As invasion activity grew increasingly rampant, someone compiled a chart.
Different colors marked how frequently invasion incidents occurred in each area.
After using a Red Eye Orb, invaders tended to prioritize nearby targets.
The first area to be affected was the Gourmet Zone, marked white with a faint hint of red. Everything within the Milk River was considered an absolute safe zone—only after crossing the river did one have a chance of encountering a Darkwraith, and even then, the probability was lower than elsewhere.
Next came the Catacombs, tinted light red.
This area had the highest overall difficulty. The opening volley from massed archers alone was enough to scare off many players. If an invader entered this zone, there was even a chance they'd be turned into a pincushion. Invaders weren't actively targeted by monsters, but they still took damage from them.
The area with the highest number of invasion incidents was Farron Keep.
It had turned a horrifying deep crimson.
Over seventy percent of the map here had already been explored. Monsters, terrain, traps, debuffs—everything was familiar. All kinds of incomplete guides circulated outside the dungeon.
With guides available, weaker players naturally flocked to the area. Suffering and death were unavoidable, but following a guide made exploration somewhat easier.
And in the eyes of invaders, these people were perfect prey.
When an invader killed a world host, they obtained the souls the host had accumulated. But Darkwraith covenant holders gained even more—they received a bonus based on the host's strength. If they successfully used the Dark Hand on the host, the bonus souls increased further.
Incidentally, Dark Hand was granted upon signing the Darkwraith covenant. Everyone could obtain it, though its power was initially restricted.
The covenant item gained from a successful invasion was called Humanity. By offering enough Humanity, one could obtain a truly powerful Dark Hand.
Drop by drop makes a river. Grain by grain builds a tower.
Killing people and stealing souls was far faster than grinding monsters—provided the invader had the skill to avoid being counter-killed.
Fortunately, the Sein Dungeon matched invaders according to strength, selecting hosts of similar power. If no suitable target was found, it increased the number instead.
In Farron Keep, both invaders and invaded were generally of comparable strength.
Occasionally, however, there were "smurf hunters." Once they invaded, they might run into teams of five or more, drastically lowering their odds of victory.
The man codenamed "Old Man" was one such smurf hunter.
He had been hired by the Luluwo Group to invade Leon, but today, he simply wanted to relax. After all, he couldn't beat the Leon Group anyway—he'd only end up as cannon fodder.
"Hehehe… let me give those naïve adventurers a painful lesson."
Old Man gripped the Red Eye Orb and activated an invasion.
[Invading another world…]
Why did it succeed so quickly today?
It worked immediately?
Old Man blinked in surprise, then grinned. He licked his lips greedily and put on an animal headpiece.
He would—absolutely would—leave them with unforgettable memories.
[Invasion successful!]
Transformed into a red phantom, Old Man appeared in Farron Keep near the hill with the beacon tower—a familiar sight.
He searched the area with practiced ease, looking for which lucky adventurer would fall into his hands.
Then he felt it.
A gaze.
It made him uneasy.
He looked around.
Finally, he spotted a figure on the hill—someone squatting there, watching him the entire time.
When he saw what the person was wearing, Old Man frowned.
The fashion sense was bizarre.
Plain cloth trousers on the lower half. A bare upper body displaying well-built muscles. And on the head—a filthy, pointed hood.
It looked ridiculous.
The weapon setup was unremarkable: a black straight sword and a black shield. A very ordinary combination.
Yet the moment Old Man registered the weapons, a surge of danger rose in his chest.
No—not just the weapons.
Everything about the hooded man felt wrong.
As if he'd been waiting there all along.
Strange. Did he know an invasion was coming?
"Hey! If you've got guts, come down here!" Old Man shouted.
What if there were traps up there? He wasn't about to charge in blindly.
The hooded man didn't reply.
He simply extended a finger and pointed at the ground.
"What, you telling me to watch my step?" Old Man glanced down.
Nothing but swamp.
Wait—
He got it.
The bastard was mocking him.
"I think you're tired of living!"
Justice had to be served. Punishment was necessary.
Old Man was furious—but not stupid. Instead of charging immediately, he roared loudly, trying to draw nearby monsters.
Yet even after yelling like Tarzan for ages, not a single monster appeared.
Just as confusion crept in, he met the hooded man's gaze.
That look—like he was staring at an idiot.
Old Man snapped and charged up the hill.
His weapon was a spear—but it could split into a three-section staff. If the opponent tried to block with a shield, he could tear it away.
My weapon counters his. How could I lose?
This is a guaranteed win!
Old Man lunged forward.
The hooded man didn't raise his shield.
Instead, he advanced with his straight sword.
Oh?
Not retreating—advancing?
Perfect.
Old Man thrust, aiming to skewer him clean through.
The next second—
"Huh?"
Old Man's body froze.
He couldn't move.
His spear was knocked aside—
And cracked.
What… what just happened?
What did he do? Why didn't I see it?
No—why couldn't he move at all?
He vaguely remembered the hooded man swinging his sword, then raising his shield.
After that—nothing.
When his body finally regained movement, shaken, Old Man thrust again.
"Clang!"
Weapons collided.
His body stiffened once more.
Old Man began questioning his life.
Is this guy actually a mage? No—there's no staff.
Then how is he casting spells?
"You—you…" Old Man stammered. "I'm not afraid of your tricks!"
The third exchange came with the hooded man charging first.
This time, Old Man finally saw it clearly.
He canceled the recovery of his sword swing.
"What?!"
Old Man was stunned.
What kind of technique was this? A combat art? Magic? Some unique talent?
He had no time to think.
His death star was shining.
In the next instant, the hooded man unleashed dozens of slashes in a blink.
Old Man's spear shattered—
Along with his arm.
And his torso.
[Darkwraith "Old Man" has died]
"Ow…"
Revived at the bonfire, Old Man stared blankly.
It was his first time encountering attack canceling.
His worldview had been violently shattered.
He stood there for a long time—not only to process the shock, but also to wait for the headache to fade.
Once it passed, he picked up a spare weapon and returned to Farron Keep.
Not for revenge.
But to wash away his shame with a victory.
Before long, Old Man appeared at the bonfire again.
This time, he wasn't confused.
He was questioning reality.
"Why did I run into another hooded guy again?"
He hesitated.
Should he invade Farron Keep again?
There's no way I'd run into him a third time… right?
A few minutes later—
When Old Man, once again a red phantom, saw the mysterious hooded man—
He nearly screamed.
"You—you—you!" He pointed, words failing him.
He began wondering if that guy was even human.
He couldn't beat him.
What was the point of such a one-sided fight?
Someone who lived for smurfing had finally been smurfed—and it was agony.
Thankfully, heaven hadn't sealed all paths.
Just as he was about to die to animation canceling again—
[Invaded by Darkwraith "Lizard"]
[Invaded by Darkwraith "Flying Bird"]
Great! Reinforcements! I'm saved!
Old Man instantly perked up.
No matter how invincible canceling was, two fists couldn't beat four hands.
Spit on him together and he'd drown.
He made a taunting gesture—
Only for the hooded man to turn and flee without hesitation.
"Huh?"
Old Man had lost count of how many times he'd said that today.
This guy was full of—
Before the thought finished, a dung pie smashed into his face.
"Chase him! Tear him apart!"
The hooded man fled ahead, while the three invaders—faces smeared with filth—gave chase, planning unspeakable things once they caught him.
"Running is meaningless!" Old Man roared. "Come back and die!"
The man was slippery as an eel, using the terrain expertly.
They couldn't catch him.
But what was the point of running?
A real man should fight head-on!
As Old Man was thinking this, a whistling sound tore through the air.
"Ah!"
A scream rang out.
One invader beside him was struck by a massive arrow and nailed to a tree.
What?!
An ambush?!
More great arrows followed.
The wounded invader was headshot.
Another took an arrow to the knee and collapsed into the swamp.
A rain of arrows poured down, riddling him like a sieve in seconds.
Old Man fled in panic.
He hadn't expected the hooded man to have teammates—let alone a hidden archer.
An arrow grazed his shoulder.
He couldn't even lift his weapon.
To hell with victory.
He just wanted to escape—at least not die to arrows from nowhere.
The arrows followed relentlessly, almost teasing him.
Whenever he thought he was safe, an arrow skimmed past his body, forcing him to run again.
The mental and physical strain was immense.
At some point, the arrows stopped.
The hooded man vanished.
Old Man was lost in Farron Keep.
It's fine.
As long as I escape, I can find a chance to ambush them.
That's what he thought—
But—
Pshhk.
A rapier pierced his heart from behind.
The blade was invisible.
He only recognized it as a rapier because it was stained with his blood.
Someone invisible had been following me? Since when?!
In the final moment before darkness swallowed him, he saw multiple invasion notifications.
New invaders had arrived.
Run!
This place is a death trap!
A death trap!
He wanted to shout it—
But he died before he could.
His death was gruesome.
Though his heart was pierced cleanly, his expression was twisted in terror, as if he had witnessed something truly horrifying.
Old Man would probably never invade again.
Every time he picked up a Red Eye Orb, he would remember that filthy hood—
And the figure running freely beneath the sunset.
In October of New Calendar Year 2174, the trio known as "The Three Hooded Ones" officially debuted.
For reasons unknown, invaders kept running into them—
And the price was merciless slaughter.
Hood One wielded swordsmanship capable of canceling recovery frames—terrifyingly strong.
Hood Two fired great arrows with godlike precision, killing unseen.
Hood Three combined invisibility with a rapier, unmatched—and if discovered, could also use magic.
Individually, they weren't overwhelmingly powerful.
Their strength lay in teamwork.
Each had signed the Warrior of Sunlight covenant, placing summoning signs at prearranged locations and embedding passwords into them. Those without the code couldn't see the signs.
When facing invaders beyond their capacity, Hood Three would begin parkour, then summon allies to fight together.
Their coordination was flawless.
So far, invaders stood no chance.
Encountering them during an invasion was a death sentence.
Before long, guided by an invisible hand, the trio rose to fame and were hailed as guardians of adventurers.
Their fashion sense was strange—
But when you're strong, everything you do is right.
Darkwraith developed a fear of hoods.
Anyone wearing one terrified them.
Meanwhile, people in the city began mass-producing the hoods, officially naming them Slave Hoods.
Every Warrior of Sunlight wore one to intimidate invaders. Some ordinary adventurers also donned them when facing invasions.
For a time, the Slave Hood became the hottest trend in the city.
As recording crystals of the trio's battles spread, people began studying their fighting styles. Whether pure PvE adventurers or hardened PvP players, everyone trained harder.
An arms race ignited.
The overall quality of Bedford City's adventurers steadily rose, and the dungeon's Mana output increased.
The Fire Church introduced services to help aspiring Warriors of Sunlight—guiding trainees through the forest to the Sun Altar and providing basic combat instruction.
Both the Adventurers' Guild and the Bedford family strongly condemned the vile act of invasion, with the latter even issuing prohibitive decrees.
Under the nationwide anti-invasion wave, those who had blindly chased thrills as Darkwraith canceled their covenants and stopped invading.
Those who remained had thought carefully.
They believed the invasion system could benefit them.
They honed their PvP skills seriously, perhaps aiming to master every corner of the map and become future PvP elites.
The invasion wave had come swiftly—
And under the control of an invisible hand, receded just as quickly.
In hindsight, its greatest effect was engraving the concepts of helpers and invaders deep into every adventurer's mind.
Dungeon exploration was no longer just about fighting monsters.
Off-field factors mattered more.
Gameplay depth increased.
For the dungeon itself, the benefit was simple and direct—
Sein's Mana intake was rising.
Invasion and counter-invasion stirred emotions far stronger than monsters or traps, and the dungeon absorbed all that excess Mana.
Those who heard of this unprecedented system were drawn in.
So much changed in just a few days—
Yet the people of Bedford City adapted quickly.
After all, they had survived dungeon outbreaks.
Mere invaders were nothing.
But some people reacted strongly.
As the original instigator, Luluwo didn't understand.
The burly man didn't understand either.
What happened?
How did everyone accept invaders and helpers so quickly, as if they'd existed for centuries?
The effect Luluwo had hoped for never appeared.
Fewer people helped obstruct the Leon Group.
Instead, they grew stronger through constant invasions.
The Luluwo Group slowed their progress by reducing party size and were close to being overtaken—their early lead nearly gone.
Luluwo had chosen another shortcut.
And once again—
It was the wrong one.
With severe consequences.
Because—
[Invaded by Warrior of Sunlight "Mysterious Hooded Man"]
Standing in the Catacombs, Luluwo stared at the mysterious figure before her, utterly at a loss.
So… Warriors of Sunlight can invade too?!