Chapter Text
The first thing Go Ryung Dae noticed upon waking was that his back didn’t hurt.
That was wrong. Terribly, fundamentally wrong. As a twenty-six-year-old office worker who spent
twelve hours a day hunched over spreadsheets and another three reading manhwa on his phone during
“mandatory overtime,” his lower back had been in a state of permanent rebellion since his early twenties.
The chronic ache between his shoulder blades had become such a constant companion that he’d stopped
noticing it—like the hum of the office air conditioning or the passive-aggressive sighs of his department
head.
But now? Nothing. No pain. No stiffness. Just… ease.
The second thing he noticed was that his hands were different.
Ryung Dae stared at the appendages currently resting on what appeared to be expensive silk bedsheets.
These were not the hands of a man who spent his days typing reports and his nights scrolling through
Webtoon. These hands were younger—larger too, with long, elegant fingers that looked like they could
wrap around a sword hilt as easily as a coffee cup. The nails were neatly trimmed, the skin smooth and
unblemished, without the small scars from paper cuts and the faint coffee stain on his right index finger
that had been there for three years.
“What the hell?”
His voice came out deeper than expected—still youthful, but with an undertone that suggested it would
become something resonant and commanding with time. It was also, he noted with growing alarm,
speaking Korean.
Not the halting, textbook Korean he’d learned from dramas and language apps. Fluent, natural Korean.
The kind that rolled off his tongue without conscious thought.
Ryung Dae sat up abruptly, and the room spun.
Not from dizziness—from information overload.
Memories that weren’t his own crashed into his consciousness like a tidal wave. A childhood spent in a
sprawling estate. A grandfather with kind eyes and an iron will. An older brother who wore suits like
armor and carried the weight of an entire organization on his shoulders. Training sessions that left his
muscles screaming. The prickle of something electric running through his veins the day he turned sixteen
—the day he Awakened.
And beneath it all, like a drumbeat, a name: Go Ryung Dae.
“No,” he whispered, pressing his palms against his temples. “No, no, no. This isn’t—I’m not—”
But he was. Or rather, he was now.
Go Ryung Dae—formerly Kim Jae-hyun, twenty-six-year-old salaryman and avid manhwa enthusiast—
had transmigrated into the body of Go Ryung Dae, sixteen-year-old grandson of Go Gun Hee, Chairman of
the Korean Hunters Association, and younger brother to Woo Jinchul, the Association’s Chief Inspector.
“Oh my god,” Ryung Dae breathed, falling back against the pillows. “I’m in Solo Leveling.”
The realization hit him like a truck.
Solo Leveling. The manhwa he’d been reading just last night—no, just moments ago, in his old life. The
story of Sung Jinwoo, the World’s Weakest Hunter who became the Shadow Monarch. The epic tale of
gates, dungeons, monsters, and the System that changed everything.
And he was now a character in it.
A character who, as far as he remembered from the original story, didn’t exist.
“Okay,” Ryung Dae said to the empty room, his voice trembling only slightly. “Okay, let’s think about
this logically.”
He swung his legs over the side of the bed—when had he gotten so tall?—and stood up. His reflection
in the full-length mirror across the room confirmed what his memories suggested: he was no longer
the average-looking, slightly overweight office worker he’d been. The person staring back at him was
young, tall—easily over six feet—and built like an athlete. Dark hair fell across a face that could only
be described as striking, with sharp cheekbones, a straight nose, and eyes that seemed to shift between
brown and something darker depending on the light.
He was also, he noted with a detached sort of amusement, ridiculously handsome.
“Great,” he muttered. “I get isekai’d and I become a pretty boy. Of course.”
His memories—this Go Ryung Dae’s memories—provided more context. He was sixteen years old, two
years younger than Sung Jinwoo would be right now. He’d Awakened three months ago during a routine
medical examination, registering as a D-rank Hunter with an unusual hybrid class that the Association’s
equipment had struggled to categorize. His grandfather had been delighted. His brother had been
cautiously supportive. And Ryung Dae himself had been… confused.
Because the original Go Ryung Dae hadn’t known about the future. Hadn’t known that the world he
lived in was fiction. Hadn’t spent nights worrying about the Jeju Island raid, the double dungeon incident,
the Monarchs and Rulers and the apocalyptic war that was coming.
But now? Now he knew everything.
Almost everything, anyway. He’d stopped reading the manhwa about two-thirds of the way through,
frustrated by the monthly release schedule and the cliffhangers. He knew Sung Jinwoo became the
Shadow Monarch. He knew about the double dungeon and the System. He knew about the Monarchs
and the Rulers and the final battle. But the details—the crucial, life-or-death details—were hazy at best.
“Still,” Ryung Dae said, straightening his shoulders and meeting his own gaze in the mirror. “I know
enough. I know who matters. I know what’s coming. And I know that I can change things.”
The determination that settled in his chest felt foreign and familiar at the same time. In his old life, he’d
been passive—drifting through his days, enduring his job, finding escape in fiction because reality was
too exhausting to engage with. But here? In this world where monsters lurked behind every gate and
the fate of humanity hung in the balance?
Here, he could be more.
Here, he had to be more.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
“Ryung Dae-ah,” a voice called. “Are you awake? Breakfast is ready.”
The voice belonged to Mrs. Han, the family’s housekeeper—a kind woman who had been with the Go
family since before Ryung Dae was born. His memories supplied her face, her habits, the way she always
made his favorite dishes when she knew he’d been training hard.
“I’m up, Mrs. Han,” he called back, wincing slightly at how naturally the honorifics came to him. “I’ll be
down in a minute.”
“Don’t take too long,” she chided gently through the door. “Your brother is already here, and you know
how he gets when his schedule is delayed.”
Woo Jinchul. His brother.
Ryung Dae’s heart rate picked up slightly. In the manhwa, Woo Jinchul had been a supporting character—
a competent administrator and skilled Hunter who served as one of the few people aware of Sung Jinwoo’s
true power before the reveal. He’d been serious, professional, and quietly loyal to his grandfather and
the Association.
And now he was Ryung Dae’s older brother.
“Right,” Ryung Dae said, moving toward the closet. “Thanks for the warning.”
The closet was stocked with clothes that screamed “wealthy Hunter family heir”—designer casual wear,
training gear, and several suits that looked like they cost more than his old monthly salary. He grabbed
a simple black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, dressing quickly and running a hand through his hair to tame
the bedhead.
When he descended the grand staircase to the dining room, he found Woo Jinchul already seated at the
table, impeccably dressed in one of his signature dark suits, reading something on a tablet while picking
at his food with mechanical precision.
“You’re late,” Jinchul said without looking up.
“By two minutes,” Ryung Dae replied, sliding into his seat.
Jinchul finally glanced up, and Ryung Dae got his first real look at the man who was now his brother.
In the manhwa, Woo Jinchul had always been drawn as attractive in a severe, sharp-edged way—dark
hair, intense eyes, the kind of face that looked like it had never smiled genuinely in its life. In person,
the effect was even more striking. Jinchul’s presence filled the room, a quiet authority that made Ryung
Dae instinctively want to sit up straighter.
“You look different,” Jinchul observed, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Ryung Dae’s heart skipped a beat. “Different how?”
“More… focused.” Jinchul set down his tablet, studying him with unsettling intensity. “You’ve been
distant since your Awakening. Withdrawn. But today you seem… present.”
“I had a good night’s sleep,” Ryung Dae said, reaching for his coffee—matcha latte, his memories supplied.
The original Ryung Dae had been particular about his morning caffeine. “And I’ve been thinking about
my future.”
“Your future.” Jinchul’s tone was carefully neutral. “You’ve been avoiding the topic for three months.”
“I needed time to process.” Ryung Dae met his brother’s gaze steadily. “But I’m ready now. I want to
be a Hunter. A real one—not just a rank on paper.”
Something flickered in Jinchul’s eyes—surprise, maybe, or approval. “Grandfather will be pleased. He’s
been worried about your lack of direction.”
“I know.” Ryung Dae took a sip of his matcha, the familiar taste grounding him in this new reality. “And I
want to train. Properly. Not just the basic combat courses—I want to learn everything. Swordsmanship,
magic control, dungeon tactics. Everything.”
Jinchul was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then: “Why the sudden change?”
Because the world is going to end in a few years, and I need to be strong enough to help stop it. Because
there’s a boy out there right now who thinks he’s the weakest Hunter in the world, and I need to be
strong enough to stand beside him when everything changes. Because I read your story, brother, and I
know how much you sacrifice for a world that doesn’t appreciate you.
“Because I realized I’m wasting an opportunity,” Ryung Dae said instead. “Not everyone Awakens. Not
everyone gets the chance to make a difference. I don’t want to look back in ten years and wonder what I
could have done if I’d just tried harder.”
Jinchul’s expression softened—barely, but noticeably. “That’s… surprisingly mature of you.”
“I’m sixteen, not six,” Ryung Dae retorted, and was rewarded with a faint twitch of Jinchul’s lips that
might have been a smile.
“True.” Jinchul picked up his tablet again, but his attention remained on Ryung Dae. “I’ll arrange for
your training to be accelerated. And I’ll speak with Grandfather about assigning you a mentor—someone
outside the family, who won’t coddle you.”
“I don’t need coddling.”
“No,” Jinchul agreed, something like pride in his voice. “I don’t think you do. Not anymore.”
They finished breakfast in comfortable silence, and Ryung Dae allowed himself a small moment of relief.
First hurdle cleared. His brother hadn’t noticed anything wrong—hadn’t realized that the person sitting
across from him was essentially a stranger wearing familiar skin.
But as he watched Jinchul leave for the Association headquarters, Ryung Dae’s mind was already racing
ahead. Because knowing the future was one thing—changing it was another. And if he wanted to make
a real difference, he needed to find Sung Jinwoo.
Not yet, though. Not while Jinwoo was still just the World’s Weakest Hunter, struggling through E-rank
dungeons and barely scraping by. No, Ryung Dae needed to be stronger first. Needed to establish himself,
build his skills, create a foundation that would let him stand as an equal when the time came.
And then?
Then he would find the Shadow Monarch-to-be and make sure that this time, no one had to suffer alone.
The next six months passed in a blur of training, study, and careful observation.
Ryung Dae threw himself into his new life with a dedication that surprised even himself. Mornings
were for physical conditioning—Taekwondo forms, sword drills, endurance training that left his muscles
screaming. Afternoons were for magic practice, learning to control the strange dual-natured power that
flowed through his veins. Evenings were for study: dungeon theory, monster ecology, Hunter law and
protocol.
His instructors were impressed. His brother was cautiously approving. His grandfather was delighted.
And Ryung Dae? Ryung Dae was exhausted, terrified, and more alive than he’d ever been.
Because the more he trained, the more he realized how much he didn’t know. The manhwa had shown
him the big picture—the dramatic battles, the power-ups, the world-shaking confrontations—but the
day-to-day reality of being a Hunter was something else entirely. The constant vigilance. The knowledge
that any gate could be your last. The weight of responsibility that came with having power in a world
where most people were helpless.
It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. It was everything his old life hadn’t been.
His magic, when he finally learned to access it properly, was unlike anything the Association’s instructors
had seen before. Light and dark, intertwined in a way that shouldn’t have been possible. The light aspect
manifested as healing energy—warm, golden, capable of mending wounds and soothing pain. The dark
aspect was… different. Colder. Sharper. It enhanced his physical abilities, wrapped around his weapons
like a second edge, and sometimes—when he wasn’t careful—whispered things in the back of his mind
about power and dominance and the natural order of predator and prey.
“You’re a hybrid class,” his primary magic instructor, a stern-faced B-rank Mage named Kim Soo-yeon,
told him after observing his progress. “That’s rare enough at higher ranks. At D-rank, it’s practically
unheard of.”
“Is that bad?” Ryung Dae asked, wiping sweat from his forehead.
“It’s dangerous,” Soo-yeon corrected. “Hybrid classes require more control, more discipline. The two
aspects of your magic are fundamentally opposed—light and dark, creation and destruction. If you lose
focus, they could tear you apart from the inside.”
Ryung Dae thought of Sung Jinwoo—the Shadow Monarch, who would eventually command both the
power of death and the authority of a Ruler. If Jinwoo could balance those opposing forces, surely he
could manage a little light and dark magic.
“I’ll be careful,” he promised.
“See that you are.” Soo-yeon’s expression softened slightly. “Your brother would never forgive me if I let
you get hurt.”
The mention of Jinchul made Ryung Dae smile. In the months since his “awakening,” his relationship
with his brother had evolved from cautious distance to something approaching genuine closeness. They
weren’t affectionate by nature—both too reserved, too conscious of their positions—but there was a
warmth in their interactions now that hadn’t been there before. Jinchul checked on his progress regularly,
offered advice when asked, and occasionally—very occasionally—shared stories about his own early days
as a Hunter.
It was nice, having a brother. Ryung Dae had been an only child in his old life, and he’d never realized
how much he’d missed the companionship until he had it.
But even as he built his new life, Ryung Dae never lost sight of his ultimate goal. He kept tabs on
Sung Jinwoo through Association records and public Hunter databases, tracking the other young man’s
painfully slow progress through the lowest ranks. E-rank. Still E-rank, four years after his Awakening.
The weakest Hunter in Korea, they called him. A disgrace to the profession. A cautionary tale for
aspiring Hunters everywhere.
Ryung Dae knew better. He knew that Jinwoo’s weakness was temporary—that the System was coming,
that everything would change. But knowing didn’t make it any easier to watch from a distance, to see the
records of Jinwoo’s hospital visits and failed raids and the desperate struggle to keep his mother alive.
“You seem distracted lately,” Jinchul observed one evening, finding Ryung Dae poring over Hunter mission
reports in the family library. “Is something wrong?”
“Just thinking about the future,” Ryung Dae said, not entirely lying.
“The future.” Jinchul settled into the chair across from him, loosening his tie with the ease of someone
finally off-duty. “You’ve been saying that a lot lately.”
“Because it’s important.” Ryung Dae set down his tablet, meeting his brother’s eyes. “Hyung… do you
believe in fate?”
Jinchul’s eyebrows rose. “That’s an unexpected question.”
“Humor me.”
His brother was silent for a moment, considering. “I believe that some things are… inevitable,” he said
finally. “The appearance of gates. The existence of Hunters. The fact that power concentrates in the hands of a few while the many suffer.” His expression darkened slightly. “But I also believe that
individuals can make choices. That the future isn’t written in stone.”
“What if I told you that I think I’m meant to meet someone?” Ryung Dae asked carefully. “Someone
important. Someone who could change everything.”
“I’d ask who.”
“I don’t know yet.” That was a lie—he knew exactly who. “But I feel it. Like… like something is pulling
me toward a specific path.”
Jinchul studied him with that unnerving intensity that seemed to see through every deflection. “You’re
talking about a Hunter.”
“Maybe.”
“A specific Hunter.”
Ryung Dae didn’t answer.
“Ryung Dae.” Jinchul’s voice was gentle but firm. “If there’s someone you’re interested in—romantically
or otherwise—I won’t judge you. But I need you to be careful. The Hunter world is… complicated.
Relationships between Hunters are even more so.”
“It’s not like that,” Ryung Dae said quickly, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. “I mean—I don’t know what
it’s like. I just… I feel like I need to find this person. That we’re supposed to meet.”
“Destiny again.” Jinchul sighed, but there was no mockery in it. “Fine. I won’t pretend to understand.
But if you do find this person—this someone important—bring them to meet me. I want to make sure
they’re worthy of my little brother’s attention.”
Ryung Dae laughed, surprised. “When did you become so protective?”
“I’ve always been protective,” Jinchul said, standing up. “I just hide it better than most.”
He left Ryung Dae alone with his thoughts, and the younger man smiled to himself. His brother really
was a good man—better than the manhwa had shown, or perhaps exactly as good but with more depth
than the pages could convey.
But Jinchul’s words had given him an idea. If he was going to meet Sung Jinwoo—and he was, he
absolutely was—he needed to do it properly. Not as a stranger, not as some D-rank Hunter looking for
a connection. He needed to be someone Jinwoo could trust. Someone Jinwoo could rely on.
He needed to be strong enough to stand beside the future Shadow Monarch and not be overshadowed.
The thought should have been daunting. Instead, it filled Ryung Dae with a strange, fierce determination.
He would train harder. Learn more. Become the kind of Hunter who could face Monarchs and Rulers
and the end of the world without flinching.
And when the time came—when the double dungeon appeared and the System awakened—he would be
there.
Not as a bystander. Not as a supporting character.
As an equal.
As a partner.
As someone who would never let Sung Jinwoo face the darkness alone.
Six months after his transmigration, Go Ryung Dae finally felt ready.
He’d advanced to C-rank through a combination of skill, dedication, and the unique nature of his hybrid
class. His magic was under control—mostly. His swordsmanship had progressed to the point where his
Kumdo instructor called him “promising” which, from Master Song, was high praise indeed. He’d even
begun learning Nitōjutsu, the art of dual-wielding, though he was still clumsy with two blades.
Most importantly, he’d established himself as a Hunter worth noticing. Not famous, not yet—but respected
within the Association and known for his competence and reliability.
It was time.
Time to find Sung Jinwoo.
The opportunity came through a routine mission assignment. A D-rank gate had opened in a district
on the outskirts of Seoul, and the Association was putting together a raid party of independent Hunters
to clear it. Ryung Dae volunteered to supervise—ostensibly as part of his ongoing training in dungeon
management, but really because he’d seen Sung Jinwoo’s name on the participant list.
His heart was pounding as he arrived at the gate location. This was it. The moment he’d been preparing
for. He was about to meet the protagonist of his favorite manhwa in person.
The other Hunters were already gathering—a mixed group of independents, most of them middle-aged
and experienced. Ryung Dae scanned the crowd, looking for a familiar face.
And then he saw him.
Sung Jinwoo was… smaller than Ryung Dae had expected. Not physically—though he was leaner than the
manhwa art had suggested—but in presence. He stood slightly apart from the other Hunters, shoulders
hunched, eyes downcast, trying to make himself invisible. His equipment was worn, his clothes slightly
too large, his whole demeanor screaming don’t notice me, I’m not worth your time.
He looked exhausted. Defeated. Like someone who had spent years being told he was worthless and had
started to believe it.
Ryung Dae’s chest ached.
This was the Shadow Monarch? This was the man who would one day command legions of shadows and
face down godlike beings? It seemed impossible. And yet—
And yet, even in his defeated posture, there was something about Jinwoo. A stubborn set to his jaw. A
quiet resilience in the way he held himself. The manhwa had captured it in dramatic panels and heroic
poses, but in person, it was subtler. Harder to see. But definitely there.
Ryung Dae took a breath and walked over.
“You’re Sung Jinwoo, right?” he asked, keeping his voice casual.
Jinwoo startled, looking up with wide eyes. Up close, Ryung Dae could see the dark circles under them,
the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand instinctively moved toward his dagger. “Y-yes? Do I know
you?”
“Not yet.” Ryung Dae smiled, trying to appear non-threatening. “I’m Go Ryung Dae, from the Association.
I’m supervising today’s raid. I saw your name on the roster and wanted to introduce myself.”
“Oh.” Jinwoo’s expression didn’t change—still wary, still closed off. “Is there a problem?”
“No problem. I just like to know who I’m working with.” Ryung Dae extended his hand. “Nice to meet
you, Sung Jinwoo-sshi.”
Jinwoo stared at his hand for a moment, suspicion warring with politeness. Finally, he reached out and
shook it. “Nice to meet you too, Go Ryung Dae-sshi.”
His grip was firm despite his apparent weakness, his palm calloused from years of handling weapons.
Ryung Dae filed the information away, pleased.
“Call me Ryung Dae,” he said. “We’re close in age, after all.”
“Then… call me Jinwoo.” The other man’s voice was soft, hesitant. “If you want.”
“I want.” Ryung Dae grinned, and was rewarded with a faint, surprised twitch of Jinwoo’s lips. “So,
Jinwoo—how long have you been raiding?”
“Four years.”
“Four years. That’s impressive dedication.” Ryung Dae meant it. Four years of being called the weakest
Hunter, of barely surviving dungeon after dungeon, of watching other people succeed while you struggled
—most people would have quit. The fact that Jinwoo was still here, still trying, spoke volumes about his
character.
“It’s not dedication,” Jinwoo said quietly. “It’s necessity.”
Ryung Dae’s smile faltered. Right. Jinwoo’s mother. The Eternal Sleep Disease. The medical bills that
kept Jinwoo trapped in a life of constant danger for pennies.
“I understand,” he said, and he did. “My grandfather is the Chairman of the Association. People think
that means I had everything handed to me. But they don’t see the expectations, the pressure, the way
everyone watches you waiting for you to fail.”
Jinwoo’s eyes widened slightly. “Your grandfather is—”
“Go Gun Hee. Yes.” Ryung Dae shrugged. “It’s not something I advertise. I want to make my own way,
you know? Prove that I’m worth something beyond my family name.”
For the first time, something like understanding flickered in Jinwoo’s expression. “I… I get that. Wanting
to prove yourself.”
“Then we’re already friends,” Ryung Dae declared, and was startled to realize he meant it. “Come on
—the raid’s about to start. Stick close to me, okay? I’ve got a feeling this dungeon might be trickier than
it looks.”
He didn’t know why he said that. The gate was rated D-rank, well within the capabilities of the assembled
party. But something prickled at the back of his neck, a warning he couldn’t ignore.
Jinwoo must have felt it too, because he nodded seriously. “I’ll stay close.”
The raid began.
At first, everything proceeded normally. The gate led to a standard cave dungeon, populated by goblins
and minor beasts. The Hunters moved through efficiently, clearing rooms and collecting drops. Ryung Dae
kept one eye on the battle and one on Jinwoo, noting the other young man’s competent if unremarkable
combat skills.
Jinwoo wasn’t a bad fighter, Ryung Dae realized. He was just limited by his low mana reserves and lack
of powerful skills. His technique was actually quite good—precise, efficient, making the most of every movement. If he’d had even average stats, he would have been a solid C-rank Hunter at least.
But he didn’t. And so he struggled, taking hits he shouldn’t have to take, burning through stamina faster
than he could replenish it.
Ryung Dae found himself moving closer to Jinwoo as the raid progressed, covering angles the other man
couldn’t, drawing aggro when Jinwoo’s attacks weren’t enough to hold a monster’s attention. It wasn’t
obvious—he didn’t want to embarrass Jinwoo or make him feel like he needed protection—but by the
time they reached the boss chamber, they were fighting in tandem like they’d been partners for years.
The boss was a hobgoblin chieftain—tougher than the standard dungeon boss, but nothing the party
couldn’t handle. The lead Hunter, a gruff C-rank named Park Beom-shik, organized the attack formation,
and the battle began.
Ryung Dae fought with one eye on Jinwoo, ready to intervene if necessary. But Jinwoo was holding his
own, darting in and out of the hobgoblin’s reach, landing hits where he could. They were going to win.
It was going to be fine.
And then the floor collapsed.
Ryung Dae had only a moment to register the cracking stone beneath his feet before the ground gave
way and he was falling, tumbling into darkness with Jinwoo’s startled cry echoing in his ears.
He hit hard, rolling to absorb the impact, and came up in a fighting stance. Dim light revealed that
they’d fallen into some kind of lower chamber—a hidden level, not marked on any dungeon map. The
air was thick with mana, heavy and oppressive, making his skin crawl.
“Jinwoo!” he called, searching the darkness.
“Here.” Jinwoo’s voice came from nearby, shaky but alive. “I’m here. What—what is this place?”
“I don’t know.” Ryung Dae moved toward the sound of Jinwoo’s voice, finding the other young man
leaning against a wall, clutching his arm. “Are you hurt?”
“Just bruised. I think.” Jinwoo looked around, eyes wide. “This shouldn’t exist. D-rank dungeons don’t
have hidden levels.”
“This one does.” Ryung Dae helped Jinwoo to his feet, keeping his own unease hidden. Because he
recognized this. He’d seen it in the manhwa, though the details were fuzzy. A hidden dungeon. A double
gate. The place where everything changed.
But that wasn’t supposed to happen yet. The double dungeon incident was years away, in a different
location, with different people.
Unless…
Unless his presence had changed things. Unless the timeline was shifting, responding to his interference.
“We need to get out of here,” Jinwoo said, trying to move toward where they’d fallen. “The others will
be looking for us.”
“Wait.” Ryung Dae grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Listen.”
They both froze, straining their ears.
From the depths of the hidden chamber, something was moving. Something big. Something that made
the air itself vibrate with menace.
“Run,” Ryung Dae whispered. “Now.”
They ran.
The chamber was a maze of corridors and rooms, each one darker than the last. Behind them, the sound
of pursuit grew louder—heavy footsteps, the scrape of claws against stone, a low, rumbling growl that
seemed to come from everywhere at once.
Ryung Dae’s heart hammered against his ribs. This was wrong. All wrong. The double dungeon had
been a trap, yes, but it had been a structured trap—a test, designed by the System. This felt different.
Chaotic. Hungry.
“Left!” he shouted, pulling Jinwoo down a side corridor. “Then right!”
“How do you know where to go?” Jinwoo gasped, keeping pace despite his injuries.
“I don’t! I’m guessing!”
They burst into a large chamber—and stopped dead.
The room was a cathedral of stone, vaulted ceilings lost in darkness above. At the far end, a massive
door stood closed, carved with symbols that made Ryung Dae’s eyes water to look at. And between them
and the door—
“Oh god,” Jinwoo breathed.
The monster was enormous. A wolf the size of a bus, with fur like shadow and eyes like burning coals. It
crouched before the door, lips pulled back from teeth longer than Ryung Dae’s forearm, a low, continuous
growl rumbling from its chest.
“A-rank,” Ryung Dae whispered, recognizing the level of mana radiating from the creature. “Maybe
higher.”
“We’re dead,” Jinwoo said, and there was no fear in his voice, just resignation. “We’re dead, and it’s my
fault. If I hadn’t been so weak, if I hadn’t needed you to protect me—”
“Shut up.” Ryung Dae stepped in front of him, drawing both his swords. The dark magic in his veins
surged, responding to his fear and adrenaline, wrapping around his blades like black flame. “We’re not
dying today. I didn’t transmigrate into this world just to get eaten by an oversized puppy.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Just—stay behind me. And if I tell you to run, you run.”
The wolf attacked.
It was faster than anything Ryung Dae had ever faced, a blur of darkness and death that nearly took his
head off in the first lunge. He dodged, barely, and slashed with both swords, the dark magic enhancing
his strike. His blades connected—and skidded off the wolf’s hide without leaving a mark.
Too strong, he realized, despair creeping in. Way too strong.
The wolf came again, and again, and Ryung Dae fought with everything he had. He used every technique
he’d learned, every trick and dirty move and desperate gambit. The light magic in him flared, trying to
heal the wounds he accumulated faster than he could sustain them. But it wasn’t enough. It was never
going to be enough.
A claw caught his shoulder, sending him flying. He hit the wall hard, feeling ribs crack, and slid to the
ground.
“Ryung Dae!” Jinwoo’s voice, raw with terror.
“Run,” Ryung Dae gasped, blood filling his mouth. “Jinwoo, run—”
The wolf turned toward Jinwoo, sensing easier prey.
“No!” Ryung Dae tried to rise, but his body wouldn’t respond. “NO!”
Jinwoo stood his ground. Despite everything, despite the terror in his eyes, he raised his dagger and
faced the monster. “I won’t let you hurt him.”
The wolf lunged—
And the world stopped.
A blue window appeared in the air before Jinwoo, glowing with ethereal light. Ryung Dae stared, recognition
flooding through him even as his consciousness faded.
The System.
It was early. Years early. But it was here.
“Emergency Quest activated,” a mechanical voice announced. “Player candidate identified. Commencing
evaluation protocol.”
The wolf froze mid-lunge, suspended in time like a fly in amber.
“Secondary candidate detected,” the voice continued, and suddenly there was another window, floating
in front of Ryung Dae’s fading vision. “Dual Awakening protocol initiated. Player 2 designation: Go
Ryung Dae. Class: Heir to Kratos, Monarch of War.”
What? Ryung Dae thought, even as darkness claimed him. That’s not—I don’t remember—
“Acceptance mandatory,” the System declared. “Welcome, Players. Your journey begins now.”
The last thing Ryung Dae saw before unconsciousness took him was Jinwoo’s face, turned toward him
with an expression of shock and wonder and something else—something that looked almost like hope.
And then everything went black.