Most newly awakened individuals chose a path different from Ken. They preferred to undergo lengthy training before hoping to become established cleaners. For these recruits, learning took place in training centers with masters and specialized facilities.
Ken's case was entirely different. His body had not waited for the awakening to experience the suffering of physical effort. He had been training without any break since the age of thirteen. It was not in a center, but often under the gaze and direction of his own father.
At that time, Ken did not understand the importance of these exercises. He did not take them very seriously. He would often grumble and drag his feet when his father came to wake him up to start the day.
He then had to perform series of sword movements, repeating the same gestures until exhaustion. After the sword came endless sets of pushups. His father left him no respite, always demanding more precision and strength in every movement.
However, everything had changed after the death of his father. The void left by his passing had transformed the desire to become a cleaner into an obsession that consumed his thoughts. It was no longer a simple project, but a necessity for his mental survival.
From that moment on, Ken decided to multiply his efforts. He threw himself into a training routine three times more intensive than the one imposed by his father. He only stopped when his muscles screamed in pain or when his strength totally abandoned him.
Thanks to this iron discipline, his physique had transformed radically. He now possessed a solid body, forged by years of sweat. His silhouette had become lean, giving off an impression of contained power despite his young age.
At only sixteen, Ken already stood one hundred eighty two centimeters tall. This imposing stature gave him a serious presence. He no longer looked like the teenager who grumbled at the effort, but like a man ready to face the dangers of the dungeons.
Whether he was rank F or not changed nothing about his will. Ken was determined to become what he had always dreamed of being. In his mind, he already saw himself as a nightmare for those strange creatures.
To reach this goal, there was only one possible road in his eyes: that of an independent cleaner. This title represented absolute freedom for a monster fighter. This was the status he aimed for above all else.
Becoming independent meant he would no longer be subject to the usual regulations that restrict beginners. He could go into any dungeon, even those where the danger was highest.
However, the law of this world was strict and made no exceptions. One only reached this status of freedom at level 15. This was the invisible barrier that every cleaner had to cross to prove their value and their capacity to survive alone.
As long as this rank was not acquired, Ken knew he was nothing more than a simple civilian in the eyes of the administration. He was forced to comply with the law that imposed the formation of a group for every dungeon incursion.
After taking his shower, he remained still for a moment, casting a last glance inside his house. The silence of the home weighed on his shoulders. Clara's words were still looping in his mind, deeply annoying him.
How did she know that his home was going to be sold? This question tormented him. Clara did not come from a rich or influential family that could have had access to confidential information about debts or foreclosures.
"I will not let anyone take this home from me," he swore to himself. The determination in his silent voice was icy. He began to prepare his backpack with quick and precise movements, packing his essential items for his expedition.
Before closing his bag, he paused. His hand went up to his neck to touch the ring he wore. It was a gift his father had given him for his fourteenth birthday. An object that never left him.
It was the very first treasure his grandfather had brought back from a raid. At the time, the object had been judged completely ordinary by experts. It had no financial value and did not shine with power.
Yet, this ring represented a priceless trophy in the eyes of his grandfather. To his father, it was a dear memory, a direct link to his roots. Ken was now the sole guardian of this family heritage.
This responsibility made him feel proud in a way. He felt the weight of his family history in this small circle of metal. But he did not forget the warning his father often repeated: "Son, never show it to anyone."
Ken then headed toward the small training room located at the back of the house. He came to get his father's sword. His father had never sold it, even in difficult times, because it reminded him of where he came from.
Ken approached the weapon and stared at the blade. Immediately, the characteristics of the object appeared before his eyes in a clear interface. He read the information to ensure the current state of the equipment he would carry into battle.
The name was simple: [Simple Sword]. It was classified as rank E. Its durability was indicated as low, with a value of 260 out of 450. It possessed absolutely no special abilities.
As one might expect for a lower category weapon, it did not even have a proper name. It was a basic tool.
In this world, artifacts were classified into four distinct categories. The lower category grouped objects from rank F to E. This was where the sword he held in his hands was located.
Then came the intermediate category for ranks D to C, then the superior category for ranks B to A. Finally, at the top of the hierarchy, was the legendary category for rank S objects.
His father's sword belonged to the lowest category, but that mattered little to Ken. He did not need flourishes or magic powers. To him, as long as the blade could cut through the flesh of monsters, it was enough.
"I am borrowing this, father," he whispered into the silence of the room. He left the premises without looking back, carrying with him the only warrior heritage he possessed for his first real test.
He headed toward the large beginners' square. It was the nerve center that controlled hunting zones for novices. This was where access to rank F and rank E dungeons, the first steps for any cleaner, was managed.
Upon his arrival, the square was crowded. The hustle and bustle was palpable. There were many young people there who had finished their training and were burning with the desire to finally move on to practice.
Ken made his way through the crowd to approach the dungeon reservation board. It was a huge display where rules were reminded in large letters. At the top, one phrase dominated everything else: "The formation of a group is mandatory."
The rules written on the board left no room for interpretation. One had to have at least four members to enter a rank F dungeon. For rank E dungeons, the number rose to a minimum of seven members.
Ken began to scan the faces around him. He was looking for an incomplete team to slip into. Most people present seemed lost, still looking for partners at random, while others already formed closed circles.
Gathering a group from scratch by talking to strangers seemed like a deeply boring task to him. He did not want to waste his time on useless negotiations or formal introductions that would last for hours.
It was then that while walking toward the waiting area, his gaze stopped on a group of four people. They stood apart, seemingly waiting to receive the coordinates for their dungeon.
"Hello," Ken said, approaching with a confident step. The group stopped and all members turned toward him with curiosity. There were two boys and two girls making up this small team of cleaners.
One of the boys had an imposing build that immediately drew attention. He was a tank, heavily equipped with a large defensive shield and a sturdy sword. He seemed to be the protective pillar of the group.
Among the girls, the first wore a sword at her belt, indicating a melee fighter profile. The other boy held a bow, standing slightly back as if to mark his role as a long distance shooter.
The second girl appeared to be a mage. She firmly held a wooden staff of a rather rudimentary design, but sufficient to channel the energy necessary for basic spells. She observed Ken with a certain gentleness.
The boy with the imposing stature seemed to be the oldest of the group, approaching his twenties. The other three seemed closer to Ken's age, around seventeen or eighteen. The leader replied with a very dry "Hello."
Ken wasted no time and explained bluntly that he wished to join their formation for their next raid. He stood straight, ignoring the height difference between him and the tank who towered over him.
"Sorry, but we do not need another member," the tank cut him off immediately. He had not even bothered to give Ken a serious look. His answer was final, devoid of any unnecessary politeness.
This reaction was totally predictable for Ken. In a group of four, the rewards obtained in a rank F dungeon were already mediocre. Adding a fifth member meant dividing the meager final loot even further.
Furthermore, Ken wore no visibly powerful equipment. He looked like a novice without means. To them, he was only a potential dead weight who would eat their share of the profit without bringing anything in return.
It was almost laughable of him to make such a request under these conditions. But Ken had not come without a very specific strategy. He knew exactly which lever to pull to make these beginner cleaners give in.
"I will not take any reward," he announced in a calm and rapid voice. Silence suddenly settled in. The leader of the group then looked at him with obvious suspicion, searching for the trap behind such an offer.
Working for free in a dungeon was a rare, even suspicious thing. No one risked their life without hoping for financial gain. Gerard wondered why this boy agreed to expose himself to danger for nothing.
"I just want to gain experience," Ken added to dispel doubts. It was a logical explanation for a beginner. His secret objective was to understand how raids worked before being able to launch out alone.
For the group members, this proposal suddenly became very attractive. It was the perfect plan: to have an extra pair of hands to ensure their safety without losing a single cent of the dungeon's earnings.
The group's swordsman stared at Ken for a moment, evaluating his seriousness. She consulted her comrades with a look, waiting for a sign. Finally, after a few seconds of reflection, the imposing boy ended up accepting the proposal.
"Alright... Otherwise, how long do you plan to stay with us?" Gerard asked, crossing his arms. He wanted to make sure that this arrangement would not last indefinitely and that he would not have to manage this newcomer for too long.
"Two weeks only," Ken replied with a confidence that surprised the group. It was a short, precise delay that showed he knew exactly what he was doing. The leader sighed, visibly relieved by this answer.
Introductions then began. The mage was the first to speak with a friendly smile. "I am Jessica, mage," she said, lightly waving her wooden staff. She seemed to be the most social element of the group.
Next came the archer, who remained more reserved. "I am Aaron, archer," he said briefly. He was already checking the tension of his bowstring, showing no particular interest in social discussion.
The one who seemed to be their leader continued with natural authority. "Gerard, warrior tank," he declared, tapping his large shield. Finally, the last girl introduced herself: "Lyna, swordsman."
"And I am Ken, swordsman," he lied without blinking. He knew that in this world, no person with a lower potential of rank F or E obtained a specific class upon their awakening. Classes were reserved for superior ranks.
Ken preferred to keep this information to himself. He did not need them to know that he was technically classless. Introducing himself as a simple swordsman was more than enough to justify his presence and his role in the formation.
Once the formalities were over, Ken was temporarily registered in their group interface. Gerard almost immediately received a notification on his terminal, indicating that their turn had come to access a hunting zone.
"Let's go," the leader ordered, standing up with a jump. He then added with a certain authority, pointing his finger at Ken: "You stay two meters from the group when we are in the dungeon. Do not get in our way."
All the members followed suit, heading toward the transfer portal. Ken brought up the rear, observing their movements. Only the mage, Jessica, made an effort to be truly welcoming toward him.
She often approached him during their walk. She explained in a low voice that Gerard's abrupt character was usual and that he should not take offense. She was trying to relax the heavy atmosphere created by the leader.
Jessica began to tell anecdotes about their recent raids. According to her stories, the four of them had been working together for more than eight months. They had met during their initial training and had not left each other since.
They had made a solemn promise: to all become independent cleaners as quickly as possible. It was their common dream, the goal that pushed them to chain rank F dungeons day after day.
However, Ken was struck by a troubling detail in her story. Despite eight months of hard work and regular raids, none of them had yet managed to reach level 15 required for independence.
Ken found this mind boggling. How could the system be so cruel and slow? Eight months represented an eternity for people who risked their lives daily. The difficulty of progressing seemed much higher than he had imagined.
"They are probably rank F like me, otherwise there is no other explanation," he told himself, sighing internally. To him, only a weakness in original potential could explain such a long stagnation.
"Just out of curiosity... Do you know what the potential rank of the group members is?" he asked Jessica. They were then approaching the portal of the large square that led directly to the land.
"We are all rank E..." she replied simply, as if she were stating a self evident and unimportant fact. She did not seem to realize the weight of her words, continuing to walk with a light step toward their destination.
Ken stopped dead in the middle of the path. His heart skipped a beat. "What? Rank E?" he insisted, hoping he had misheard. He needed immediate confirmation to dispel the disbelief seizing him.
Jessica stopped as well, a bit lost by this sudden halt. She turned back toward him, tilting her head to the side with a questioning look. "Uh... Yes, why?" she said, surprised by Ken's disproportionate reaction.
But for Ken, it was as if a knife had just pierced his heart. The news hit him with the violence of a physical impact. He felt a wave of discouragement wash over him as he stared at the backs of the other group members.
Eight months of raids without reaching level 15 even though they were rank E? If people stronger than him stagnated like this despite their superior rank, what hope was left for his own progression?
The reality of his situation stared him in the face. If they failed with a potential of rank E, how long would it take him, who was only rank F, to hope to one day become an independent cleaner?
"That is a problem," he said, sighing deeply. His shoulders slumped slightly under the weight of a truth he did not want to accept. The road to his dream had just abruptly lengthened by several years.