The door creaked.
Damon turned his head sharply.
Footsteps—light, deliberate—approached from the hallway. His senses, dulled by the stillness of this new world, flared to life.
He hadn't ordered food. No one should know he was awake yet.
His eyes scanned the room for anything useful—a pen, a lamp, even the cracked laptop—his instincts overriding any semblance of reason.
The doorknob twisted.
Then—click.
The door opened slowly, revealing a slim figure in a school uniform, framed by the morning light. A girl—black hair tied back in a tidy ponytail, a familiar sharpness in her eyes.
"Damon?" she asked cautiously.
He blinked. His thoughts scattered.
"…Ariadne?"
Her brows lifted. "You're awake."
The voice. The tone. The face—it was her. His sister. His real sister.
But she was supposed to be dead.
Slaughtered in the first wave of dungeon outbreaks. A cruel, senseless death that had haunted Damon for decades.
He stepped forward, stunned.
"Ariadne — you're alive."
She tilted her head. "Duh. You think I'm dead? You've only been out for a few hours, dumbass."
Damon's breath caught.
The system. His return. The timeline was intact. The world truly hadn't ended yet.
And Ariadne… was still here.
His eyes welled with tears. He blinked hard and looked away quickly, swallowing the lump in his throat.
"Right. Just… disoriented. Bad dream."
She sighed, tossing a small bag onto his bed. "Mom said to bring you this before I head out. There's breakfast inside."
Then she paused, scrutinizing his face. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I'm fine," he replied hoarsely, forcing a weak smile. "Just… glad to see you."
Ariadne raised a brow but said nothing. "Don't be weird."
With that, she turned and walked off. The door clicked shut behind her.
Damon stood there in silence.
His hands trembled again—this time not from fear or tension, but from a flood of memories and relief.
He had saved her.
Not through strength or power—but by simply existing in the past.
She was alive.
The bag on the bed smelled faintly of egg and rice.
He sat down, staring at it.
In the coming future, food like this would have sparked riots.
He lifted the container and took a bite.
It was warm. Real. Soft.
His chest tightened.
It wasn't just the system that had returned with him.
It was everything.
People. Places. Choices.
And consequences.
This time, nothing would be left to chance.
Not his family.
Not the world.
And definitely not himself.
---
Damon leaned back against the headboard, the scent of breakfast still clinging faintly to the air.
The silence returned—but this time, it wasn't the oppressive quiet of a ruined world. It was calm. Clean. Useful.
He needed time to think.
The system had acknowledged him. The world had not yet awakened. The apocalypse, as far as he could tell, was still years away.
That meant opportunities.
Dungeons didn't operate like clockwork—some awakened right at the apocalypse, others years later. But all dungeons, regardless of strength, were unawakened right now, quietly existing beneath the surface. Dormant. Waiting.
And thanks to his title, 『Pioneer』, he could find them.
"I'll need gear," Damon muttered, cracking his knuckles. "Something quiet. Something reliable. No guns allowed. Too loud. Too risky."
The image of a goblin flashed through his mind.
In his old life, they were pests—weak individually, scattered, crude. But early on? They were deadly. Fast. Cunning. Capable of ambushes that decimated untrained humans.
He couldn't afford arrogance.
Not now.
"I need something that works in tight spaces," he whispered. "Something with fast reloading, high control, and minimal sound."
Suddenly, an idea came to mind.
A bow.
His eyes narrowed.
"Yes. A composite bow. High draw strength, low recoil. Could be used for hunting deer—or monsters. And with the right number of arrows, I could farm until I get some decent equipment."
He glanced at his phone on the desk and snatched it up.
The screen blinked to life.
Passcode. Fingerprint. All still active.
Damon tapped into the banking app—his hand twitching slightly with anticipation.
One moment passed. Then another.
Then—chime.
Account Balance: ₱1,023.75
He exhaled.
Not rich. But not broke either. Just enough to get started.
"Perfect," he muttered. "That should cover a decent bow, arrows, and a few extras."
"Maybe even a hunting license, just to avoid suspicion."
He rose to his feet and pulled open the closet. Familiar clothes greeted him—hoodies, jeans, an old school jacket. Most of it outdated, ill-fitting.
He threw on a dark hoodie and black jeans, then slipped on sneakers.
No armor. No enchanted rings. No system-enhanced boots.
Just cotton, denim, and rubber soles.
Strangely comforting.
He grabbed a black bag from the closet, worn but sturdy—perfect for carrying his new equipment.
Before leaving, Damon returned to the mirror.
He took a moment to stare at his reflection—at the man who had already become a demon.
"No shortcuts this time," he said quietly. "No compromises."
Then he left.
---
The bus ride into the city was uneventful. Quiet. Almost too quiet.
No monsters. No refugees. No bloodied survivors huddled in burned-out shelters.
Just civilians. Students. Office workers. A woman scrolling through cat videos.
The sheer normalcy of it all was surreal to him.
Damon sat quietly near the back of the bus, his hood drawn, eyes scanning the streets.
He still remembered the layout of the city. Every hidden alley. Every reinforced building. Every future dungeon gate and monster outbreak.
In time, they'd all turn into warzones.
But for now…
They were just streets.
The bus hissed to a stop at the corner of Westvale and Ninth.
He stepped down onto the sidewalk. The late morning sun glared off passing windshields, the air tinged with the faint aroma of roasting coffee and warm pavement.
His eyes scanned the block.
Nestled between a tire shop and a row of café stalls was his destination: a little outdoorsman store called Hunter's Mark.
In his past life, it had been looted and torched during the start of the apocalypse. But now, the windows were clean. A display of bows, guns, and tactical knives sat proudly behind the glass.
Damon stepped inside.
A bell chimed overhead.
The air was thick with the scent of wax, oil, and tanned leather. Rows of gear lined the shelves—flashlights, hunting apparel, boots, knives.
A man behind the counter looked up.
"Morning. Need help with anything?"
"I'm looking for a composite bow," Damon said. "High draw weight. Deer-capable."
The man raised a brow, clearly surprised. "You hunt?"
"Planning to," Damon replied smoothly. "Got some woods behind my uncle's property. Looking to train."
"Ah. That so?" The man gestured. "Follow me. Got just the thing."
He led Damon to a rack near the back—rows of sleek bows, ranging from starter models to top-grade hunters.
"This one here's a 70-pound compound," he said, pulling one down. "Carbon limbs. Adjustable cams. You'll feel it in your shoulders, but it'll put a bolt clean through a boar."
Damon took it, testing the grip.
Balanced. Firm.
It felt good.
He gave a short nod. "I'll take it. Quiver and carbon arrows, too."
"And a release?"
"Yeah. Throw that in."
The man gave him another glance, this time more curious.
"You sure you're not military?"
Damon smirked faintly. "Not yet. Just serious."
Minutes later, he walked out of the store with a black hard case slung over his back and a smaller bag of accessories in hand.
It wasn't gear fit for a dungeon raid—but it was enough.
Enough to begin.
---
Damon returned home just before noon.
By then, the sun had climbed higher.
He set the bow case down on his desk, then flipped it open carefully.
Inside lay the weapon—polished, deadly, silent.
He ran his fingers along the limbs, then picked up an arrow and held it to the light.
"Soon," he whispered.
His thoughts turned to the dungeons.
There would be one beneath the Museum of Acropolis—a B-rank dungeon that wouldn't awaken until year four of the apocalypse. Another lay beneath the ruins of the old Saphir Mall—a C-rank cave system crawling with goblins and hallucinogenic fog, set to awaken by year two.
The latter would serve as his first target.
Low threat. Close enough to scout without suspicion.
And if he moved carefully... he could begin building his strength there.
No alarms. No witnesses. No interruptions.
Just Damon Kyriazis and a nest full of goblins.
He reached for a notepad and began scribbling.
* Saphir Mall – Basement Entrance (C-Rank)
* Estimated Awakening: Late 2027
* Dominant Species: Goblins (Feral, basic variant)
* Environmental Hazards: Hallucinogenic Fog
* Escape Route: Southwest emergency stairwell
"I guess I'll do my first dungeon run tomorrow. Now I need to sleep. I really need some rest."
He tapped the bow case.
"Let's see what the world really has left to offer me tomorrow."