The Origins Dungeon Hall was no longer a place of quiet mystery. From the pale crack of dawn until the deepest bruise of midnight—and then well into the hours that defined "even more midnight"—there was only one constant.
Noise.
"MOVE! I was in this spot since the third watch!"
"First your head! I slept on the cobblestones outside the door!"
"You slept? I've been cultivating here all night just to keep my place!"
"That's not cultivating—that's loitering, you shameless ox!"
Outside the hall, a desperate queue snaked down the alley, cultivators praying for a seat before the inevitable closing time. Inside, every single Illusion Throne was occupied. Not a single black seat was cold.
Yuan Bi stood behind the counter, a statue of stoic indifference. He was silent. He was still. He was expressionless.
But inside, his soul was screaming.
...I can't even play my own game.
Min Luan, currently half-dead and drooling on a throne as his consciousness battled elsewhere, suddenly jerked with a violent spasm. "AGH! THE HUNTER AGAIN! Why is it faster than my own thoughts!?"
Thud. The system forcefully logged him out as his virtual 'death' registered. He tore off the helm, eyes bloodshot, and immediately slammed his fist on the counter. "Next round! I still have time on my permit!"
"You've been in there for six hours!" a random player from the queue yelled.
"The rules say six hours per person, not per body condition!" Min Luan argued, wiping sweat from his brow with total lack of shame.
At the next throne, Wu Feng calmly removed his helm, his face pale but determined. Lu Dong leaned over from the waiting area. "…You died twenty-seven times today, brother."
Wu Feng's gaze was icy. "Twenty-eight. I improved."
Bai Fan adjusted his robes with trembling hands as he stepped out of his seat. "…I think that Hunter looked into my soul. I don't think it's just a puppet."
Yuan Bi watched them all, his grip tightening on his tea cup.
This continued for three full days. Three. Full. Days.
Yuan Bi—the owner of the shop, the master of the dungeon, the man who held the keys to this revolutionary world—had not played once. Not because he lacked the crystals, and certainly not because he lacked the interest.
"…There is no seat."
He stared at the four occupied thrones. He stared at the unruly crowd. He looked back at the thrones. This is my shop. I am the one who pays the taxes to the city guards.
"SHOPKEEPER YUAN!" Min Luan shouted, mid-run. "Don't distract me with your staring! This Hunter has developed a personal vendetta against my family line!"
Yuan Bi's eye twitched.
The Negotiation
On the fourth day, something snapped. Yuan Bi slowly turned, walked behind the counter, sat on his stool, and closed his eyes.
"…System."
Silence.
"…System. If you don't answer, I'll start charging the customers double and pocketing the difference."
A cold, mechanical voice echoed in his mind: [Host damaging system revenue protocols is prohibited.]
"…Then I'll stop working. I'll close the doors and go fishing."
[…That would reduce efficiency and growth metrics.]
"Good. Then listen." Yuan Bi opened his eyes, his gaze sharp. "I need a throne."
[Request denied. Current inventory is fully deployed for public access.]
Yuan Bi leaned back, his voice dropping to a dangerously calm level. "Let me rephrase. I need a personal throne."
[All thrones are system-distributed assets intended for user cultivation.]
"I am the owner. I am the manager. I am the man who has to suppress these lunatics if they start a riot. I haven't entered the dungeon in seventy-two hours. My customers are growing stronger. I am not. Do you see the problem, or do I need to explain the concept of 'mutiny' to you?"
[Current occupancy rate: 100%. Revenue: Stable. Conclusion: No functional issue detected.]
Yuan Bi pointed a finger at the occupied seats. "I am a Second-Rate Fighter. If these kids reach First-Rate while I'm stuck behind this counter counting their spare change, I can't control this shop. If I can't control the shop, customers cause trouble. If they cause trouble, revenue decreases. And if I die because I'm too weak to defend my property... no shop. No income. No System."
The silence stretched. The System seemed to pause, its logic circuits grinding through the probability of a shopkeeper-led strike.
[…Host argument has 68% validity. Security risks noted.]
"Only sixty-eight? You're stingy," Yuan Bi muttered. "I don't need public access. I don't need to take a seat from a paying customer. I need a private throne. Behind the counter. My own personal forge."
[Condition: Installation must occur during non-operational hours to prevent public disturbance.]
"…Accepted."
That night, the closing bell rang with a finality that drew groans from the crowd.
"WHAT?! CLOSING!?" Min Luan shrieked. "I was about to land the killing blow!"
"You were about to have your head removed," Lu Dong corrected, dragging him toward the door.
The crowd dispersed reluctantly, looking back at the shop like addicts being pulled from a den. Once the bolts were thrown and the hall fell silent, space behind the counter began to distort. Dark energy gathered, swirling into a concentrated vortex.
A new Illusion Throne appeared. It was darker than the others, its lines sharper and more refined. It didn't just sit there; it seemed to pulse with a subtle, predatory aura.
[Special Throne: Host Exclusive.]
[Usage: Unlimited. Access: Restricted to Host only.]
Yuan Bi stepped forward. For a moment, his aura leaked—the weight of a Peak Second-Rate Fighter. It wasn't flashy, but it was stable. Deadly.
"…Finally."
He sat down and lowered the helm. Darkness claimed him, followed by the familiar, rotting scent of the mansion. A Hunter emerged from the shadows instantly, sensing a new, more potent prey. It moved with lethal silence.
Yuan Bi didn't retreat. He didn't hesitate. He observed the monster's trajectory with the cold eyes of a man who had seen a thousand others fail.
"Speed… predictable. Angle… repeatable."
He stepped forward. Not to evade, but to engage.
CLANG!
The Hunter's claw met his dagger in a shower of sparks. This time, Yuan Bi didn't get pushed back. He held his ground, his eyes glowing with the fire of a man who was finally reclaiming his own dungeon.
The grind had begun.
End of Chapter 10