"Breaking news! Earlier this evening, the Red Knight Guild has successfully cleared the Class B dungeon that suddenly appeared on Seocho-daero. According to eyewitnesses, the dungeon manifested without warning, causing a brief panic before the guild arrived on-site within minutes."
The anchor's voice was steady, professional, but even she couldn't completely hide the awe in her tone.
"This marks the seventh successful gate clearance by the Red Knight Guild in just under a month. With this latest raid, they've officially risen to 18th in the South Korea National Guild Rankings. Many are calling them the fastest-rising guild of the year."
The screen transitioned to a shot of the Red Knight Guild standing in front of the now-sealed gate, their crimson armor gleaming under streetlights. In the middle stood their leader, Shin Tae-Ho—tall, broad-shouldered, and unmistakably confident. He stepped forward as reporters gathered.
Shin Tae-Ho adjusted his earpiece, then smiled at the cameras. "To us, raiding isn't just about power or fame," he began, voice clear and practiced. "It's about passion. It's about waking up every day with a purpose and standing at the edge of danger for something bigger than yourself. Clearing this dungeon wasn't just a mission—it was a reminder. That no matter how high the walls are, if we climb together, we can surpass anything."
The crowd applauded as flashbulbs went off.
Back in the studio, the anchor smiled brightly. "An inspiring statement from the Red Knight's leader. And with that, the guild continues to gain national momentum. Experts predict they may break into the top 10 before the end of the quarter."
She turned slightly, posture shifting as the broadcast continued into another segment.
"Meanwhile, public discussions about raider accessibility and the rise of independent applicants continue to stir debate across the country…"
But Lee Gun-Woo had already tuned most of it out.
He sat under the flickering light of a streetlamp, a black jacket zipped up to his chin and matching trousers dusted from walking all day. A worn backpack sat next to him on the bench, the zipper slightly torn at one edge. In his hands, his phone screen cast a dim glow on his face.
The broadcast was still playing. He hadn't paused it. Just… stopped listening.
His thumb hovered over the comment section.
— "Red Knight really came outta nowhere and shot up the charts. Respect."
— "They're gonna be top 5 easy. Watch."
— "Tae-Ho is a natural-born leader. Korea's got a new hero."
Gun-Woo blinked slowly, reading the lines. One after another. All praise. All hype. All noise.
He didn't care.
Not about the rankings. Not about the leader's speech. Not about the crowd cheering like the Red Knight had just saved the damn country.
But still… he kept watching.
Because every time they climbed higher, he reminded himself how far he still had to go.
And how far he would go to pass them.
The cold night air pressed against his skin, but he didn't flinch. The wind stirred his hair slightly, but his eyes never left the screen.
It wasn't envy. Or jealousy.
It was focus. The kind you get when you've already tasted rock bottom and decided you weren't staying there.
Gun-Woo finally locked his phone and slid it into his jacket pocket. His legs pushed him upright slowly, methodically. The weight of the backpack slung over one shoulder felt heavier tonight, but not unbearable.
Six months ago, the Korea Raiders Council had looked him in the eye and told him something he still remembered word for word.
"You're not qualified to be a Raider, Mr. Lee. You lack… everything."
They hadn't even sugar-coated it.
No talent. No affinity. No mana. No impressive background. Not even a trace of potential.
Everything.
But he didn't let their words bury him.
Like hell he would.
Because six months ago, before the rejection, before the humiliation, before the door had slammed in his face—he had made a promise.
A promise whispered over trembling lips, beside a hospital bed that smelled like bleach and fading hope.
His mother had held his hand until her grip weakened. But her eyes… they never lost their light. Not until the very end.
"Just once," she had said, voice barely audible. "Just once… I want to see you… out there. As a Raider."
He remembered forcing a smile, even as her heart monitor slowed.
And he remembered what he said next.
"I'll do it, Mom. No matter what."
And he meant it.
So when the world told him he was nothing, he told it to wait.
Because the nothing they saw wasn't going to stay that way.
Now, under the stars, standing before a narrow alley where the city lights didn't reach, Gun-Woo stared at the swirling vortex that pulsed a few meters ahead.
A Dungeon Gate.
Unregistered. Hidden. Small—but very real.
To any passerby, it would look like a trick of the eye. A shimmer in the air. A chill on the spine.
But to him? It was opportunity.
Gun-Woo exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the strap of his backpack. Inside were only the basics. A cheap mana-resistant knife. A first-aid kit. A flashlight. One energy bar.
Hardly the equipment of a proper Raider.
But he didn't turn back.
His heart pounded like a drumline. He could feel the nerves crawling under his skin. His throat dry, palms sweaty.
He was scared.
Of course he was.
But fear doesn't stop you unless you let it.
Gun-Woo took one step closer. The gate shimmered brighter, reacting to his presence.
He paused at the edge, just before the threshold. Inhaled. Then exhaled.
"It's always a risk," he murmured.
Then he stepped in.
The world twisted.
And the night swallowed him whole.
—
The moment Lee Gun-Woo stepped through the gate, the world twisted—like glass warping around heat.
When it settled, he found himself standing in a narrow cave, cloaked in a damp, suffocating darkness.
The walls were jagged and breathing—no, not breathing, but the cave felt alive, as if it had a pulse of its own.
He pulled the flashlight from his backpack, clicked it on, and watched the narrow beam slice through the dark. Dust danced in the air. His other hand gripped the mana-resistant knife with a steady, practiced hold.
"Okay…" he muttered, taking a deep breath. "Let's do this."
His voice was quiet, but the sound echoed down the stone corridor like a whisper in a tomb.
The first few steps were cautious. He couldn't see the end, and that was never a good sign. Gun-Woo kept close to the wall, his boots crunching lightly over gravel and bone fragments—some fresh, some old.
He was scared. Of course he was.
But being scared never helped anyone. It didn't stop the monsters from lunging. Didn't heal wounds. Didn't push you forward.
So he moved.
He'd been doing solo raids like this for the last six months. Small, unregistered gates. Illegal, dangerous… but available. And sometimes that's all that mattered.
Every time, he walked in terrified.
Every time, he walked out bleeding.
But he always walked out.
That had to count for something.
Crunch.
A sound ahead. Sharp. Subtle.
He froze. Lowered his flashlight. Listened.
Something was scraping against the stone.
He tilted the light upward—and saw movement.
What the hell—?!
A shadow dropped from the ceiling like a bolt of lightning.
Gun-Woo didn't think. His body moved.
Not the refined instincts of a trained, elite raider. No precise footwork or honed technique.
This was survival. Raw, desperate instinct from six months of almost dying.
He rolled to the side, hit the wall, gritted his teeth—and drove the mana-resistant knife upward as the creature lunged past.
The blade pierced the side of its neck. Hot, sticky blood sprayed against his sleeve as the creature shrieked, thrashed, and then collapsed in a twitching heap.
Gun-Woo stayed crouched. Breathing hard. Knife held firm.
He waited for the glimmer. That soft, shimmering glow that usually came when a dungeon beast dropped a treasure or artifact.
But nothing appeared.
Just the corpse.
Silence.
"…No drop?" he muttered.
That could only mean one thing.
This dungeon wasn't cleared yet.
Which meant it had a boss.
Gun-Woo wiped the blade on the creature's hide and stood. "That's not right," he whispered to himself, stepping around the body. "Low-class gates like this don't have bosses. The council didn't even register it."
He clicked his flashlight back on and kept moving, deeper into the cave.
It wasn't long before more of the creatures emerged.
They came from the shadows, from the walls, from the ceiling. Long-limbed, pale-skinned, eyes like pits.
Gun-Woo didn't scream. Didn't back away.
He fought.
Every slash and stab came with gritted teeth and adrenaline. He wasn't fast. Wasn't strong. But he was stubborn.
Cuts bloomed across his arms. A long gash sliced across his side. One of them nearly crushed his ankle.
But he kept moving.
He ducked into a narrow crevice once the path cleared, dropped to one knee, and ripped open his first-aid kit.
"Come on, come on…" he muttered, breath ragged. He popped the antiseptic open, flinching as it burned across his side.
He wasn't a healer. No potions. No cleric watching his back.
Just gauze, tape, and pain.
He wrapped the wound tight, shoved the rest of the kit back into his pack, and limped forward.
Every part of his body screamed to stop.
But he didn't.
And then… the cave changed.
The tunnel opened into a larger chamber—massive, echoing, almost cold.
Ahead stood a gate.
No, not a dungeon gate like the one he entered through. This was… different.
This gate was ancient. Towering. Carved into the stone like it had been waiting centuries for someone to find it.
Intricate symbols curled along the sides of the stone. Old language. Pre-System. The kind of writing that scholars paid millions just to study.
Gun-Woo stared, breath caught in his throat.
"What is this…?" he whispered.
He couldn't read the words. But he could feel them.
Power. Warning. Boundaries. Death.
Everything about the door told him to turn back.
But he had come too far. Spilled too much blood. Endured too much pain.
He wasn't leaving without his treasure.
If this was where the dungeon boss was, then so be it.
Deep down, he knew he didn't stand a chance.
Whatever was waiting behind that gate would be beyond him. Stronger. Faster. Better.
But that's the thing about passion. About stubborn resolve.
Sometimes, even when the odds say no, you still move forward.
He placed one hand on the stone. It was cold. Humming.
Then he pushed.
The gate groaned. Stone slid against stone.
And as it opened, the air shifted.
Magic thickened around him like fog.
His heart thudded louder.
And then he saw it.
Gun-Woo froze.
His eyes widened.
His mouth opened.
But no words came out.
"What the hell is this…?" he whispered.
Before him wasn't a boss monster.
It was a battlefield.
He stood at the edge of a raised overlook, staring down into a sunken chamber.
Inside—dozens of Raiders.
Real ones. High-ranked. Armored. Armed. Shouting. Moving in formation.
And they weren't alone.
Across from them… towering beasts.
Dungeon bosses.
Multiple.
The ground shook with every clash. Magic exploded in every direction—blue light, red fire, golden shields.
Gun-Woo gripped the wall beside him to stay steady. His chest tightened.
Why were they here?
What was this place?
It didn't make sense. None of it did.
A low-class gate.
Unregistered.
And yet… a raid team? Facing bosses?
He didn't even have time to step back before one of the Raiders below turned—and looked straight at him.
Their eyes met.
Gun-Woo's heart stopped.
Because the Raider's expression changed. Surprise. Then confusion.
Then something worse.
Recognition.
The Raider raised a hand.
And pointed straight at him.
—