon was escalating early.
Good.
Three figures emerged.
Dungeon Orcs—larger than surface variants, armor fused into their flesh, eyes glowing with unstable mana. Each one easily stronger than the warlord I'd killed before.
I rolled my neck, gripping my sword.
Blood manipulation responded instantly, veins burning beneath my skin. The blood spilled from previous fights—soaked into my clothes, dried along my blade—answered my call.
Shadow lowered himself, ready.
I took one step forward.
"I'm not here to clear you," I said quietly. "I'm here to take what's at the bottom."
The orcs roared and charged.
And the dungeon began to understand its mistake.