Two Hours Earlier
"Gate confirmed. Class D. Unregistered. Coordinates locked."
Raid Leader Han Tae-Suk narrowed his eyes at the swirling vortex in front of him. The gate shimmered like a living scar in reality—dark violet, unstable, and humming with mana. It hovered just above the asphalt in an abandoned industrial zone near Incheon.
Behind him, fifteen elite raiders stood ready, wearing matte black raid suits, sigils glowing softly on their shoulders. Each bore the crest of the Cerberus Guild—South Korea's third-ranked raid guild.
Tae-Suk tapped his earpiece. "Control, we're breaching the unregistered gate. Estimated return—one hour. Standard sweep."
"Copy that, Captain," came the voice from HQ. "Proceed with caution. That gate isn't marked on the tracker. Could be a flare anomaly."
"Or something worse," he muttered.
He turned to the others. "Gear check. We're moving in."
Weapons gleamed. Mages chanted barrier spells. One healer tied her long hair back into a bun and nodded.
The last to step forward was Choi Do-Jin—the guild's youngest rising star. A Mid-B rank with two successful boss kills under his belt and the swagger to match. He slung his spear across his back and grinned.
"Seriously? A D-rank? You sure this isn't just a test for rookies?"
Tae-Suk didn't smile. "Stay alert. Something about this one feels off."
Do-Jin rolled his eyes but said nothing more.
At 14:23, they stepped into the gate.
The world flipped.
The team was pulled through the rift like string through a needle, compressed, spun, and then—
Dropped.
They landed inside what looked like a massive stone chamber—columns rising like fangs from the floor, mist curling at the edges of the walls. The air was thick. Denser than normal.
The first thing Tae-Suk noticed wasn't the architecture. It was the silence.
No ambient monster growls. No system chimes. No environmental prompts.
Just silence.
"This isn't a D-rank gate," the mage whispered.
Tae-Suk's jaw tensed. "Formation. Now."
They moved quickly, training taking over. The mage cast detection spells. The tank raised his shield. The healer began prepping a warding circle. Do-Jin knelt and touched the floor.
"No exit gate," he muttered. "We're sealed in."
And then the ground trembled.
A pulse of mana spread through the air like a breath.
The mist parted—and across the chamber, four massive portals opened simultaneously, vomiting out entities too large to belong in this tier.
Dungeon bosses.
Four of them.
"Impossible!" the healer gasped.
"No… this is a trap," Tae-Suk muttered.
The word formed in his mind like a curse. A legend. A whisper passed between veteran raiders in hushed tones.
"…A Mirage Core."
The others froze.
Do-Jin turned. "You're not serious."
Tae-Suk's eyes didn't leave the portals. "This isn't a gate. It's a trap-layered pocket dungeon. Mirage Core. I've only heard rumors… Dungeons that warp space, chain boss arenas together, and lure raiders in with fake coordinates."
"So we've been played."
"Yeah," Tae-Suk said grimly. "And we're not getting out until we beat all of them."
The first of the bosses roared—a molten bear with horns of steel and eyes like suns. The ground cracked beneath its paws.
"Positions!" Tae-Suk bellowed. "This just became survival!"
They fought.
Magic flared in every direction. Lightning bolts and flames. Steel against hide. Swords breaking against scales. The first boss went down after a brutal fifteen-minute fight, costing them two injured raiders and almost all of their potions.
The second one came through a different portal—a skeletal wyrm draped in fog, breathing curses instead of fire. Its breath aged metal. Shattered their armor.
The third—a humanoid creature clad in golden plates, wielding two axes that burned with black flame. Do-Jin barely dodged a swing that would've split him in half.
And then the fourth boss emerged… and paused.
It didn't attack.
It simply stood at the far end of the chamber, as if waiting.
That was when things got worse.
Because the air changed again. The gate shifted behind them. And a new rift opened—not a boss portal, but something else.
A side fracture.
A hallway.
And from the shadows of that hallway—someone stumbled into view.
Alone.
A boy. Seventeen? Maybe eighteen.
Wearing a black jacket soaked in sweat. A knife gripped in one hand. A flashlight in the other. Blood across his chest.
His eyes scanned the battlefield like someone who had just woken from a dream.
Gun-Woo.
Tae-Suk saw him and froze.
It was impossible. But there he was.
Lee Gun-Woo.
Not a raider. Not even on the registered lists.
"What the hell…?" Tae-Suk whispered.
He had met the kid once. A brief encounter after a mock trial for new applicants. Gun-Woo had failed spectacularly. The council had said he lacked everything—mana compatibility, battle sense, even the right temperament.
And yet here he was.
Alive.
Standing at the edge of a multi-boss trap dungeon.
How the hell did he get here?
Tae-Suk raised a hand, signaling the others without taking his eyes off the boy.
"Hold fire."
Gun-Woo didn't notice them at first. He was too stunned. Too locked into the chaos below.
But then—
Their eyes met.
Tae-Suk saw the confusion in the kid's face.
Then fear.
Then… something else.
Resolve.
Like he'd been waiting for this moment. Like he belonged here.
The boss that had been waiting at the far end of the chamber let out a low growl, sensing the shift. The other bosses turned their heads.
And just like that, the trap began to shift again.
The Mirage Core wasn't done.
"Everyone!" Tae-Suk shouted. "Defensive stance! We've got movement!"
But he wasn't looking at the bosses anymore.
He was looking at Gun-Woo.
And wondering—
What the hell are you?
—
Gun-Woo stood frozen at the edge of the broken chamber, heart pounding in his chest like a war drum.
What the hell was this?
Raider guild members—elite ones—were inside the dungeon. Fighting. Bleeding. Dying.
He was sure he'd entered a low-class gate. Nothing dangerous. Nothing like… this.
A roar tore through the chamber, one of the dungeon bosses swinging a flaming axe that melted part of the floor. Cracks spread like spiderwebs beneath it. A mage in robes ducked behind a fallen pillar, panting heavily.
Then her eyes locked on him.
"You can at least come help us instead of standing there like a damn statue!" she screamed, voice raw with desperation.
Gun-Woo blinked. She was talking to him.
There was no time to think.
He jumped.
Boots slammed against the stone below, knees flexing to absorb the shock. He drew his mana-resistant blade mid-motion, flashlight clipped to his collar now casting jagged shadows as he sprinted into the chaos.
Screams echoed across the chamber. Spells detonated. Blood slicked the ground.
And none of it felt real.
But it was.
He reached the front lines, dodging a swipe from a horned beast the size of a truck. His knife flashed upward—steel meeting sinew. The thing let out a shriek and fell back, just long enough for one of the other raiders to finish it with a bolt of lightning to the skull.
No introductions. No questions.
Just survival.
Gun-Woo fell into rhythm.
His body was already battered from the monsters he fought earlier in the cave, but adrenaline dulled the pain. Fear was there too, clawing at his chest—but it couldn't slow him down.
"Left!" someone shouted.
He turned just in time, ducking beneath a bone axe that would've split his skull.
Another mage nearby screamed as a spiked tail skewered her mid-incantation, lifting her off the ground and flinging her into a column. She didn't move again.
Gun-Woo gritted his teeth. Kept fighting.
It was like a storm with no center. Every second was another choice—another swing, another dodge, another split-second decision that could mean life or death.
Han Tae-Suk was shouting orders, his voice hoarse but clear. "Reposition! Pull the third boss away from the core group!"
His left arm was limp—broken or torn, Gun-Woo couldn't tell. Blood poured down his armor.
Still, the man stood.
Until he didn't.
One of the bosses—a plated giant with blazing red eyes—smashed its hammer into the floor. The shockwave tossed several raiders aside like dolls. Gun-Woo saw Tae-Suk stumble, then a jagged chunk of debris caught him across the ribs and sent him sprawling.
"Captain!" someone yelled.
Gun-Woo dashed toward him, sliding under another beast's legs. His knife struck out on instinct—slashes across ankles, tendons. The monster buckled for a moment, giving him room.
He reached Tae-Suk.
The man was barely conscious. Blood leaking from his mouth. Gun-Woo dropped beside him, propping him up with one arm.
"You're the kid," Tae-Suk coughed. "From the test…"
Gun-Woo nodded, tightening his grip on the knife. "No time. Just breathe."
Tae-Suk let out a short laugh that sounded more like a wheeze. "You're not supposed to be here… but I'm glad you are."
Gun-Woo turned back to the battlefield.
They were losing.
One of the healers was crushed beneath falling stone. Another tank was cut down mid-charge, blade snapping in two. Mages were down to their last reserves.
Only one man still stood tall among the madness.
Choi Do-Jin.
His spear danced like lightning, piercing through enemy hides with precise, devastating jabs. Every motion was clean, intentional. He ducked, spun, flipped—never wasting a step.
But even he was breathing hard now. His armor cracked. Blood streaked his cheek.
Gun-Woo joined him without a word.
They fought side by side.
Do-Jin shot him a glance, recognition flickering for a second. "You're not supposed to be here."
Gun-Woo shrugged, blade flashing as he cut down another lurching beast. "Guess I didn't read the rules."
Do-Jin gave a breathless laugh. "Stay alive, rookie."
But Gun-Woo already knew he wouldn't.
His body was reaching its limit.
Cuts ran along his side, one leg dragged slightly, and his arm—his dominant arm—was trembling.
Still, he kept pushing.
Because every second he lasted was another second the others could regroup.
Because that's what raiders did.
Because this was the promise he made to his mother when she could barely speak from the hospital bed.
"Make your dream real," she had whispered. "No matter what they say."
A scream tore through the chamber.
Another raider fell.
Then a second.
And then—
Gun-Woo's knife shattered.
A monstrous claw slammed into him, flinging him across the field. He skidded against the floor, tumbling until his back struck a column with a sickening crack.
Everything went blurry.
He gasped.
Pain—sharp, crushing pain bloomed in his chest. He tried to sit up, but his limbs wouldn't respond.
Everything felt… heavy.
And then he saw the final boss.
It loomed above him.
Its body was like blackened iron, wings curled inward, eyes glowing with unnatural hunger.
It raised its hand—claws longer than swords.
No one was close enough to stop it.
And Gun-Woo couldn't move.
Time slowed.
His breath hitched.
So this was it.
This was how it ended.
His eyes flicked toward the others. Tae-Suk still slumped against the wall. Do-Jin, exhausted and bleeding, still standing. The others trying to regroup.
And he realized—
He had bought them time.
Even if just a little.
Maybe enough.
And somehow, that made it okay.
He smiled faintly.
His body ached. His vision dimmed.
His thoughts drifted—to his mother. To the cramped apartment. The smell of her stew. Her voice, tired but always warm.
You'll be someone great, Gun-Woo. Even if they don't see it yet.
His lips moved.
"Sorry, Mom. Not yet… but maybe next time."
The claw came down.
There was no scream.
Only silence.
And then—darkness.
The last thing Gun-Woo saw was the glimmer of light reflecting off broken stone.
And then, nothing.
His eyes closed.
—