As I crawled on my hands and knees through the dark, cold metal piping of the ventilation shaft, the rhythmic scraping of my jumpsuit against the iron plates became a backdrop for my thoughts. I couldn't help but let my mind drift back to the past, reflecting on Luke. Back in our old days with the guild in Town Allure, he was the definition of a genuinely noble soul. He was always the first to offer a helping hand to anyone in need, easily cementing himself as one of the kindest, most reliable guildmates I had ever known.
But timelines fracture. After I turned my back on Town Allure for good to start a fresh, completely detached new life in the kingdom of Caria, our paths split into total darkness. I had absolutely no idea he had spiraled into a life of high-tier organized crime, let alone become the feared apprentice to an underworld boss like Don Anthony. When our paths finally crossed again over the past few months, the boy I once trusted was entirely gone; all I could see standing before me was an absolute, definitive enemy.
Suddenly, a heavy, suffocating sensation wrapped around my chest. As I slid further down the descending incline of the shaft, the ambient atmospheric pressure changed. The air felt thick, cold, and utterly stagnant. A wave of profound, unnatural exhaustion instantly hit my muscles, making even the simple act of lifting my arms feel like moving through wet cement.
I quickly pulled up my internal status matrix to diagnose the anomaly, and my eyes narrowed at the grim reality interface:
Keane Leon
Skill: Inspect, Blood Curse, Blood Sword, Defense Reduction, Blood Bow, Pain Manipulation, Shapeshift, Illusion of Cariñosa
Vitality: 10 (Heavily Suppressed)
Strength: 10 (Heavily Suppressed)
Defense: 10 (Heavily Suppressed)
Agility: 10 (Heavily Suppressed)
Mana: 10 (Heavily Suppressed) (Drained)
The enforcer wasn't exaggerating. The absolute magic-dampening bedrock walls of the third level had completely castrated my host body's physical capabilities, plummeting every single one of my attributes to a fragile, mortal baseline of 10. I felt incredibly weak, my breath coming in shallow gasps.
And my note was, if a physical conflict triggers down here, raw kinetic output is entirely off the table. However, biological leverage remains constant. I reached down and tapped my jumpsuit pocket, feeling the cold, reassuring edge of the friction-polished spoon. The exact same makeshift shiv I had used to violently dismantle Inmate 123's manhood was still securely in my possession. It was my ultimate, hidden insurance policy.
According to my temporal calculations, I still had exactly three hours left of the labor shift before the guards conducted their mandatory noon headcount. That meant three uninterrupted hours for a high-stakes psychological interrogation.
Finally, a faint sliver of dim light cut through the darkness ahead, illuminating the mesh outline of a lower ventilation opening. As I approached the grate, a pair of dark shadows blocked the light. Several of Inmate 217's trusted lower-tier associates were already standing by, waiting precisely at the drop point.
"Over here, 345, grab onto my hands. Imma help you down." one of the hardened criminals whispered, reaching his arms up into the narrow duct.
What followed was a deeply pathetic, grueling struggle. Because the environmental suppression fields had compressed both of our physical attributes down to a meager 10 stats, we were operating with the physical strength of frail, bedridden patients. Even a single, simple pulling motion required an agonizing amount of physical exertion. The con grunted, his face turning a deep crimson as he channeled every single ounce of his remaining 10-stat human maximum strength just to carefully slide my dead weight out of the narrow iron framing.
With a heavy, ungraceful thud, my boots finally touched the cold stone floor of the third level.
I quickly scanned my immediate perimeter to map the drop zone. We were standing in a cramped, shadowy room stacked high with heavy mops, industrial chemical barrels, and massive shelves of laundry detergent… it was the sector's central janitor room, the perfect blind spot for an illicit underworld summit.
And there, sitting quietly in the dim light of a flickering mana-lantern just beyond the cleaning supplies, was the target.
His striking, golden-blond hair caught the faint illumination, casting a sharp silhouette against the damp stone wall. After months of tracking, deception, and subterranean warfare, I was finally standing in the same room. Luke Granhart was directly in front of me.
Luke slowly raised his head, his brilliant golden-blond hair shifting in the dim, flickering lantern light of the janitor room. His gaze locked onto me, entirely devoid of the violent, manic energy that populated the upper tiers.
"Greetings, 345. Thank you for taking the risk to come down here." ," Luke said, his voice smooth, steady, and remarkably polite despite the grim surroundings.
Maintaining my cold, intensely guarded main-character persona, I deliberately chose not to reveal our shared history. To keep my true motives completely hidden in the shadows, I treated him like an absolute stranger, addressing him strictly by the cold, bureaucratic designation stitched onto his uniform.
"Hello, Inmate 003," I replied, my voice a detached, icy monotone.
As I spoke, I carefully analyzed his posture and facial expression. Luke was completely calm, sitting with an air of absolute security. Standing right behind his shoulder was a singular, heavily armored faction guard, loyal to Don Anthony's syndicate. Even though the ambient suppression fields of the third level forced everyone's stats down to a fragile baseline of 10, the presence of an extra body meant a direct physical assault would be highly inefficient.
Besides, my ultimate strategic objective down here wasn't to assassinate him… it was to acquire his DNA. To successfully bypass the high-tier magical security biometrics guarding Don Anthony's primary underworld base of operations on the outside, I specifically needed a sample of Luke's blood.
Before I could calculate a method to draw blood with my hidden spoon, Luke spoke up again, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips.
"345, for what specific reason did you seek me out down here? I have already received the news from the upper tier, and frankly, it is exactly as I expected. You defeated Inmate 123, the lone wolf who terrorized the canteen. I commend you. I fully expected you to possess that kind of raw strength… but as you can feel, it is completely useless down here. All of our attributes are locked at 10. Out there, you are a monster; down here, you are just as fragile as the rest of us."
A wave of supreme internal satisfaction washed over me. My mastermind calculations were playing out flawlessly. Because I had dealt with the monstrosity in the cafeteria using purely physical baseline combat, Luke didn't suspect me of being an elite bounty hunter or a vengeful ghost from his past in Town Allure. To his brilliant but deceived mind, I was just another highly capable, low-life second-floor prisoner looking to climb the ranks of the underworld hierarchy.
I took a slow step forward, the damp air of the janitor room clinging to my jumpsuit, and fixed him with an unyielding, piercing glare.
"I didn't come down here to boast about a broken giant, 003, I came because I want information. I want to know everything you have on the underworld arms trafficking guild."