[Seoul – The Skyline] [Time: 10:30 PM]
Flying is loud.
Movies don't tell you that. The wind rushes past your ears at sixty miles per hour, creating a deafening roar. Your eyes water. Bugs hit your face like tiny bullets.
I wasn't flying, technically. I was falling. I was just convinced the universe that "Down" was actually "Forward."
[Active Skill: Vector Control] [Target: Self] [Direction: 15 degrees North-East]
I slid through the air between the skyscrapers of Gangnam, my coat flapping behind me. I felt like a glitch in a video game—an object moving in a straight line regardless of gravity.
"System," I shouted over the wind. "How much mana is this burning?"
[System: Minimal. You aren't generating force; you are just redirecting the potential energy of your fall. You are essentially an angry, aerodynamic brick.]
"I'll take it."
I spotted the Old Market below. It was a scar in the shiny city—a maze of alleys covered in tarps and rusty corrugated iron, lit by flickering red neon signs. It was where the unofficial Hunters, the unlicensed potion brewers, and the dungeon scavengers did business.
I needed to land.
I looked at a flat rooftop of a warehouse. I was coming in too hot.
"Brakes," I muttered.
I didn't slow down. I just changed the vector of my momentum from "Forward" to "Up" for a split second.
I swooped upward, bleeding off speed, and then dropped gently onto the gravel roof. My boots touched down with barely a sound.
[Skill Proficiency: Vector Control (Level 1)] [Note: You looked cool. Nobody saw it, which is a tragedy.]
I adjusted my collar, pulled up my black face mask, and checked my hammer. It was shrunk down in its "Travel Mode" (a convenient feature of high-tier artifacts), hanging on my belt like a heavy baton.
"Stall 44," I recalled.
I took the fire escape down to the alley.
[The Old Market – The Guts] [Time: 10:45 PM]
The smell hit me first. Fermented cabbage, grilled monster meat, and ozone.
The market was crowded. Hooded figures haggle over jars of Slime fluid. A blacksmith was hammering a dented breastplate in the open street. A goblin—a non-hostile one, rare but legal—was selling skewers of unknown origin.
I walked through the crowd. My new class, [Axiom Walker], gave me a passive sense of the forces around me.
I could feel the kinetic energy of the crowd. The heavy footsteps of a Tank class to my left. The light, nervous twitching of a Rogue to my right. I felt the tension in the air like a physical web.
I found Stall 44.
It was a noodle shop. A greasy counter with four stools, tucked under a dripping awning.
A man was sitting on the far stool, slurping a bowl of udon. He wore a trench coat that was too big for him and a fedora that looked like it had been stolen from a 1940s detective movie.
He didn't look like a threat. He looked like a Weasel.
I sat down two stools away.
"Spicy beef noodles," I told the old woman cooking behind the counter. "Double meat."
The Weasel paused mid-slurp. He didn't look at me.
"You're prompt," he said. His voice was nasally. "I like that in a client."
"And I like privacy," I said, staring straight ahead. "Who are you?"
"Names are dangerous," the Weasel chuckled. "Call me Info. Or Broker. Or 'The guy holding your leash'."
He tapped his phone on the counter.
"I have a drone recording. High definition. Shows a certain 'Porter' entering the Frozen Spire with the late Seraphina Frost. And exiting alone, five hours later, claiming she died."
He turned to look at me, a smug grin revealing yellow teeth.
"The White Tiger Guild is offering a 100 million won bounty for information on her death. They think it's fishy. If I send them this video... they'll know you lied about the timeline. They'll know you were her partner, not just a mule."
"So you want money?" I asked calmly.
The old woman slammed a bowl of noodles in front of me. I broke my chopsticks.
"I want 200 million," the Weasel said. "Cash. Tonight."
I took a bite of the noodles. They were good. Surprisingly spicy.
"No," I said.
The Weasel blinked. "Excuse me? Maybe you didn't hear—"
"I heard you. You want 200 million won to keep a secret." I chewed slowly. "But here's the problem with blackmail. Once I pay you, you'll just ask for more next month. It's a bad investment."
"Then I send the video," his hand hovered over his phone.
"Go ahead."
The Weasel froze. He wasn't expecting that.
"If you send that video," I said, keeping my voice conversational, "The White Tigers will come for me. Sure. But do you know who else is watching me?"
I leaned in slightly.
"The Chairman."
The color drained from the Weasel's face. Everyone in the underworld knew rumors of the Chairman. The shadow that ran the corporations.
"I work for him," I lied (technically true). "I killed the Ice Queen on his orders. If you expose his operation... do you think he'll just let the whistleblower walk away?"
I pointed my chopsticks at him.
"You release that video, and you're not just dooming me. You're signing your own death warrant. The White Tigers might pay you. The Chairman will skin you."
The Weasel swallowed hard. His hand trembled over the phone.
"You... you're bluffing."
"Am I?"
I activated [Vector Control].
I didn't touch him. I focused on the broth in his udon bowl.
I reversed the gravity vector of the liquid.
Splosh.
The hot soup shot straight up, hovering in a suspended globule inches from his nose. Steam curled around his glasses.
"I'm an Axiom Walker," I whispered. "I control the direction of things. Soup. Bullets. Blood flow."
I flicked my finger.
The soup dropped back into the bowl with a wet slap, splashing his coat.
The Weasel scrambled back, falling off his stool. "What the hell are you?"
"I'm the guy who killed an A-Rank Boss," I said, turning back to my noodles. "Now. Sit down. We're going to renegotiate."
The Weasel picked himself up. He looked terrified. He sat down, far on the edge of the stool.
"What... what do you want?"
"You have information," I said. "You saw me enter the dungeon. That means you have eyes on the Gates. That's useful."
I pulled out a wad of cash from my inventory—about 5 million won. I tossed it on the counter.
"This is a retainer. You're not blackmailing me. You're working for me."
The Weasel stared at the money. Greed warred with fear in his eyes. Greed won. It always does.
"Working for you... doing what?"
"I need to know about the Black Markets," I said. "Specifically, skill books. Unique ones. And I need to know if anyone else is asking about Seraphina Frost."
The Weasel pocketed the money quickly, glancing around.
"There is... a rumor," he lowered his voice. "The 'Night Market' is opening next week. Underground auction. High-end goods. Loot from unregistered dungeons."
He leaned in.
"Word is, someone is selling a 'Fragment of a Star'. A crafting material. But the seller... the seller claims it came from the dungeon where Seraphina's mother died five years ago."
I stopped eating.
Seraphina's mother. The Cryo-Lich incident.
"Who is the seller?"
"Anonymous. But the auction is invitation only."
"Get me an invite," I ordered.
"It's expensive," the Weasel whined. "And dangerous. The Auction House is run by the Dokkaebi Guild. They don't like strangers."
"Get me the invite," I repeated, my eyes glowing faintly with mana. "Or I change the vector of your intestines to 'Out'."
"Okay! Okay!" He scrambled up. "I'll get it! Two days! Meet me here!"
He ran into the crowd, disappearing like a rat into a sewer.
[System: You have acquired a Minion. Minion Rank: Rat. Loyalty: Low. Usefulness: Moderate.]
I finished my noodles. I drank the broth.
"Night Market," I mused.
If items from Seraphina's mother's dungeon were surfacing now, it wasn't a coincidence.
I paid the old woman and walked out into the rain.
[The Streets – Walking Home] [Time: 11:30 PM]
I walked home the long way. I needed to think.
The Chairman thought I was his loyal dog. The Public thought I was a lucky survivor (or a liar). The Underworld thought I was a terrifying assassin.
And Ash? Just Ash?
I looked at my reflection in a puddle.
I was Level 20. I had a Unique Class. I had 500 million won.
But I was still playing defense. Reacting to the Chairman. Reacting to the System.
"I need to build my own foundation," I muttered.
I couldn't do a 5000-chapter story alone. Seraphina was gone (for now). I needed a team. But not a flashy Guild team. I needed people who were broken, ignored, or underestimated. People like the "Porter".
I turned a corner and saw a small commotion in an alleyway.
Three thugs were cornering a kid.
The kid looked young—maybe 16. Scrawny. Messy hair. He was clutching a rusty dagger that looked like it would break if he hit cheese.
"Hand over the bag, kid," one thug growled. He was holding a baseball bat that glowed with weak mana. "You haven't paid the toll."
"It's my loot," the kid stammered. His voice cracked. "I earned it. I killed the slime myself."
"You're an E-Rank," the thug laughed. "You don't own anything."
He raised the bat.
I stopped.
It was a cliché. The strong bullying the weak. The E-Rank getting stepped on.
It was exactly what had happened to me for three years.
[System: Side Quest Detected. 'The Scavenger'. Reward: +10 Karma. +500 EXP.] [Do you want to intervene? Or are you too cool for alley fights now?]
I sighed. "I hate bullies."
I didn't run. I just walked into the alley.
"Hey," I said.
The thugs turned.
"Get lost, hobo," the leader sneered. "This is Guild business."
I looked at the kid. He was shaking, but he hadn't dropped the dagger. He had potential.
"Three on one," I noted. "That's messy."
I raised my finger.
[Active Skill: Vector Control]
The leader swung the bat at me.
I tweaked the vector. Instead of swinging at me, the force of his swing was redirected down.
The bat slammed into his own foot.
CRACK.
"AAAAH!" He dropped, clutching his toes.
The other two froze.
"Witchcraft!" one yelled. They charged.
I didn't move my feet. I just slapped the air.
I redirected the air pressure, creating a sudden gust of wind—a localized gale force slap—that knocked them both into the dumpsters.
It took five seconds.
The thugs groaned, realized they were outclassed, and scrambled away, dragging their leader.
I looked at the kid.
He was staring at me with wide eyes.
"You... you're a Mage?" he whispered.
"Something like that," I said.
I looked at his bag. It was leaking green slime fluid.
"What's your name, kid?"
"Clint," he said. "Clint... the Archer. Well, aspiring Archer. I don't have a bow yet."
"An Archer with a dagger," I smirked. "Classic."
I reached into my inventory. I pulled out a spare D-Rank dagger I had looted from a random mob in the Spire. It was decent steel, enchanted with minor speed.
I tossed it to him. He fumbled and caught it.
"Keep it," I said.
"Why?" He looked at the blade, stunned. "This is worth... a lot."
"Consider it an investment," I said. "Get strong, Clint. And next time... aim for the knees."
I turned and walked away.
[System: You have planted a seed. Let's see if it grows into a tree or a weed.]
I walked out of the alley, feeling a little lighter.
The Night Market was in two days. The Chairman was watching. And somewhere, Seraphina was (hopefully) alive.
The prologue was over. The real story was just beginning.
[End of Chapter 25]