Fenrir left the broken children behind without a second glance. Their groans faded into the background as he stepped into the empty corridor.
The world outside hit him like a hammer.
Tall towers of glass stretched into the clouds, glowing with flowing currents of mana.
Vehicles hovered soundlessly above smooth black roads. People moved quickly, their bodies wrapped in strange fabrics that shimmered with protective runes.
Fenrir narrowed his eyes.
'This world... it's changed.'
He inhaled deeply, letting his senses stretch out. The mana in the air was purer, sharper. Cleaner than anything he remembered. Yet the world itself felt... hollow. Artificial.
Still, his instincts told him one thing:
'Power here is ripe for the taking. I don't think these fools even know how to optimally use what they have been handed to on a silver platter.
Thanks to his reincarnation spell, the memories of this body's former owner came to him easily, like pulling a sword from its sheath.
He was in the 22nd century now.
Eons had passed since his old empire crumbled into dust.
The gods had long since retreated from the mortal world, severing their ties to humanity.
The infinite realms he once knew—the swirling chaos of worlds upon worlds—had condensed into what people now called dungeons.
Only licensed hunters could enter them.
Fenrir scoffed quietly.
'The realm of gods, reduced to playgrounds for mortals. Who knew I would live to see such a day?'
He learned more as he walked through the school halls, ignoring the stares and whispers.
The boy he now inhabited had been a young master—filthy rich, blessed with a high concentration of divine blood.
But no one seemed to understand the true value of such a bloodline anymore. The boy's family, drunk on wealth and power, left him to rot in luxury.
He never trained. Never fought.
Whenever trouble came, he threw money at it until it went away.
What a fool. He had unlimited potential, but he wasted it. But it did make it easy for me to steal this body.'
Fenrir thought, his lips curling in contempt.
This body was a gift. A vessel with blood pure enough to shake the heavens—if tempered correctly.
Fenrir had no intention of wasting it.
First, he needed to know exactly how strong he was.
And for that, he needed a dungeon.
He exited the school grounds, stepping into the bustling city streets. Neon lights flickered across his face. The hum of mana generators filled the air.
He paused for a moment, studying the crowd.
Hunters in sleek armor laughed and boasted about their latest kills.
Vendors peddled potions and enchanted gear from tiny stalls. Billboards screamed about dungeon clearances and ranking tournaments.
Fenrir's gaze sharpened.
There it was—a dungeon gate, just across the plaza.
A ripple in the air, swirling with raw magic.
The entrance to another world.
He started toward it, his blood singing in his veins.
And then he remembered.
He stopped.
Only licensed hunters could enter dungeons now.
And as far as the memories told him, this body had no such license.
Tch.
Fenrir folded his arms, thinking quickly.
He needed to enter a dungeon—legally or otherwise. It was the fastest way to measure his limits, to reignite the instincts dulled by centuries of deathless sleep.
Waiting around was not an option.
He glanced at the line of hunters waiting at the dungeon gate. Most were cocky young men, laughing and shoving each other. Easy prey, if needed.
A slow, predatory smile spread across Fenrir's face.
'If I cannot enter as myself... then I will simply take another path.'
Fenrir moved quickly, blending into the river of people that flowed through the city.
Finding a solution was simple.
He ducked into a café, found a quiet booth, and pulled out a sleek black tablet from the battered satchel that had come with the body.
Using a disposable username, he entered the city's largest hunter forum. Thousands of posts flooded the screen—dungeon clear videos, equipment auctions, recruitment calls.
But Fenrir wasn't here to window-shop.
He typed his query in a hidden sub-forum:
[Looking for dungeon access. No questions asked. Immediate payment.]
Within minutes, replies poured in. Most were scams. Some were setups by the authorities.
But tucked between the garbage were real offers—shadowy groups and freelancers willing to smuggle unlicensed hunters into low-grade dungeons.
Fenrir's eyes narrowed.
One post caught his attention:
"Fast, safe access. No ID? No problem. Payment upfront. Meet discreetly."
Perfect.
The only reason Fenrir decided to use this method was because of his incredible instincts that told him this was a safe option.
Due to his high mana control, his instincts were like prophacies of truth. He could trust them without thinking much.
Fenrir messaged them immediately, proposing a meeting location away from cameras and public eyes.
The pair agreed without hesitation.
He left the café, pulled a hoodie over his head, and slipped a black face mask into place.
No need to attract unnecessary trouble.
By the time he reached the narrow, graffiti-stained alley, the sun had dipped below the skyline, bathing the city in neon blues and reds.
Two figures waited for him—both around his age, maybe a little older. A wiry man with a sharp grin and a girl with dyed pink hair and shifty eyes.
They waved him over with casual smiles.
"Yo, you're the one who contacted us?"
The man asked, giving Fenrir a once-over.
Fenrir nodded silently.
His enchanted clothes—faintly glowing with low-level protective magic—caught their attention immediately.
The girl's eyes lit up. She nudged the man subtly.
Predators scenting easy prey.
Fenrir watched them calmly, his face blank behind the mask.
"Nice gear you got there. First time dungeon diving?"
The man said smoothly.
Fenrir kept his voice even.
"First time. No license. I have some family troubles."
The pair exchanged a quick glance. Their smiles widened.
"Ah, no worries, no worries. We help newbies like you all the time. Real friendly, real safe."
The girl chirped.
The man leaned in slightly.
"You got a system yet?"
Fenrir tilted his head, playing the part of a clueless rich kid.
"No system. Haven't registered. I don't want family to find out about this."
That was all they needed to hear.
The girl clapped her hands together.
"Oh! Well, you can't really enter a dungeon without a system profile, even if you sneak in. The magic field at the gate'll kick you right back out."
She smiled sweetly, like a wolf in sheep's clothing.
"But lucky for you. we know a guy who can get you registered real cheap. F-Class, quick and easy. No questions asked."
She continued.
Fenrir pretended to hesitate, lowering his gaze. "F-Class?"
"Yeah. Lowest rank, but it'll let you pass the barriers. Later, you can raise your rank legally if you want. Everybody does it. However, if you can afford it, you can get an even higher rank."
The man said quickly.
The girl laughed.
"You're rich, right? It'll be nothing for you. Pocket change."
Fenrir shifted slightly, pretending to consider it.
Inside, he was already calculating.
They're planning to wring me dry before dumping me. Maybe worse.
But it didn't matter.
He could break them both in less time than it took to blink.
And if this 'system registration' gave him easy dungeon access, he'd let them lead him for now.
Fenrir nodded once.
"I'll pay."
The man grinned, flashing yellowed teeth.
"Smart choice, buddy. Smart choice."
The girl stepped forward, linking her arm through Fenrir's as if they were old friends. Her perfume was cheap and cloying.
"This way."
She said, leading him deeper into the maze of backstreets.
They walked through a series of winding alleys, past boarded-up shops and flickering mana lamps.
Trash crunched under their feet. The crowds disappeared, leaving only silence and shadows.
Fenrir watched everything—every glance they shared, every time their hands drifted toward hidden weapons under their coats.
The ambush was coming.
He almost welcomed it.
They finally stopped outside a rusted metal door, half-hidden behind a stack of crates.
The man rapped three times, paused, then rapped twice more.
A slot in the door opened. A pair of red eyes glared out.
"Password?"
A gravelly voice demanded.
"Fresh meat."
The man said, grinning.
The door creaked open.
Inside, mana danced thickly in the air. Crude enchantments lined the walls.
A makeshift system registration device sat in the center of the room—a black cube hooked up to flickering monitors.
"Step inside."
The girl said, giving Fenrir a push.
He stepped forward calmly, every sense alert.
Let's see how deep this rabbit hole goes.