Workers of the Bedford family given priority entry.
Monopoly over ore purchases.
Taxes imposed on adventurers.
All it took was one clone wandering around the city for Wade to uncover everything.
No wonder, at the dungeon's opening, the first few hours were filled with nothing but waves of laborers rushing inside.
Once within, most went straight for the Bloodstone veins. A handful with some skill veered off toward the gourmet zone, while mercenaries hired by the family scouted the swamp's edge—hunting Scarecrows for their moss and anti-poison drops.
At the moment, the Bedford family was focusing heavily on these three resources from Sein Dungeon. Not only were they unique in effect, but their yields were stable and reliable.
Wade had originally treated them as perks—cheap to produce, good for attracting players, and easy for both grinders and laborers to profit from.
But now...
"Guess I've been too nice."
His expression darkened as he flipped through the Available Monsters list.
For the Count to attempt monopolizing the dungeon was intolerable. It demanded punishment—and swiftly.
If there had been multiple portals, then Philip's policy of giving his workers priority wouldn't even be wrong. Throwing more commoners into the meat grinder to explode into Mana? Any dungeon master would welcome that.
But his mistake was taxes and tickets.
Most adventurers weren't rich. Between weapons, repairs, potions, and tools, they were already drowning in expenses.
They grudgingly accepted revival fees and teleport crystal charges—but tickets?
Dream on.
Sure, Sein Dungeon's rewards were special—irresistible, even—but its difficulty was high. Revival and teleport costs already stacked up. Add taxes on top?
That would drive away entire swaths of adventurers.
"The Count needs a hard lesson," Wade muttered under his breath. "Make it painful, but not fatal. Drive them all off and it ruins the balance."
He would start with a heavy warning. If Philip still refused to wake up—
Then the contingency measures he'd already prepared would come into play.
"Bloodhealing potion... is it really that tempting?"
He'd tasted one before: wounds knitting shut in seconds, a temporary surge in physique and strength, nerves ignited with an intoxicating rush of euphoria. But drink too much, and hallucinations would follow—wild highs and manic energy.
It reminded him of that thing from his past life, the one you weren't even supposed to mention.
Yeah. Tempting indeed.
"For monsters... let's go with this." He tapped a name on the list, adding a few devious tools to the map for later use.
For now, his goal was simple—knock the Count back onto the right path before he brought disaster upon himself.
At least, that was his plan—
until the ground beneath him began to rumble.
Rumble... rumble...
The altar shuddered violently, forcing Wade to leap back. Pale-blue runes flared to life, circling the platform as it began to rotate—slowly, deliberately—like it was preparing to summon a Heroic Spirit. Something was forming at its center.
[Mana Reserves Reached. Unlocking World Reputation System.]
"...?"
A map unfurled before his eyes.
There were no mountains, rivers, or cities marked—just the contours of the land.
He recognized the shape instantly. It was the very continent he stood upon—rendered with uncanny accuracy and detail.
The entire map was covered in blotches of color—hundreds of shades, maybe two hundred subtle variations.
Crimson. Jet black. Pure white.
And in the central-west region, a scattering of faint grass-green patches glowed conspicuously bright.
Overlaying it with the real map made it obvious—
the largest green area sat right where Bedford City was.
And not just there. Tiny motes of green dotted other locations—even across the far western continent.
"Green represents my influence. The rest belong to other dungeons."
The knowledge flowed directly into his mind, as if whispered by the system itself.
As a lifelong gamer, the instinct to paint the entire map green took root immediately.
But what was the point of a World Reputation System?
What else did it do besides track influence?
Before he could dwell on it, the summoning finished.
Plop.
A tattered, ancient tome dropped onto the altar.
Wade stepped closer and carefully flipped open its brittle pages—each one threatening to crumble at the touch.
The first words made his pupils narrow.
[Greetings, Aldwin of Sein Dungeon.]
"...The hell? Box?!"
He reflexively blurted out an old meme from his past life. Not that anyone was around to get it.
Shaking his head, he continued reading—his expression growing darker with each line.
[My name is Aldwin. This is no coincidence. To explain it simply—I am your past self, and you are my future self.]
[Don't worry about me seizing your body. By the time you read this, my soul will have long since faded. You will inherit this body, live under the name 'Aldwin,' until your own strength runs dry.]
[This body has passed through countless hands, unchanged. Only the soul within shifts. I am one of many—and you, too, are only a guest. But I hope you will not remain a guest. I hope you will become the true master.]
[If I guessed right, you awoke one day to find yourself a horrific undead, trapped forever in the dungeon. Farmer, adventurer, mercenary, knight, prince or princess—it doesn't matter. Once you became Aldwin, your old life was lost forever.]
The author clearly hadn't considered the possibility of isekai.
[The dungeon is a vile thing. When a master's soul fades, it seizes another soul to forge a new one. I was once a famed adventurer, with a loving wife and cheerful children. Damn this dungeon…]
The hatred in those words practically bled through the page.
But much of the text was ruined—entire sections lost to decay. Only fragments remained.
[The dungeon seals something. As long as the master's body endures, the seal will never break.]
Another long gap.
Then more words, faint but legible:
[If you can read this, your mana reserves are strong. You have talent in dungeon management. Whether you love or hate this role—you are a qualified master.]
[Now, heed my advice. Do not repeat my mistakes.]
[The Reputation Map means you are about to enter a brutal struggle.]
[From the moment you appear on that map, other dungeons can see you. Trust no one. Assume the worst.]
[Those who approach you will become your enemies. Those far stronger may pity you—perhaps even lend aid.]
[You know what I mean. Bound by the rules, I cannot explain further.]
[Reputation is vital. It determines whether you survive the conflicts to come.]
[Victory will never come from monsters, no matter how strong they are. That was my fatal error.]
[The true key lies with those who love you—those who love this dungeon, who cherish what you create, who bond with it. They are the ones who truly are—]
The words stopped. The rest of the page had been destroyed beyond recognition.
"..."
Even so, Wade understood every cryptic phrase—as if echoes of his predecessors whispered their meanings into his mind.
He could already guess what the broken passage implied.
The struggle—it had to mean battles with other dungeons.
But how?
Dungeons were far apart. Masters and monsters couldn't leave their domains.
So how could they clash?
What form would it take?
The uncertainty gnawed at him—a cold dread creeping into his gut, as if some colossal terror loomed just beyond the horizon.
Once the Reputation Map opened, there would be no rest.
An endless arms race had begun.
"Fine. Let it come. I'm not afraid."
He exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing with resolve.
Then he turned to the final, legible page—and his pupils contracted.
[Do not open any envelopes.]
[Do not touch any envelopes.]
[Do not gaze at any envelopes.]
[...ENVELOPES!!!]
The warning itself wasn't what froze him.
It was what lay on the altar.
A sapphire-blue envelope, resting quietly in the light.