Inside the rather crowded Adventurers' Guild hall, Hax chose carefully.
From within his Inventory, he took out a fang the length of a palm—sharply curved, dark ivory in color with faint purple veins pulsing subtly along its surface.
It was merely a drop from a mid-class monster in his castle.
To him, it was nothing special.
But the moment he placed it on the wooden counter—
The atmosphere in the room changed.
Quieter than when he first entered.
The receptionist in front of him froze, her breath caught in her throat. Several adventurers who had previously pretended not to care were now openly staring, their gazes drawn to the object on the table as if pulled by invisible gravity.
"This…" the receptionist murmured softly, her voice nearly trembling. "May I call for an appraisal officer?"
Hax gave a short nod.
Not long after, a middle-aged man stepped out from the back room. He wore a simple gray robe and thin silver-rimmed glasses. In his hand was a small crystal lens and a pair of delicate gloves that appeared specially made for handling dangerous artifacts.
He approached without much to say.
With practiced movements, the man put on the gloves and slowly lifted the fang. He brought the crystal lens close, inhaled briefly, then spoke words that caused Hax's perspective to tense.
"Appraisal Skill: Identification."
The sentence sounded far too familiar.
Far too precise.
It was the name of an ability from the game system he had once created.
Hax maintained a neutral expression, but his mind moved rapidly.
How did the people of this world learn that skill?
Did they recognize it as a system?
Or did they simply consider it ordinary magic?
And… the Grimoire the guard had mentioned earlier—
Was it possible that book contained ability data? The entire structure of abilities he had once designed?
If so, then the system was not merely integrated into this world.
It was documented.
The middle-aged man seemed increasingly focused. The longer he examined it, the deeper the crease on his forehead became.
"This material…" he murmured slowly, almost as if speaking to himself. "It does not originate from monsters in the surrounding region."
He took a small needle-like tool with a blue crystal core at its tip and touched it to the fang's surface.
"The mana density is high…" he continued. "It can be used as a catalyst for magical weapons. Its value… is not low."
He glanced at Hax's identification card.
"Rank E?"
His tone shifted slightly.
Hax remained silent.
The man was quiet for several seconds before finally saying, "The Guild will purchase it. However, for an item of this quality… we usually ask about its source."
It was not an accusation.
But it was close.
"I found it," Hax answered shortly.
A half-truth. He did "find" it—in his own world.
The man stared at the seamless black helmet for a long moment. Then he let out a small sigh.
"We will pay three gold coins and twelve silver coins."
The amount was clearly large for a Rank E.
Whispers began to circulate.
But he had broken no rules.
The transaction was completed.
A small pouch of coins changed hands.
For the first time since arriving in this world, Hax possessed currency.
Yet behind the registration desk—
The small crystal previously used to absorb Hax's "blood" was still glowing faintly.
The receptionist watched it anxiously.
It should have turned clear again after synchronization was complete.
But inside—
There was a shard of dark red light pulsing slowly.
Like a heart that did not beat.
She swallowed and quickly placed the crystal into a drawer.
Perhaps it was just a reading error.
She hoped so.
As Hax turned to leave the counter—
Someone was watching him from the corner of the room.
A man with short silver hair, wearing a simple black coat without any guild emblem. He sat alone, a cup of drink in his hand.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Aura.
He could feel it.
Not the aura of an ordinary killer.
Nor the wild mana of a mage.
It was emptiness.
Silence.
Like something that should not possess life—yet moved.
The man smiled faintly.
"Interesting…"
____
The sky had fully darkened when Hax stepped out of the guild.
The last remnants of dusk had sunk away, replaced by oil lamps burning along the main road. Their flames were small but steady, casting yellowish light over the cold stone pavement. Shadows of buildings stretched and intertwined, forming dark corridors between the light.
The sounds of the city softened, shifting from daytime bustle into a nighttime murmur.
Hax walked without hurry.
His black armor absorbed more light than it reflected, making his figure appear like a fragment of shadow moving on its own.
Not far from the town square, he found a modest inn. A wooden sign hanging above the door swayed gently in the wind, producing a faint creaking sound.
He pushed the door open and entered.
The interior was warm—too warm compared to the night air outside. Golden light from hanging lanterns filled the room. The aroma of meat soup and toasted bread floated in the air, mixed with the scent of old wood and clean fabric.
A few customers were still enjoying their dinner.
A young girl—perhaps just entering her teens—had just finished delivering drinks when she noticed Hax's presence. She flinched slightly at the sight of the tall black-armored figure, but quickly forced a professional smile.
There was faint unease in her eyes.
Yet she still stepped forward.
"Welcome to the Silver Lantern Inn!" she greeted cheerfully, though her tone carried slight tension.
Hax did not return the smile.
"…Room."
One word.
Short. Flat.
"One night."
The girl blinked, her smile turning awkward for a moment before she forced it back.
"R-Right… please proceed to the booking desk."
She guided Hax to a corner of the room, where a large wooden desk stood firmly. Behind it sat a large-built woman wearing a clean white apron and neatly tied hair. Her gaze was sharp, full of experience managing guests of various kinds.
The woman observed Hax from head to toe.
Black armor.
Cold aura.
Few words.
She exchanged a brief look with the young girl—a silent communication understood only by those accustomed to reading people.
"One silver coin for one night," the woman finally said. "Do you require dinner and breakfast?"
"No."
The answer came without pause.
Hax placed a silver coin on the desk. The metallic sound rang clearly amid the clinking of spoons and quiet conversation.
He did not need food.
The body he inhabited now was not an ordinary human body.
Not hungry.
Not tired.
Not truly alive.
The woman looked at the coin, then back at Hax. There was a brief hesitation on her face, but she did not ask further.
"No causing trouble, hm?" she said in a tone half joking, half warning.
Hax did not reply.
His gaze remained flat.
And somehow, that was enough.
The woman nodded slowly, took a wooden key with a simple metal tag, and handed it over.
"Second floor. End of the corridor."
Hax accepted the key without a word.
He turned and walked toward the wooden staircase at the side of the room. His steps were heavy but steady, the faint echo of metal meeting wood blending into the dinner conversations.
Behind him, the young girl remained standing still a few seconds longer than necessary.
"He… doesn't eat?" she whispered softly, low enough not to be heard by other guests.
The innkeeper merely snorted lightly without taking her eyes off the desk.
"Some guests carry their own secrets," she said flatly. "As long as they pay and don't damage the place, leave them be."
The girl nodded slightly, though her curiosity had not completely faded.
But before Hax could step onto the first stair—
A rough laugh shattered the warmth of the room.
"Hey! Empty armor!"
A drunk man in the corner raised his mug high, his face red and eyes half-lidded.
"Can you even drink?!"
A few small laughs came from nearby tables. Not loud. Not fully confident. More like laughter from people who did not want to appear cowardly.
Hax's steps halted.
He did not feel offended.
Such emotions had long ceased to be relevant to him.
But disturbances like this… were inefficient.
The drunk man stood up unsteadily, nearly knocking over his chair. He staggered closer, the smell of alcohol preceding him.
Several customers began watching more seriously.
Hax's black armor stood still beneath the lantern light.
The man stopped directly in front of him.
"Take off your helmet," he sneered. "Or do you not even have a face in there?"
Without waiting for an answer, he raised a finger and tapped the surface of the helmet.
Clank.
The sound of metal echoed softly.
The room fell silent.
Inside the armor, Hax's mana shifted slightly.
Not an explosion.
Not openly released magic.
Just… a shift in pressure.
The air around them grew heavier within a narrow radius. The lantern light dimmed for a fraction of a second—barely noticeable, yet enough to send chills down the skin.
The drunk man froze.
His smile vanished.
His breath hitched as though his lungs had forgotten how to function.
He did not know what was happening.
He only knew one thing.
Danger.
The most primitive instinct within him screamed without sound.
Run.
Cold sweat crawled down his temples. The hand that had tapped the helmet began to tremble.
He stepped back.
Then another.
"I–I was just joking…"
No answer.
Hax did not move to attack. Did not raise a hand. Did not voice a threat.
The pressure vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
As if it had never existed.
Yet its effect remained.
The man stumbled back to his table, sitting with a pale face and a mug he no longer touched.
Hax continued up the stairs.
Each step creaked softly beneath the weight of his armor.
No one stopped him this time.
Conversations gradually resumed several seconds later, but their tone had changed.
Quieter.
More careful.
No one laughed at him again.
And no one dared to tap that helmet a second time.
The next morning, Hax returned to the guild.
As a Rank E adventurer, his mission choices were limited.
Most were simple tasks:
Gathering herbs.
• Delivering goods.
• Exterminating field pests.
And the most classic one—
Goblin subjugation.
He stared at the sheet.
Reward: 8 silver coins.
Location: Eastern Forest, 3 kilometers from town.
Target: 10–20 goblins, bonus reward if the nest is destroyed.
Demon King.
Human exterminator.
Ruler of the demon castle.
Now accepting a mission to kill low-level goblins.
Ironic.
But rational.
He took the sheet and handed it to the counter.
The same receptionist looked at him, still slightly tense but more professional.
"Please be careful," she said.
She did not know to whom she was truly speaking.
In the eastern forest—
The goblins did not even realize what approached them.
Hax stood among the trees, observing from a distance.
Small creatures with dull green skin, armed with rusted knives.
In his game, beings like these were mere tutorial enemies.
He stepped forward.
One goblin turned.
Too late.
Hax's movement was nearly invisible.
His black sword appeared from his Inventory in a single flash.
One slash.
Two.
Three.
Silence descended upon the forest again.
The battle was too fast.
Too one-sided.
He stood among goblin corpses that had not even understood their own deaths.
No satisfaction.
No emotion.
Only efficiency.
But as he turned—
He felt something.
A gaze.
From behind the trees.
The same aura as yesterday in the guild.
The silver-haired man stood in the distance, half his body concealed by shadow.
He smiled faintly.
"So it's true… you're not an ordinary adventurer."
Hax did not answer.
But for the first time since arriving in this world—
He felt that the world was beginning to notice him.
And perhaps…
This world was not as foolish as the game system he had once created.
The man introduced himself without preamble.
"Kael Draven. Rank B."
His voice was low. Steady. Too steady for someone suspecting another as a threat.
Hax stood several steps away. The forest wind shifted the leaves, carrying the scent of damp earth mixed with goblin blood not yet fully dried.
Kael looked at him like a hunter who had finally found his prey's trail.
"For the past few weeks," he continued, "adventurers hunting alone have been found dead outside the city. Their bodies incomplete. As if burned by fire too hot to be called ordinary magic. The ground around the site… barren."
He stepped closer. One measured step.
"The residual aura is the same as yours. Undead aura."
The pressure returned.
Not the pressure of power.
The pressure of suspicion.
Hax assessed distance. Posture. The flow of mana in Kael's body.
He could kill him now.
Kael was strong—for a human. But still far below the level of a Demon King.
The issue was not victory.
The issue was consequence.
If he fought seriously, his undead aura would be exposed. If he held back, the battle would take time—and attention.
"I am not the one you seek," Hax said flatly.
A faint smile appeared on Kael's face. "Interesting. You do not even deny that you are undead."
Silence.
The wind ceased as if the forest itself held its breath.
Kael's hand moved to his sword hilt. Mana flowed thinly around his body—tight, controlled. Like a blade sharpened thousands of times.
He was serious.
Hax calculated.
Twelve seconds to incapacitate without killing.
Four seconds without restraint.
Less than one second if he unsealed his mana core.
But before either moved—
The ground trembled.
Not like footsteps.
More like something heavy being dragged across the world.
Both turned simultaneously.
Mist between the trees split apart.
A giant silhouette slowly emerged.
Approximately six meters tall. Its body composed of black roots twisting like rotting veins, mixed with large bone fragments embedded randomly. Atop it perched a giant pumpkin head—its grinning face crudely carved with triangular eye sockets.
Inside—
Blue fire burned.
The air changed.
The surrounding mana rotted.
Kael froze. "…That's it."
Jack O' Lantern.
The undead he had been hunting.
The creature tilted its head slowly, assessing two new prey.
Its jaw opened.
Blue fire burst forth.
Not merely flames.
It was the breath of death.
Trees touched by it blackened—not burning red, but losing the color of life. Leaves fell into dust before touching the ground. The earth cracked and paled, like a field never touched by rain.
Kael stepped back half a step.
His instincts screamed.
He had fought large undead before. But this was different.
This was not a corpse animated by a curse.
It was a walking center of emptiness.
Hax felt it too.
The aura was chaotic. Unnatural.
As if this world had attempted to create something resembling the concept of a "Demon King"—but without balance.
The creature stepped forward.
Each footstep left dead earth in its wake.
"If it reaches the city—" Kael did not finish.
He turned.
And ran.
A rational decision. Suicide saved no one.
Hax moved as well.
Not out of fear.
He simply had not decided yet.
Behind them, Jack O' Lantern emitted a cracking wooden sound that resembled forced laughter, then gave chase.
Its steps were heavy.
Yet too fast for a body of that size.
Dusk in the western horizon turned dark red, like a wounded sky.
The city gates came into view.
Merchants and guards turned as the two adventurers ran toward them.
Then they saw what was chasing them.
The giant silhouette emerged from the tree line like a shadow from hell.
Torches at the gate flickered wildly as its rotten aura approached.
A guard dropped his spear. "What is that—?!"
Blue fire burst forth again.
A blast of heat struck the ground before the gate. The small moat instantly dried and cracked. Grass turned to ash. The air filled with an unnatural burnt scent—like something burned without ever truly living.
Screams erupted.
People ran. Some stumbled. Some froze in terror.
"Close the gate!" the guard captain shouted.
The wooden mechanism wheels creaked.
But it was too close.
Kael stopped several meters before the gate. His breathing was heavy. He glanced at Hax.
The suspicion in his eyes was gone.
Replaced by something more honest.
Fear.
"We can't run anymore."
Hax looked at the creature.
If he acted now, he could erase it with a single core strike.
But a mana explosion of that magnitude—
Would be felt by the entire city.
Perhaps… by something greater than this city.
Jack O' Lantern raised its head.
Blue fire gathered in its eye sockets.
The sky grew darker, as if sunlight refused to touch that place.
For the first time since arriving in this world—
Hax felt something close to a dilemma.
Not about winning or losing.
But about how much of himself he was willing to reveal… to a world not yet ready to know him.
The blue fire intensified.
Jack O' Lantern opened its jaw wider than before—far too wide for any bone structure. The air around it trembled, like the fabric of reality stretched to near tearing.
Kael Draven stood before the gate, sword drawn.
Several guards attempted to form a line. Spears raised. Shields gripped with trembling hands.
They were too slow.
The next blast struck.
Blue fire swept across the outer wall. Stone did not crack—it blackened, as if the color of life were drained from it. Two guards at the front line were caught in the wave of heat.
There were no red flames.
No prolonged screams.
Their skin dried within a single second, cracking like drought-stricken earth. The next second, their bodies collapsed into dull ash that was immediately carried away by the wind.
Screams erupted at the gate.
People shoved their way inside. A mother lost her child's hand. A merchant was trampled by his own cart. A horse neighed hysterically before collapsing, no longer moving.
Jack O' Lantern stepped forward.
Each step pressed upon the air like an invisible giant hand. Its aura of death was not mere energy—it was rejection of life itself.
Kael attacked.
"Sword Skill—!"
Blue-white mana coated his blade. He dashed forward with a clean and precise technique forged by thousands of practices.
"Sky Piercing Slash!"
His vertical strike split through the creature's root-body. Black coils severed, bones cracked, sparks of mana scattered into the air.
But the severed parts moved.
The split roots crawled back like living serpents. Bones fused with sickening cracking sounds. The blue fire in the pumpkin head burned brighter, as if mocking human effort.
Kael retreated.
His breathing was heavy.
He knew.
He would not win.
Hax stood several meters behind him.
Calculating.
If he did not act, the city would fall within minutes.
If he acted—
The consequences could not be undone.
Jack O' Lantern raised its head.
Blue fire condensed in its eye sockets. This time denser. More stable.
The next attack would strike the gate directly.
And after that—
The city.
Hax slowly raised his hand.
Beneath the black armor, the core of his existence pulsed.
The skill was not originally his.
It was a remnant from the game's final design—a power that only appeared in total destruction cutscenes.
Yet the System still preserved it.
Locked.
Awaiting command.
"Casting: Area of Effect Skill…"
The mana in the air changed. Became heavy. Became deep.
The darkened sky turned even blacker.
"…Abyss Rain."
For a moment—
Nothing happened.
Then the clouds above the city began to swirl.
Not rain clouds.
But a pitch-black vortex, like a hole leading to bottomless depths.
A cracking sound echoed from the sky.
The first drop fell.
Not water.
Thick black liquid like ink, faintly glowing with dark purple flashes.
It touched the ground—
And the ground melted.
The rain fell harder.
Jack O' Lantern roared. Drops of abyss pierced its root-body, rotting, dissolving, devouring the mana that animated it. The blue fire in its eye sockets flickered wildly.
But the rain did not choose targets.
It recognized no allies.
No civilians.
A guard who ran too late was touched by the black rain.
First second—his skin blistered.
Second second—his flesh cracked like dry ceramic.
Third second—his body collapsed, losing form, becoming a dark mass that dissolved into the soil.
His scream cut into a short gargling sound.
Then silence.
People ran in absolute panic.
But the rain was too wide.
Kael looked up.
He saw the sky gaping open.
Then he turned to Hax.
Understanding slowly dawned.
"You…"
A drop fell on his shoulder.
His black coat immediately developed a hole. The skin beneath blackened and cracked. He staggered, his knee nearly touching the ground.
Yet he did not run.
He looked at Hax—not with suspicion. Not with fear.
But with bitter certainty.
"So… you truly are…"
His sentence was cut short.
The rain grew heavier.
His body slowly collapsed like a statue consumed by time. His sword fell first, embedding itself into the melting ground.
Then Kael.
Jack O' Lantern roared for the last time.
Its giant body became riddled with holes. Roots and bones dissolved like charcoal doused in acid. The blue fire in its head dimmed.
Flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then extinguished.
Its body fell and disintegrated into black sludge that evaporated.
But the rain did not stop.
Wooden buildings blackened and softened. The ground turned into a rotting swamp. Human screams were cut off one by one—not by distance, but by endings.
And in the midst of it all—
Hax stood.
Drops of Abyss Rain touched his black armor.
Nothing happened.
The liquid flowed across its surface like ordinary water, unable to dissolve what was not part of this world.
He felt no heat.
No pain.
No regret.
Only silence.
Perhaps because he was no longer human.
Or perhaps because destruction recognizes its master.
Several seconds later, the rain began to subside.
The black clouds slowly rotated, then vanished, leaving a pale and empty sky.
What remained before the city gate was a hellscape.
Pitted earth. Charred wood. Bodies no longer resembling bodies.
An acidic smell filled the air.
There were no cries.
No screams.
Only wind blowing softly through the ruins.
Hax looked at the destruction.
He calculated.
Threat: eliminated.
Effectiveness: maximum.
Additional casualties: systemically irrelevant.
His black visor turned toward Kael's fallen sword.
Rank B.
Undead hunter.
Now nothing more than biological residue dissolved with the rain.
Hax turned away.
He did not return to the guild.
Did not report the goblin mission.
Did not collect the reward.
He simply walked away from the city.
Toward the south.
His steps were calm. Measured. As if what had just occurred was merely a minor variable in a long calculation not yet complete.
Behind him, the city still stood.
But no longer the same.
Thin smoke still rose into the pale sky. The half-melted gate hung crooked like a broken jaw. The ground beyond the walls had become a black expanse where nothing would grow again.
And among the ruins—
Something moved.
Not human.
Not undead.
Residual Abyss mana not yet fully evaporated pulsed slowly within the ruined soil, like a seed unintentionally planted.
Far to the north, in a place untouched by the black rain, an ancient artifact trembled faintly. The crystal within it lit for one second—then two—recording a surge of mana that should not exist in this world.
And even farther still—
Someone opened their eyes.
Hax continued walking without looking back.
He did not realize that the sky above him still retained a faint shadow of swirling vortex—a thin trace of a skill this world did not yet fully comprehend.
Or perhaps…
He did realize.
And chose to keep walking.
Because long before this world was ready to face its end—
The end had already begun to move.