The sun poured down, warm against my skin.
Its heat kissed my face like an old friend.
"Haahh..." I breathed out, my voice shaky but alive.
Then—
Gasps.
Someone had seen me.
A voice cracked through the air like disbelief wrapped in hope.
"S..Seo-Jun? Is that you?"
The cigarette slipped from his fingers, falling to the dirt like an afterthought. His eyes were wide—frozen on me like he'd seen a ghost.
"Mr. Baek..." I muttered, the name passing my lips with quiet weight.
The cloak I wore flowed with the breeze, black and silent like the grave I crawled out of.
Behind me, the portal—the Hell's Gate—cracked with a sound like thunder splitting stone.
A ripple.
A shatter.
And then... nothing.
Gone.
Dungeon: cleared.
"You... you just came out of the—how?" Mr. Baek stammered, his voice trembling with disbelief.
I offered a soft, tired smile. "Long story, Mr. Baek. It's good to see you again... but I have something I need to do."
I began to walk past him.
But he turned sharply, blocking my path. "Kang Ilhoon said you died. The gate was sealed two days ago—after they escaped. What the hell happened in there?"
Of course he did.
I knew he would.
Throwing me to the wolves wasn't enough—Kang Ilhoon had to bury me, too.
I didn't stop walking. Didn't look back.
"Let's just say," I said calmly, "he was half right."
I left Mr. Baek stunned, frozen in disbelief, his eyes glued to the shattered gate behind me.
I didn't look back.
I made it back home.
On the way, people stared.
Like I was some kind of miracle.
No surprise—Kang Ilhoon probably told everyone the Crestless one died pathetically. A cautionary tale. A loser's ending.
So imagine their faces when I walked past them, cloaked in black, alive.
Now, I'm lying on my bed, body sore, muscles aching in places I didn't even know existed.
The room is quiet, the late afternoon sun slanting through the window.
And right in front of me floats the Ink System—its interface still open.
[Character Development – Cooldown Remaining: 18 Hours 12 Minutes]
Yeah... that one's gonna take a while.
Makes sense though.
If it were only ten minutes or twenty, I'd be ascending faster than a shounen protagonist with plot armor and a tragic backstory.
Another flag for Deus ex Machina.
Another story ruined by a too-convenient system.
The Ink System doesn't want that.
It wants struggle. Conflict.
It wants a damn good narrative.
And I guess... so do I.
Things don't just happen because they happen. There has to be a reason—something that makes it believable, even if it's not real.
But then again... in a fictional world—one I created, one built inside a book—is it really necessary to follow that logic?
I mean, it's fiction for a reason, right? So why should there be consequences? Why should there be rules?
Maybe it's because even fiction has laws. Not laws like gravity or time—but narrative laws. The kind that make a plot work. That keep readers from rolling their eyes and closing the book.
Philosophically speaking, every story—every theme—has a limit. A boundary for what can or should happen.
Take this: a character is hanging from a cliff with one hand, inches from death. Tension is high. Stakes are real.
Now imagine I wrote:
"And then, a gust of wind gently lifted them up and placed them safely on the ground."
Does that make sense?
It doesn't—even if I could write it.
Especially not if the story is a romance. Or an action drama.
Not unless I set up that kind of magic or absurdity from the beginning.
Because fiction doesn't need realism—
But it does need consistency.
Now, if it's a fantasy setting, and I wrote:
"With his magic, he commanded the wind to push him up."
That would make sense.
Why? Because the word magic changed everything.
It's not about whether something's possible—it's about whether it's believable within the rules of the world.
You introduce magic? That's a rule. You define that the character has wind-based abilities? That's structure. You're building a world where the unbelievable becomes believable—because you gave it a frame.
But if there's no setup, no foundation, and suddenly the wind just carries someone to safety like divine intervention out of nowhere... that's not storytelling.
That's cheating.
And the world I'm in now? It doesn't let me cheat.
Not without consequence.
Though lucky for me, those consequences don't affect me directly.
Im the Author anyway.
I write the story, after all. I wield the pen.
All I have to do is think carefully before I write the next chapter.
No sudden miracles. No lazy twists. No reckless edits.
Because in this world, even the ink has rules.
And every word carries weight.
---
I spent the entire dusk and night lying in bed.
By the time I opened my eyes, it was dawn. The sky outside was still a shade too dark for morning, and the clock quietly pointed to 6:00 AM.
I must've knocked out early.
Wearing the black cloak—its hood down for now—and strapping the sword to my waist, I stepped outside. The morning air was cool, and a faint mist hung low around the street corners. Hunters were already out and about; the early birds always wanted first picks on the best raid squads before the guilds were overrun with competition.
The guild hall wasn't far from the place I was staying, just a short walk through the awakening district. As I arrived, the crowd inside was already thick, voices rising like overlapping tides.
Above every raid group's post, the familiar glowing Divine Link screens hovered, showing their recruitment progress.
Most of them were already nearly full.
I walked past a few of the boards, until one caught my attention.
[12 / 13]
A raid team was looking for just one more.
A man in shining silver and gold armor stood at the center, shouting loud enough to be heard over the chatter. His chest bore the unmistakable sigil of Thor—a Nordic crest.
"Any mage-types here!? We just need one—someone with crowd control or mobility spells!"
I watched him for a moment. The desperation in his voice was subtle, but it was there. Whoever they were going after... it wasn't a small fry.
And they were desperate enough to settle for whoever showed up next.
all of a sudden, he noticed me.
"you there....you-.." but as soon as he lookd up, i knew he saw what all people see.
[Unblessed]
"It's no use... he's the Crestless one, Captain. Find someone else," a hunter muttered, eyeing me with thinly veiled disappointment.
I didn't flinch at the words. Just kept walking past them, hands in my pockets, eyes forward.
The captain didn't seem fazed. He exhaled, resting his palm on the pommel of his sword. "Hah... well, we already have Eunseok as our main mage. I guess we just need one more to fill the slot."
Then, his voice rose above the murmurs again—this time directed straight at me.
"Hey, you. Crestless one."
I stopped in my tracks.
The chatter around us dimmed a little. Some hunters turned to watch.
"Yeah, you," the captain said, stepping closer. "Got a name?"
"Park Seo-Jun..." I said.
And just like that, the guild hall fell into a heavy silence. The murmurs died. Eyes shifted. I felt the weight of their stares settle on me like chains.
The captain raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that name.
"Alright then," he said, not missing a beat. "We'll be leaving today. The dungeon seal breaks in about nineteen hours, give or take."
He turned back to his squad, giving them orders like it was any other day.
I could tell—this guy didn't know. Not the details. Maybe the name rang a bell, maybe he heard something, but he didn't know what really happened in that dungeon.
They all knew me... but that was it. A name, a title, a rumor.
I wasn't eager for the kind of fame that made people look at you like you were cursed.
Still, as the whispers picked up again, the way they looked at me changed.
Like they were staring at a ghost.
I stood at the back of the lineup—behind the porters, behind the real fighters. Just a spot filler. A body to hit the quota so they could enter the dungeon legally.
We walked out of the guild hall, boots clacking against the pavement, weapons shifting at our sides. I kept my head low, hood drawn over my face.
But I could feel the stares.
Some came from the current squad I was with—but others... others were familiar. Hunters from the last raid. The one from two days ago. The one where I was supposed to be dead.
I caught a few of their faces as we passed. Eyes widened. Mouths parted in disbelief. A few of them stopped talking altogether.
But I didn't stop walking.
Let them stare. Let them whisper.
I didn't come back for them.
The path to Hell's Gate was a bit far, but we reached it just before the clock struck seven.
"Alright, we're here!" the captain shouted. "Remember—healers focus on the tanks. Fighters and rangers, you're on damage duty. We tanks will keep the boss's attention. Do you copy?!"
A chorus of affirmations echoed through the squad. Everyone understood their role.
And yet... something still bugged me.
Even now—with my stats upgraded, with my cloak draped over me and the Bloodtears sword at my side—it still felt the same.
Like nothing had changed at all.
Like I was still that E-rank nobody standing at the edge of the room, waiting for death to notice me.
That strange, crawling feeling didn't go away.
Was it paranoia?
I opened the Ink System.
[Ink System Activated]
[Stats: Stable]
[All Attributes: Level 5]
Everything seemed fine. But just to be sure...
("activate Character Development")
("Add Skills")
A new screen opened in front of me.
[What skills would you like to add?]
[Note: You can only add three skills to your list.]
[Lifesteal]: Each hit steals 10% of enemy HP. [Duration]: Every after a critical hit.
[Fire Sprites]: Summon flaming sprites that strike enemies, dealing 30% damage. [Cooldown]: 30 seconds.
[Blood Surge]: Inflicts a bleed effect and deals 90% damage. [Duration]: Every after a damage more than 10% is dealt.
[Sever Points]: A clean, fast strike aimed at joints or key armor gaps. [Cooldown]: 30 seconds.
[Twin Parry]: Parry an attack and counter with a mirrored strike. [Cooldown]: 20 seconds.
[Bone Carver]: A savage overhead swing dealing 50% of the enemy's HP, designed to break armor and bone. [Cooldown]: 50 seconds
I stared at the list, weighing my options.
I could only choose three.
Should I go with sheer destruction? Utility? Sustain?
The timer on the selection page blinked softly at the bottom.
[00:58]
Fifty-eight seconds left to decide.
I need something practical. I'm a swordsman, after all.
"Lifesteal."
[Lifesteal added.]
"Twin Parry."
[Twin Parry added.]
Damn. One slot left.
I'm stuck between Bone Carver and Blood Surge.
My sword already has a strong bleed effect, so maybe Bone Carver makes more sense.
Alright... I'll take it.
"Bone Carver."
[Bone Carver added.]
The dungeon was vast—no surprise for a B++ rank. It was practically scraping A-rank territory. Strangely, we didn't even need a light spell. Torches along the walls lit up on their own the moment we stepped inside.
I trailed quietly behind the others, keeping to myself, when a porter walked up beside me.
"Hey... you're the Crestless one, right?" he asked, wearing a smug, knowing grin. "Mind carrying this for me?" He lifted his pack, clearly expecting me to take it.
I didn't say a word.
Just raised my middle finger and kept walking.
"You piece of shit," he snapped. "Captain only brought you along to fill a slot. So why don't you make yourself useful and car—"
His words died in his throat when I turned to him.
"You're going to die in the boss room," I said coldly. "Both of your legs severed, your body split in two. If I were you, I'd shut the fuck up."
He blinked, stunned—then his expression twisted with anger.
"Like hell that'll happen," he growled. "If anyone's dying in there, it'll be you. First one down."
"Tsk..." I scoffed, the corner of my mouth curling into a smirk. "If an author writes a story, and there's one particular character he hates the most... what do you think he'll do to him?"
He narrowed his eyes, confused—but I was already walking past him, the echo of my boots and my words hanging in the air like a curse waiting to come true.
I looked back at him and dragged my thumb across my neck, flashing a sinister smile.
When the first wave of lesser beasts hit, the raid squad held their ground well. They tore through the creatures in the narrow dungeon path, slaying dozens, looting the remains, and pressing forward like a well-oiled machine.
And me? I leaned against the wall the entire time, casually slacking off, occasionally admiring the design of my sword. The blade's intricate crimson hue shimmered faintly—like veins filled with fresh blood.
"Oh wow, a rune," I muttered, casually examining the small red marking near the hilt of my blade. It shimmered faintly, carved into the metal like it had always been there—though I hadn't noticed it when I first picked up Bloodtears.
My eyes drifted back to the raid squad. They were still busy, clashing steel with the lesser beasts. The porters, on the other hand, stood idly behind the mages, doing absolutely nothing.
"They've got crests, yet they don't even fight..." I muttered under my breath. I tossed a rock lazily at the corpse of a hoblin. It struck the head with a dull thunk, forcing its mouth open from the impact.
Then I felt it—a blur in the corner of my eye.
A red-striped kobold was sprinting toward me, fangs bared and eyes wild. It must've slipped through their line unnoticed.
Before I even stood, Bloodtears was already lodged deep into its mouth, piercing through the side of its neck. A perfect sideways impalement.
I remained seated on the rock, unmoved.
Good thing no one saw that.
"Damn it..." I muttered, swatting at the slick, reeking blood now staining my coat. "Disgusting."
Swats.
The moment the raid squad finished dealing with the lesser beasts, I stood up from my rock, giving Bloodtears a sharp flourish to flick off the kobold's foul blood.
Kobold blood had this particular stench—pungent, metallic, and rot-sweet. Utterly revolting. Just smelling it made me want to burn my clothes and write a Narrative Edit just to sterilize my damn sword.
I still remember the time one of them bit me. Nari had to burn through half her mana pool just to flush the infection out.
Nasty creatures.
I despise them. Along with these fuckin Hoblins.
"Alright, let's move. The boss room's this way," the captain announced, marching ahead with confidence.
Some of the squad trailed behind him, but a few cast glances my way—disdainful, disappointed.
Tch. What do they expect? Even if I wanted to fight, they'd just shove me aside. I'm the filler. A body to complete the quota. Nothing more.
We continued down the corridor until we reached it.
The boss room.
The gate loomed ahead, towering and oppressive—an iron-clad monolith etched with runes and reinforced steel. Bigger than any orc domain door I've ever seen. Way bigger. This wasn't just an entryway.
It was a warning.
"C-Captain... should we really go in? The mana surge—it's way stronger than what we expected..." one of the mages asked, his voice trembling.
"If we back out now, our rep's gonna take a hit," grunted a tank, tightening his grip on a war axe.
"And don't forget what's inside," added another—his eyes gleaming, smile a little too sharp. He wore silver and gold like the captain, but his tone reeked of calculation. "Essence crystals. A full clear means we're walking out rich."
A good leader chooses what's best for the team, I thought.
That is... if he's a good leader.
I muttered under my breath, "Activate Inner Monologue Tap."
A faint screen blinked into existence—visible only to me. I focused on the captain as the words floated into view.
[I can't waste this opportunity. If we clear this dungeon, I'll be promoted to higher rank.]
[Money, fame... I can't give up now.]
Of course. He wasn't thinking about safety. Only his rise.
Typical.
"ive decided"
I let out a quiet sigh as his words settled in.
"We move forward," the captain declared, chest puffed with forced conviction. "We're hunters. Risk is part of our lives."
He made it sound like a mantra—like that alone would keep us alive.
[I need to rank higher... show those fools back at the Hongdae outpost who I really am.]
His true thoughts flickered across my screen, clear as day.
We stood before the boss room's towering iron-clad doors. Ten hunters in total: two tanks, five fighters, three mages. That's not counting the two porters—and me, the spot-filler.
Eleven souls about to gamble their lives... led by a man who's gambling for promotion.
With a heavy push, the captain opened the great doors of the boss room. In an instant, the torches lining the walls ignited, casting a golden flicker across the vast chamber—almost like they were waiting for us.
At the center stood a towering statue of a knight clad in solid, ancient armor. Around it... a legion of stone knights. They weren't colossal like the central figure—just about our size—but their numbers? Easily over a hundred. Maybe double that.
A wave of unease rippled through the squad.
"What in the...?" someone whispered.
"Captain, this—this isn't right," a fighter stammered. "This is supposed to be a B-rank dungeon. Why the hell are there this many?"
His voice cracked as his gaze swept the petrified army.