Entering the Dungeon Test

The dungeon entrance loomed ahead—an arch of worn black stone cracked by time and laced with faint veins of glowing blue runes. They pulsed softly in the frigid air, whispering ancient magic with every flicker.

Beneath the arch yawned the tunnel: wide, dark, and silent. The mouth of the underworld.

From its depths, a cold wind slithered out, carrying the scent of damp stone, decaying moss, and something deeper—older. Forgotten.

Leon stood near the back of the assembled crowd, his hood pulled low. Hundreds of newly awakened adventurers gathered before the dungeon gates, clutching unfamiliar weapons and chattering in tense, uncertain voices.

Some shook from nerves. Others bristled with excitement, swaggering behind shiny swords they hadn't earned yet.

He remained still.

Watching.

The Weight of Judgment

The Dungeon Combat Test.

A mandatory trial.

Survive, and you earned status—official recognition, guild invitations, the right to take on quests.

Fail… and you were done.

No second chances.

Leon didn't need to hear the rules again. He'd memorized them before he could afford a real weapon.

But the crowd hadn't forgotten him.

Whispers swirled.

"That's the Zombie Lord guy."

"The F-Rank necromancer, right? I thought he'd quit."

"He's actually going in?"

Leon's fingers curled under his sleeves, nails digging into skin.

Up above, in the arcane booths behind enchanted glass, recruiters were already evaluating them—writing down names, scores, comments.

He didn't need to see the screens to imagine what they wrote beside his.

F-Rank – Necromancer (Zombie Lord): Non-viable. Not recommended.

He grit his teeth. Breathed in.

Then let it go.

They didn't matter.

He hadn't come to impress them.

He had come to test the truth.

Was the System he awakened trash?

Or was it something more?

Group Formation

On the raised stage, black-cloaked instructors unfurled glowing scrolls. One of them—a tall man with a scar running over his left eye—stepped forward.

"Listen up!" His voice cut through the murmurs.

"This test is not theoretical. You will enter in groups of three to five. Your objective is to clear a monster sector. Survive, and you pass."

He raised the scroll.

"You may form teams freely. But be warned—the dungeon does not scale to match your power."

He didn't need to say the rest.

If you walked in weak, you walked out dead. Or not at all.

Movement rippled through the crowd like fire through dry grass.

Leon stayed still.

Within seconds, groups were forming. Warriors clumped together. Mages found archers. Healers were surrounded instantly.

Damian—tall, charismatic, and already glowing with A-Rank prestige—was buried in offers. Half the crowd wanted to be on his team.

Leon stepped forward.

"Damian."

His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the noise between them.

Damian turned. Their eyes met.

For a heartbeat, something flickered behind Damian's confident expression. Guilt? Doubt?

Then it vanished.

"...I think it's better if we go separate ways."

It landed like a knife.

Leon didn't speak. Damian turned away, laughing with his new team.

Outcast

Before the sting could settle, another voice cut in.

"Tch. Did you seriously think an A-Rank would party with a trash-class necromancer?"

Leon turned.

A spearman stood with arms crossed, sneering. "What's next, you gonna raise slimes and call it strategy?"

Snickers. Scoffs.

Nobody stepped in. Nobody argued.

He didn't bother responding.

By the time the instructors started calling names, nearly every team had formed.

Leon stood alone.

Then—

"Uh… we still need a third," a voice said from behind.

He turned.

A silver-haired girl in a white healer's robe raised a hand. Her nameplate glowed faintly.

Elise – F-Rank Healer

Beside her stood a boy gripping a sword like it might bite him. He looked miserable.

Garet – E-Rank Swordsman

Garet sighed. "A necromancer? Seriously?"

Elise shrugged. "We don't have time to be picky."

Leon said nothing.

He stepped forward.

Crossing the Threshold

The moment they passed beneath the archway, the world changed.

The warmth of the sun vanished, swallowed by darkness. The tunnel led downward, deeper than it had any right to. Torches burned weakly in their rusted sconces, casting more shadow than light.

The stone walls were slick with moisture. Vines, black and pulsing, crawled through cracks in the brickwork, breathing faintly in the dark.

A low, constant drip echoed somewhere ahead.

Water… or blood.

Leon walked in silence, his Zombie Mage following just behind him—its glowing blue eyes cutting through the dark like coals buried in ash.

Garet and Elise walked faster, casting glances back every so often.

Their weapons were drawn. Their shoulders tense.

Footsteps echoed ahead—other groups had already entered, some charging, others moving cautiously.

Distant crashes. Screeches. Steel against stone.

The test had begun.

Tension in the Dark

Garet slowed, scanning ahead.

"The test starts when we encounter our first monster," he whispered. "After that, no turning back."

Elise nodded, eyes flicking to Leon. Her mouth twisted, annoyed.

"Just don't slow us down."

Leon didn't answer.

Didn't need to.

The Zombie Mage drifted beside him, silent and alert.

Let them doubt him.

Let them look away.

He would let the System answer for him.

And it would.

Soon.