UH CH 7 (Patreon)

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I now fully understand that Earth is no Paradise. It’s a land soaked in blood and sin. 

Are there truly no gods left on Earth? 

If so, then I will become one. 

The Saint once said: There are no coincidences in this world. Everything is Fate. 

If so…

May I never kill the innocent, and may I die as a Knight

Words left by the King of Knight. Ruler of England.

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After the site was stabilized and the casualties accounted for, Zhou Weiren pulled me aside once more. He handed me a small envelope—thick, heavy, and warm from his palm.

“Partial settlement,” he said. “Standard bounty for the goblins and so on. It’ll take a few days for the paperwork to finish. Once the Association reviews the footage, they’ll wire the rest to your account.”

I nodded. “Thanks.” This time, unlike with the couple,  I did not refuse. This was my just reward after all. 

“Don’t thank me yet.” Zhou pushed his glasses higher. “Someone from the Guild Association will come to find you tomorrow. Expect a full debriefing. They’ll want a play-by-play of the incident. They might also strong-arm you into selling your right to the Gate. The choice is yours.”

“I’ll be ready.”

He clapped my shoulder once. “Rest while you can. You’ve got a long road ahead.”

Then he turned and walked off, the dragon on his back gleaming under the Gate’s residual light.

Sofia gave me a small wave and trudged behind him while the guy who was talking to her glared at me for a few seconds before walking away again. 

***

I spent the rest of the afternoon drifting through Abyss City like a ghost. With half the payment secured, I stopped by a supply shop, picking up rations, extra bandages, mana ointment, and a new pair of gloves. Nothing fancy—just basic essentials. I didn’t have the luxury of upgrades.

I would have loved to buy a few Healing and Mana potions but that stuff was fucking expensive and sadly I was unable to recreate them with my current understanding. Alchemy was simply too complicated and time-consuming. 

The city buzzed around me as usual. Sirens echoed in the distance. Neon signs flickered. Above, broken walkways groaned under the weight of movement. Life in District 20 didn’t stop for anyone, not even when monsters spilled out onto the streets.

Seeing people my age go on dates and have fun made me wince a little. I knew very well that it was thanks to the sacrifice of many people, awakened or not, that we could enjoy such precarious peace. 

It felt weird going from a zone that was silently mourning to one that was acting like nothing happened. 

But thus was life.

By the time I made it to the Cleaning Zone, dusk had fallen.

Gate 47 stood like a rotten scar in the middle of the South Waste Disposal Zone—cordoned off by rusted fences and dim floodlights. The air reeked of sulfur and sewage. Trash crunched underfoot as I stepped into the designated staging area.

Gates were generally extremely well guarded and protected. They were strategic resources that could be mined constantly and, in some cases, even used for farming or real estate. 

But not all gates were equal, and once a Gate lost its value and when everyone was sure it posed no more dangers, it was disposed of. 

Gate 47 was such a gate. From what I understood after doing some research, it was just a low-level gate that produced slimes. Those slimes, while producing acid dangerous for normal people, were not even considered F rank. 

Usually, slimes were extremely useful, but the slimes here were poisonous and contaminated with toxic, twisted mana from the abyss. 

Monsters' cores were also a form of business currency as they were used for technology and development. 

In the past, even Level 0  mana cores like this were considered valuable resources.

But not anymore.

These days, all you could power with Level 0 mana cores were things like TVs or refrigerators, and it was far cheaper to just pay the electric bill than to bother with expensive magic-tech devices.

For all those reasons, dungeons like this were essentially worthless for any legitimate business. Some guys would use the twisted mana to create drugs, but even that wasn’t very lucrative because of the high death rate it caused, and as such, production ceased. 

Drug dealers were bastards, but they needed their clients to be alive after all. Killing your most regular clients wasn’t good for business.

Every few months, hunters would be sent to clean off everything, the increased population of slime, and that would be it. 

Scavenging such a place would not yield much, I believed, but it would be the best way to start my cooperation with a solid crew.

“Seems like the newbie is finally here.” A scratching voice greeted me the moment I arrived. 

There were already six people there.

I gave them a brief glance while apologizing for my lateness. One of them scoffed, but I did not engage. There was no need to act too hostile here. 

My attention was on the sixth individual.

Iron Fist.

He was in full combat gear—body armor worn and patched, combat vest loaded with tubes of ammunition. Slung over his back was a custom-built submachine gattling gun, each chamber humming faintly with bluish energy. Mana-absorption rounds, if I had to guess. Expensive. Lethal. Definitely a little too overgeared for a waste dungeon.

“I thought you retired,” I said as I walked over. I gave him a heartfelt smile. I knew why he was here. He did not need to, and this made me even more emotional.

“I thought I did, too.” He didn’t smile. “But you know how it is. You disappear for one day and find out someone decided to join a Cleaner squad.”

I didn’t argue. I knew he was right. I wish I could simply tell him to go back. But he was even more headstrong than I. 

He gestured with his thumb. “Meet your team.”

I nodded and focused on those who had been observing us in silence.

Of the five, two were Black men—one tall and broad-shouldered with a mohawk, the other lean with cybernetic implants running along his neck. Both looked quiet, hardened. The remaining two men were white, both wiry and carrying basic rifles that had seen better days.

And then there was the woman.

She looked to be in her mid-twenties, blond hair tied tight behind her head, a small iron rosary dangling from her belt. Her armor was reinforced near the chest and arms, clearly modified to protect the casting zones. A basic cleric’s rig. Her gaze met mine. Calm, but curious.

She was the only Hunter F-Rank in the squad. I was surprised they managed to get a healer. Those could be very expensive. Then again, this might be just a side gig for her. 

If there was one silver lining, it was that, for once, I wasn’t the weakest in a group. But this wasn’t something to brag about.

“Name’s Jana,” she said simply.

The mohawk guy nodded. “Marques.”

“Teemo,” said the wiry white guy.

“Jules,” said the other.

The last one, with the cybernetic implants, just grunted. His name wasn’t important, it seemed.  

Iron Fist stepped forward. “We’ll wait five more minutes, Jana, show him the paper. Gate activity is low, but that doesn’t mean safe. Rule number one—don’t assume anything about a Gate. Especially one in a dump like this.”

His tone silenced any remaining chatter.

I adjusted the gloves I’d bought earlier, flexing my fingers. The nerves in my arm still ached from the fight earlier. My whole body still ached.

But I was here now.

This was the road I’d chosen.

****

After Iron Fist took some distance, Jana approached me. 

“Hi Cain! Don’t mind Richard. He can be kind of a dick sometime.” She chuckled to herself and looked me up and down, “So, you’re aware of what purification involves?” Her voice had a certain quality to it. As if she was singing her words. She was cute in a certain way. 

“I will admit that I only know from hearsay. It’s dungeon cleaning, right?” I knew a little more than this, but playing know-it-all in front of someone experienced was not smart.

“Tsk, tsk.”

“There goes another one, marching off to die.”

I heard a few tongues clicking behind me. But I ignored them. This was something I was used to.

Jana, still smiling, handed me a form.

“You know purification isn’t easy, right? And it’s dangerous.”

“Obviously.”

“Though our activities might seem suspicious, we are actually legally sanctioned by the government, and because of that we need to make sure of a few things. Please read through this and sign at the bottom. Just remember, no take-backs later!” She seemed a little too happy for someone who was essentially telling me I was risking my life. 

I glanced at the paper she gave me.

[Application for Magic Purification Participation]

[Body Contamination Consent Form]

[Body Responsibility Agreement]

[Acknowledgment of Terms and Conditions]

The forms were full of legal jargon, but the main points were clear.

I would bear all responsibility for myself. If I contracted a magic illness due to contamination, if my body mutated, or, in the worst-case scenario, if I turned into a corrupted creature, neither the team nor the government would be held responsible.

There was also a clause about a 20% fee, no lunch or snacks provided, and mandatory private insurance enrollment from one of the four major insurances.

Wow, this is a new level of shady.

I could feel my eyes twitch slightly. 

The so-called “4-major insurances” were nothing but legal thugs. 

They’re all private insurance companies, and the labor office had partnerships with these no-name insurers. You’re required to enroll in their plans.

They’d deduct that amount from your pay.

But hey, at least they were offering insurance, right?

Yeah, right.

They would probably do everything in their power not to pay out.

But there’s no helping it.

In my current situation, I’ll have to put up with it.

Any other labor office would likely have the same terms, and I couldn’t count on the Guild Insurance anymore. 

I held out a groan and made sure to read everything twice. This might be a standard contract, but you never knew if some bastard didn’t slip a slave contract or a devil contract inside. 

I had no intention to sell my soul at the moment. 

After finishing the paperwork, I handed it back to the woman, who immediately put it away with the same smile. 

***

Once I finished signing, Richard gave me a once-over, clearly unimpressed.

"So, this bastard’s our new recruit?" He tsked and shook his head. 

Didn’t like what he saw? Well, the feeling’s mutual.

"Don’t mutate. If you do, I’ll kill you."

With those words, he closed his eyes.

I shrugged and found a seat near the front of the bus that was in front of the Gate.

Behind me, the other men started whispering. I did not bother trying to know who was who. It was just a waste of time. 

"Think he’ll mutate right away?"

"He’s a newbie, but he should last a few rounds. After the job’s done, who cares?"

"As long as he takes the suppressant, he’ll be fine."

"We just need to get paid."

"Damn it. All this for a few thousand… What the hell are we doing?"

"People like us don’t get jobs that pay this well often. If you hate it so much, why not try becoming a superhuman?"

"Hah… I envy Richard. And Iron Fist, too."

The mention of Iron Fist quieted some of them.

Iron Fist was seated in the back of the bus, silent and unreadable behind his visor. The massive combat gear he wore groaned slightly with every shift of his body. Across his lap rested his submachine gun, its barrel gleaming with fresh mana-absorption runes. A monster of a weapon for a man equally imposing.

Guns and so on were usually not that useful against monsters. But the situation changed when they were magitech and mana-enchanted weapons.

This was one of the most expensive paths someone could take. The fact that he had a powerful cybernetic arm was already impressive. But this machine gun took the cake. 

"Didn’t expect Iron Fist to be here, huh?"

"Yeah, must’ve volunteered. Heard he was worried."

"Worried about a rookie?" Someone scoffed.

"Worried about Richard getting someone killed."

Iron Fist didn’t respond. Didn’t have to. The presence of a veteran like him shifted the air.

Their situations were all similar—each had a part of their body either mutated grotesquely or replaced with strange prosthetics. This was what happened when people with no resistance to mana explored continuously dangerous zones like this.

One guy had hedgehog-like quills instead of hair. Another had a set of strange gill-like breathing organs along his neck—light mutations that gave him a fishlike quality, but nothing more, and the third one was half-zombified.

The only people who showed no sign of mutation were Richard, Iron Fist, Jane, and me. 

Mutation was the result of constant exposure to mana without the right protection gear or the right level. It was a form of corruption, though some people called it forced evolution. 

Awakened had higher resistance, while those without mana needed the right gear. When the corruption reached 100%, a mutation would occur, and the subject would lose their sanity. Becoming nothing more than mindless beasts that needed to be put down.

Some scientists argued that Awakening itself was a form of mutation. In both cases, one would obtain enhanced strength and the ability to manipulate mana. The only difference between the two forms was that one was stable and controlled, while the other was unstable and devoured sanity. 

One man, looking envious, muttered.

"I heard Richard took a mana reflection scan last time, and you could faintly see the mana circuits."

"No way, really?"

"Yeah, that’s what he said."

"Still not enough to hit become F-rank though?"

"Not yet. But he’s close."

"Lucky bastard."

"Even being close to F-rank is something to brag about. It means he is close to awakening.”

"Life’s unfair. Some of us spend months in this hellhole just to ruin our bodies, while others slowly get stronger."

"You’re just realizing life’s unfair now? You should’ve studied your ass off and gotten into a hunter university, dumbass."

"What was I supposed to do if I wasn’t smart enough?"

When your mana circuits are fully established and you unlock traits, that’s when you hit F-rank. 

This was the technical lowest ranking possible for a hunter.

Of course,  I was an exception. 

I glanced at Richard with renewed interest.

He really is something.

But my gaze shifted to Iron Fist.

Then again… he’s something else entirely.

A veteran with dozens of cleared gates under his belt. He’d been a D-rank once. 

Then something changed. Not trauma—an incident, eight years ago. No one knew the full story, but ever since, he’d survived everything thrown at him. His nickname came from the absurd number of kills and the reinforced prosthetic gauntlets embedded into his arms.

***

When the pause imposed by Iron Fist ended, we all entered the bus. Some dungeons could be extremely large, and for such situations, special vehicles that functioned with mana stones were created. Only such vehicles could function inside a dungeon.

The driver entered the bus. He glanced at me, wrinkling his nose before tossing a plastic bag my way.

"You’re the rookie, right? This is the suppressant. Make sure to inject yourself at the end of each day. If you don’t, you’ll die or you will get killed."

Before I could say anything, the cleric girl sitting nearby leaned over.

"He’s new. He probably doesn’t know. The suppressant helps hold back the contamination until we can get proper purification. We’re working three days straight, so don’t skip it."

Her voice was calm but firm, but the contents of her words made me frown a little. 

Three days of continuous purification.

For ordinary people, that was enough to cause serious damage.

That was why, at the end of each day, you injected the suppressant to keep the mana contamination in check until you could deal with it after the job was over.

Whether you rushed to a temple for purification, drank holy water, or found some other way, that was up to you.

It wasn’t surprising that all of them showed signs of mutations. The pay was already meager, and holy water was not cheap.

I sighed inwardly, deciding not to argue. I would leave tomorrow to meet the Association for my report, either way. There was no need to mention it now and make the atmosphere worse.

Nodding at her words, I took a look at the bag. Inside were two 1cc syringes and a 2cc ampoule of medicine.

The suppressants.

But I won’t need it.

Thanks to my high Resistance trait. Whatever was inside that Dungeon had nothing on what was already corrupting my body. 

In a way, I was already on the road to corruption. But in a far different way. The level and rank of the corruption I had been exposed to as a kid was different from what this small dungeon could bring. 

I shoved the plastic bag into my backpack.

The driver took his seat. The bus rumbled to life.

Richard grumbled. "When are they going to get a new bus?"

"Boss won't even part with a coin," someone muttered.

Iron Fist, still silent, opened one eye, then closed it again. His grip tightened slightly on the Gatling gun.

“Let’s just survive the shift.”

He was the strongest here. But he never let his guard down. This was something I respected and needed to emulate.