He stepped into the room and took his seat. The atmosphere in the school had changed overnight. Usually, the hallways were filled with the sounds of students laughing or complaining about homework. Today, there was a heavy, stifling silence.
Every time a locker slammed, someone flinched. Teachers spoke in hushed tones, their eyes constantly darting toward the windows. The local news was playing on the monitors in the cafeteria, showing loops of the Rift Serpent's carcass being hauled away by heavy machinery.
Min-ho rested his chin on his palm. He watched the teacher drone on about history, but his mind was elsewhere. He felt a quiet sense of satisfaction. He had survived. Not only had he survived, but he had actually protected his sister. That thought made him lean back with a small, private grin.
'I actually did it,' he thought. 'I'm not just some bystander anymore.'
The rest of the day crawled by. He spent his breaks listening to his classmates gossip. Everyone had a theory about the "White-Haired Savior." Some thought it was a secret government agent. Others thought it was a vigilante from a rival guild.
None of them looked at the boy sitting in the back row with his hoodie pulled low.
When the final bell finally rang, Min-ho didn't rush out, he waited for the halls to clear. He knew he couldn't keep fighting with his bare hands. The serpent's scales had shredded his knuckles, and a larger monster would likely break his fingers before he could kill it.
He needed a weapon.
He didn't go to the high-end districts where the gold-plated shops sat. Instead, he took the subway to a dusty corner of the city. This area was filled with "Budget Hunter" outlets. These shops sold recycled gear and factory-second weapons to people who were just starting out or couldn't afford a guild sponsorship.
He walked into a shop called "The Sharpened Shilling." The air inside was thick with the scent of machine oil and cold iron. The walls were lined with racks of dull daggers and bent shields.
The shopkeeper, an old man with a prosthetic arm, didn't even look up from his newspaper. "Prices are on the tags. No haggling. No returns."
Min-ho walked toward the back, his eyes scanning the cheap iron. He reached into his pocket and felt the small wad of cash he had saved up over the last year from part-time jobs. It wasn't much. About 150,000 won.
He stopped in front of a barrel filled with clearance swords. Most of them were too heavy or poorly balanced. Then, his eyes caught a glimpse of dark metal at the bottom.
He pulled it out. It was a straight-edged longsword, about thirty-five inches long. The cross-guard was a simple bar of iron, and the hilt was wrapped in frayed, blackened leather.
The blade was covered in patches of reddish rust, especially near the tip. The edge was nicked in three different places, making it look more like a saw than a sword. It was a piece of junk that had probably been sitting in that barrel for years.
But when Min-ho gripped the hilt, he felt something. a sense of weight. It was solid, and it also didn't rattle.
"How much for the rusty one?" Min-ho asked.
The old man squinted at the sword. "That scrap? Give me 80,000 won and take it out of my sight. The scabbard is missing, so I'll throw in a canvas wrap."
Min-ho counted out the bills. He felt a surge of genuine excitement as he handed over the money. It was his first real weapon.
He wrapped the blade in the heavy canvas and carefully slid it into his long gym bag. It fit diagonally, with just the pommel peeking out under his spare track pants.
The walk home was slow. He took the long route, observing the world with his sharpened senses. He noticed the way the "Iron Tiger" squads were patrolling the intersections. He saw the mana-detectors installed on the street lamps.
The world was changing. The gates were opening more frequently, and the government was tightening its grip. He knew he had to grow stronger quickly.
When he reached his apartment, the sun was already dipping below the horizon. He could hear the clinking of silverware from inside. His family was already eating dinner.
He didn't want to answer questions about where he had been or why he was carrying a heavy bag. He slipped through the front door, kept his head down, and moved quickly toward his room.
"Min-ho? Is that you?" his mother called out from the kitchen.
"Yeah! I have a lot of homework, Mom! I'm just going to eat some snacks in my room!" he shouted back.
He closed his door and locked it. He tossed the gym bag onto his bed and sat down on the floor. He closed his eyes and focused on the familiar pull in his chest.
'Take me in!' he thought.
The shift was instantaneous. The city noise vanished. The smell of frying oil was replaced by the dry, scentless air of the Slumber Realm.
He stood in the Archive of Lost Arts. The violet vortex swirled silently above him. He looked at his hands. He was in his combat gear; the black mask fixed to his face.
He walked toward the floating script that acted as the system interface. He needed a better way to grow. In the real world, hunters talked about "Cultivation Stages."
From what he knew, hunters in the real world meditated for years to move from the "Seedling Stage" to the "Root Stage." It was a slow, grueling process of absorbing ambient mana from the atmosphere. No one had ever reached the final stage because a human life was simply too short to gather that much energy.
But the Slumber Realm was different. It didn't follow the rules of the world.
'System,' he thought. 'Explain the progression here. How do I move faster?'
A window expanded in front of him, glowing with a soft blue light.
[The Sovereign's Path: Core Mechanics]
1. Time Dilation The Slumber Realm operates at a 110:1 ratio. 1 Hour in the Real World = 110 Hours in the Slumber Realm. Note: This allows the Successor to compress years of physical tempering into days.
2. Currency: Slumber Credits Credits are earned by slaying "Dream Horrors" or completing trials. These are used to purchase Martial Scriptures and Relics from the Archive.
3. Physical Synchronization (DNA Reconstruction) All progress made here is physical. When the Successor allocates Stat Points (Strength, Agility, etc.), the system triggers a cellular rewrite of the physical body. Risk: This process causes high caloric depletion. The body must be physically rebuilt to house the new power.
'That explains why I'm so hungry,' he thought. 'My body is burning through everything I eat just to build denser muscles and stronger bones.'
He looked at the shelf labeled [Basic Cultivation Scriptures]. In the real world, a Basic Scripture would cost a fortune.
He picked up a scroll titled [Star-Forged Marrow: Volume 1].
He felt a rush of adrenaline. He had 110 hours of training ahead of him before his alarm clock would go off in the morning. He pulled the rusty sword out of the manifestation pile and gripped the hilt.
"Let's get to work!" he whispered.