Dawn bled cold over the outer fields.
Mist crawled along the ground like living things that refused to rise. Five hundred awakened youths stood in rigid formation before the Rift Gate—an unnatural tear in reality suspended above the earth like a wound in the sky.
It didn't just open.
It breathed.
Each pulse of violet light made the air feel heavier, like the world itself was remembering how to die.
The Abyss.
F-rank on paper.
But everyone knew the truth:
Ranks meant nothing once you were inside.
Instructors in silver armor moved through the crowd, handing out Return Stones—crystals glowing faintly like captured stars.
"Crush it if you're about to die," one instructor said flatly. "It will pull you back… if your body is still intact enough to accept it."
That last part wasn't explained kindly.
It didn't need to be.
Some students clutched the stones like lifelines. Others like prayer beads.
Yang didn't take his eyes off the Rift.
Something inside it… looked back.
Yuan laughed.
Not softly. Not politely.
Brightly.
Like she already knew how the story ended.
Flames curled lazily around her fingertips, obedient as pets.
Beside her, Cheng spun his lightning spear in a slow arc. The air cracked each time it turned.
Their entourages stood behind them—elite knights, polished armor, expensive weapons, calculated loyalty.
And then—
There was Yang.
Alone.
At the edge.
With a rusted E-rank sword that looked like it had survived three lifetimes and lost all respect for each of them.
Yuan tilted her head.
"Oh?" she said. "Still alive?"
A flicker of flame danced higher on her finger.
"Or are you here to make us feel better about ourselves?"
A few students laughed.
Cheng didn't even look at Yang fully.
"You shouldn't stand so close," he said casually. "Trash attracts bad luck."
More laughter.
Even some commoners looked away—not out of cruelty.
Out of relief.
At least someone else was lower than them today.
Yang stopped a few steps away.
Calm.
Too calm.
The Shadow Mark in his chest pulsed once—like something waking up in slow recognition.
Let them laugh.
A voice inside him didn't speak.
It waited.
The instructor raised his hand.
"The Abyss Rift opens in sixty seconds."
Silence fell instantly.
"Difficulty selection is final once you enter."
He paused.
"Normal. Hard. Hellish."
A ripple passed through the crowd.
"Hellish mode multiplies monster strength by five. Environmental suppression included. Death is not a theoretical outcome."
No one spoke after that.
Then movement began.
Groups stepped forward.
Normal.
Hard.
Fear disguised as confidence.
Yuan stepped forward without hesitation.
"Hellish," she said.
Cheng followed immediately.
"Hellish."
Their escorts didn't even blink.
They would do the real fighting anyway.
Farm kills. Clean bodies. Easy progression.
The Rift rewarded power.
Not effort.
Not struggle.
Power.
Finally—
Only one remained.
Yang.
The instructor looked at him longer than necessary.
"Young master Yang… you understand there is no support inside Hellish difficulty?"
"Yes."
"No escort units."
"Yes."
"No second chance if you misjudge your strength."
A pause.
Yang finally looked at him.
"I won't misjudge."
Something in his tone ended the conversation.
Behind him, Yuan chuckled softly.
"Suicide by slime," she said. "How poetic."
The Rift answered before anyone else could.
A deep pulse.
Like laughter from beneath the world.
They stepped in.
One by one.
The world broke.
Yang fell through color.
Up was down.
Sound became pressure.
Then—
Silence.
He landed in damp darkness.
Stone walls pulsed faint green with bioluminescent moss. The air was thick—wet, metallic, wrong.
The Abyss wasn't a dungeon.
It was an organism pretending to be one.
A corridor stretched ahead like a throat.
And something moved inside it.
A slime crawled forward.
Level 5 Corrosion Slime.
Its body quivered like unstable glass filled with acid.
On Hellish difficulty, its core pulsed faster.
Too fast.
Yang exhaled slowly.
Rusted sword in hand.
This thing… breaks in one hit.
The slime lunged.
Fast.
Too fast for E-rank perception.
Yang moved anyway—barely.
SSSSSSHHH—
Acid melted stone where he stood.
His skin tingled from the heat.
He realized something immediately:
He was weak.
No—
He was barely alive in this place.
The slime struck again.
He dodged.
Barely.
Again.
Barely.
Again.
Barely—
Fifteen exchanges later, his breathing turned sharp.
His arm trembled.
But his blade finally found its mark.
It pierced the core.
The slime froze.
Then exploded into dissolving green mist.
[LEVEL UP]
The notification didn't appear on a screen.
It echoed inside his bones.
Level 2.
Strength +1
Agility +1
Mana capacity increased.
And something deeper—
Something not listed—
responded.
A warmth surged through his chest.
Not his body.
His shadow.
Three more slimes emerged.
This time together.
Yang tightened his grip.
"I can't keep doing this," he muttered.
Then—
His palm darkened.
Mist spilled out like ink in water.
"Shadow Blade."
A weapon formed.
Not metal.
Not light.
Something between existence and absence.
He held it in one hand.
Then looked at the rusted sword in the other.
A thought appeared.
Not learned.
Remembered.
He pressed them together.
The shadow didn't resist.
It merged.
Rust peeled away like dying skin.
The blade turned black.
Too black.
Edges flickering like reality was unsure they should exist.
[SKILL EVOLUTION]
Shadow Blade + Physical Weapon Fusion detected.
SHADOW-INFUSED STRIKE (Temporary Form)
Mana consumption reduced.
Duration: 120 seconds.
Yang smiled.
Not wide.
Not bright.
Real.
For the first time in years.
He moved.
The first slash didn't cut.
It erased.
Two slimes collapsed before they understood they were dead.
The third tried to engulf him.
Too slow.
Yang twisted.
Shadow trailing behind him like a living afterimage.
Then drove the blade down.
Core shattered.
Silence returned.
[+120 EXP]
[LEVEL 3 REACHED]
Strength → 3
Agility → 3
Intelligence → 4
Passive unlocked:
Shadow Affinity (Lv.1)
Low-light environments reduce Shadow skill cost.
Yang exhaled.
His headache faded.
His body felt lighter.
Not strong.
But less impossible.
Somewhere deeper in the Abyss—
Laughter echoed faintly.
Yuan's.
Cheng's.
Far ahead.
Careless.
Feeding on weak monsters with borrowed strength.
Yang turned in that direction.
Not rushing.
Not chasing.
Walking.
Like someone who had finally decided the world could be taken apart slowly.
The corridor widened.
A shadow fell across it.
Something larger moved forward.
Mass heavier.
Pressure thicker.
Reality itself resisting its presence.
A shape emerged.
Level 8 Corrosive Behemoth.
Its body wasn't a slime.
It was a problem pretending to be one.
Pseudopods cracked the ground like whips.
The air around it hissed.
Yang tightened his grip on the fused blade.
The Shadow Mark in his chest pulsed once.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Like a heartbeat learning violence.
He lowered his stance.
And smiled again.
"Come on then."
Behind him, the Abyss seemed to hold its breath.
Not because it feared him yet.
But because—
It was beginning to recognize him.