The red pop-up on the management panel disappeared at 3:17 AM.
In its place appeared a golden pop-up Allen had never seen before. The border blinked slowly, once every two seconds, almost in sync with his heartbeat.
[Hidden Achievement Triggered – Guardian's Awakening]
[Trigger Condition: The Dungeon Architect uses dungeon power to protect non-Awakened inhabitants' residential areas from dungeon outbreaks.]
[Reward 1: System Affinity +500. Blueprint Shop discounts updated; hidden item catalog partially unlocked.]
[Reward 2: Additional BP Compensation – 5000 BP.]
[Current BP Balance: 5000.] Allen leaned against pillar P2-17 in the parking lot. His left hoodie sleeve was covered in dried mud from the elbow down, and the right pant leg was ripped to the knee. The wound on his left thigh wasn't deep, but it was constantly oozing. The fabric of his jeans was stuck to blood, tearing with every movement.
Five thousand BP. He spent all his savings of 21,000 to lay that severed power line. The system refunded part of the money.
Not all of it. 14,000 was still owed.
But he was alive. The people of Coffin Street were alive.
The management panel continued to refresh.
[Combat Kill Statistics: 14 D-level Mutant Rat Monsters. Gained a large amount of experience points.]
[Level Up! E+ Rank → D- Rank]
[Level Up! D- Rank → D Rank] A jump of two levels.
Allen brought up the System panel. The numbers in the attribute bar were refreshing.
[Allen Gray]
[Occupation: Dungeon Architect]
[Rank: D]
[Strength: D-/Agility: D/Constitution: D-/Intelligence: D+/Perception: C-/Luck: ???]
[Skills: Shadow Step (F-rank)/Stone Skin (F-rank)/Shadow Sense (F-rank)/Predator's Instinct (F-rank)]
He's at D-rank now. Three days ago he was E-rank.
There's another one below.
[New Skill Acquired—Dungeon Sense (D-rank)]
[Effect: Passive skill. Can sense the location, level, core status, and abnormal fluctuations of all dungeons within a 5km radius. Early warning accuracy far exceeds GWA's conventional monitoring system.] Allen turned off the panel.
His head pressed against the concrete pillar. Cold. Same temperature as yesterday. The drainpipe was still dripping. Drip. Drip. Drip.
His right hand was trembling. Not from the cold. The March night wind in Brooklyn seeped in through the gap in the roller shutter; the temperature was probably four or five degrees Celsius, cold but not enough to make him tremble.
The adrenaline had subsided.
It had been almost an hour since the battle ended. The walk back to the parking lot from the open space took twelve minutes, three minutes slower than the journey there—his left leg was dragging him down. His knees buckled after he entered the second basement level, and he slid down a pillar and sat there ever since.
His hands were still trembling.
Allen laid his hands out on his knees. The trembling of his ten fingers was about two millimeters. Not intense. But it wouldn't stop.
Three years ago. Downtown New York City. An S-class underground city erupted.
He hid in the school's basement for forty-seven hours. No cell phone signal. All he could hear outside were the roars of monsters and the sounds of collapsing buildings. In the forty-eighth hour, a GWA rescue team broke down the door, and a woman in a white uniform pulled him out from under a table.
He asked her, "Where are my parents?" The woman didn't answer.
Later, GWA's official report called it an "unforeseen natural disaster." The list of victims was not released. It took him two months to confirm two names from the Red Cross's temporary registry.
Grey. Paul Grey. Susan Grey.
Today. Class D. Not Class S. Two hundred to four hundred rat monsters, not tens of thousands. One block in the Red Hook District, not half of Manhattan.
But the direction those rat monsters rushed towards the residential area was the same as the direction the Class S monsters surged out of the ground three years ago—from underground, upwards, towards populated areas.
Allen put his hands back in his hoodie pocket. The trembling lessened.
The management panel popped up with the last update.
[Seven-Day System Task Progress Refresh—]
[Dungeon Operation Evaluation: C+→A-]
[Evaluation Explanation: The dungeon's defensive actions have been included in the "Dungeon Extension Application" rating dimension. The architect demonstrated domain expansion, surface trap deployment, and monster tactical maneuvering capabilities beyond regular dungeon operations, far exceeding the Class B evaluation standard.] [Seven-Day Mission Reward Unlocked (Can be claimed at any time): 1 A-Rank Monster Blueprint.]
A-Rank Blueprint. The original goal was to exchange a B-rank rating for an A-rank blueprint. Now the rating has jumped directly to A-.
Allen didn't claim it immediately. He closed the panel, took off his glasses, and wiped the lenses with the hem of his hoodie. There was a small dark red spot on the lens—rat monster blood. He wiped it three times before it was clean.
He put it back on.
The parking lot was quiet. Movement could be heard in the distance from the direction of Coffin Street—the engines of GWA armored vehicles were still running, and the electronic static from the communication channels could be heard several blocks away.
Allen took out his phone. He didn't check the forum. He opened the GWA official website's public announcement page.
Empty.
3:20 AM. Nearly three hours had passed since the D-rank dungeon outbreak. GWA's rapid response force had arrived. Claire DuPont saw all the evidence in the open area.
Not a single word on the official website.
Not surprising. GWA needs time to process this. The owner of an "artificial underground city" deployed its underground forces to the surface to intercept the outbreak—this was beyond anyone's comprehension. Claire DuPont needed to report to her superiors, who needed to assess the situation, and assessments took time.
Allen locked his phone.
He knew the DeepRift forum was in an uproar without even looking.
He didn't care.
The wound on his left thigh was still oozing. He should treat it. In the corner of the parking lot was a first-aid kit he'd left there earlier—two rolls of bandages, a bottle of iodine, and some painkillers. It was a civilian-grade kit bought from a convenience store.
Allen used a pillar to support himself as he stood up.
After taking a couple of steps, the pain in his left leg sharpened. He paused for a second, changing his leverage—shifting his weight to his right leg, using his left foot only for support. He reached the corner. He squatted down. He removed the bandages. The iodine hissed as it was poured onto the wound. It was short—half a syllable was swallowed back.
The bandage was wrapped three times. Unprofessional. But it stopped the bleeding.
He leaned back against the pillar. His phone vibrated again.
This time he glanced at it. A notification from the DeepRift forum. A four-digit red dot.
He didn't open the forum homepage. He opened the search bar and searched for a keyword.
"Architect." The search results popped up within 0.3 seconds.
First result. Posted: 47 minutes ago. Title: "The Architect Saved Red Hook District?! Man-made Underground City Defenses Discovered at the Site of the Underground City Outbreak!!!" Popularity: First on the homepage. Number of comments: 2,400. Still rising.
Second result. Posted: 31 minutes ago. Title: "Complete Analysis: What exactly is The Architect? An S-Class Hidden Awakener? A Government Secret Weapon? The Spokesperson of the Underground City's Will?" Popularity: Third on the homepage.
Third result. Posted: 19 minutes ago. Title: "I live on Coffin Street. Tonight, rat monsters were two blocks away from my doorstep. Someone set up a trap in an open area to stop them. By the time the GWA arrived, most of the rat monsters were dead. I want to thank that person in person."
Comments: Allen only skimmed the first ten.
"The Architect is the anonymous operator of that Brooklyn warehouse dungeon. Now he's not just operating the dungeon—he's using it to protect people."
"This isn't something an S-class can do. S-class can fight monsters. Bringing dungeon traps and monsters to the surface? What kind of new profession is this?"
"I bet a thousand dollars. The Architect isn't an Awakened One. He's the dungeon itself."
"What conspiracy theory are you spouting? Dungeons are system-generated natural creations; they don't have consciousness."
"Three years ago, someone said dungeons couldn't possibly exist on Earth. Where do you stand now?"
Allen left the forum.
While browsing the post list, he noticed a post hidden on the third page. Post ID: JC_Silent. Registration Time: Tonight. Number of Posts: 1.
Title: "I've been in that Brooklyn dungeon. Trust me, whoever's behind it… you don't want to piss them off." The text was only one sentence: "I know what it feels like to fight your own reflection. I lost." Someone in the comments asked, "Who are you?" No reply. JC. Jason Collins. Allen ran through his mind. Jason posted a message using an alias. No names were mentioned, no specific information was revealed. But that phrase, "fight your own reflection"—Mirror Knight. Only those who had been in Room Fifteen knew what that felt like.
Allen put his phone back in his pocket.
He should sleep. His body needed to recover. Tomorrow—no, today. Starting today, the situation in the Red Hook District would be completely different. The GWA wouldn't let go of the evidence on the vacant lot. Robert Chen had already included "The Architect" in the S-class investigation file. Claire DuPont had personally witnessed the remaining patterns of the expanded territory.
The window of opportunity was closing.
Allen closed his eyes. His head was pressed against a concrete pillar. The dripping of water from the drainpipe mingled with the electronic static from the distant GWA communication channel.
Three years ago, the dungeon killed his parents.
Today, he used the dungeon's power to hold back over three hundred D-rank monsters, saving a city block.
The thing that kills and the thing that saves are the same thing. The only difference is who controls it.
"I won't let it happen again." His voice was low. So low that even the dripping water from the drainpipe could drown it out.
"Not on my turf." His phone vibrated again in his hoodie pocket. A new private message.
Allen didn't move.
Thirty seconds later, he took it out and read it.
Sender ID: A string of gibberish. Exactly the same as the one Robert Chen had used before.
The content was only one line.
"Nice work tonight. But next time, don't leave so many fingerprints.—R.C." Allen stared at that line.
A new blue notification suddenly popped up on the left side of the management panel—not an alert, not an achievement, but an automatic update from the customer tracking module.
[Target: Lena Walker. Status Update—Current Location: Outskirts of Brooklyn Warehouse District. Direction of Movement: Approaching the parking lot entrance. Distance: 140 meters.] 140 meters.
3:30 AM. The rat monsters had been cleared out. GWA was cleaning up the clearing. There was no reason for a C-rank independent adventurer to be near the parking lot at this time.
Unless she was looking for someone.
On the management panel, Lena's dot paused for three seconds at 120 meters. Then it continued moving. 110 meters. 100 meters.
Allen stood up from the ground. The bandage on his left leg was tight, but he felt okay after taking a couple of steps.
The dot on the management panel moved to 90 meters.
Outside the gap in the parking lot shutter door, the sound of high-top boots stepping on gravel came from afar.
Allen remained motionless in the darkness of the second basement level. The blue light from the diamond-shaped opening reflected on his glasses; to the left was the eerie blue of the underground city, to the right, the green dot tracking Lina on the management panel.
The footsteps stopped.
Just outside the gap in the roller shutter door.
Sixty meters.
Lina's voice came down from above the gap, muffled by the concrete structure of the parking lot.
"I know you're down there." Allen's right hand rested on the hilt of his short sword. Not out of defensiveness. It was habit—he'd done it every time he heard a sound over the past hour.
"I saw your face."