MDPS 04

 Chapter 04

Attribute Rune Dungeon

The international order after the Great Cataclysm.

The Republic of Korea’s standing in the world had changed drastically.

The Land of Adventurers.

That was the new nickname now attached to modern-day Korea.

[The Heart of Yggdrasil and the Forest of Growth appear in Korea! Will it become the hub of the adventurer world?]
[Korea is the only country with all three: the Tower of Alchemy, the Tower of Command, and the Tower of Craftsmanship!]
[IMF projects Korea’s economic growth at 6% this year!]

In Legend Seven, the number of major institutions that appeared varied from country to country.

Normally, if a nation got even two such institutions, it was considered incredibly lucky.

Yet, in Korea’s case, every single one that existed in the game had manifested.

As a result, Korea had become the world’s number-one destination for adventurers.

But as with any bright light, there was also a shadow.

[Korea ranked #1 in adventurer crime rate among OECD countries — by a landslide!]
[Chronic shortage of adventurer combat power: Is Korea in trouble?]

With adventurers from all over the world gathering here, public order had gone straight into the gutter.

Despite having unmatched infrastructure, Korea’s own adventurers were woefully underpowered.

The cause went back to the early days after the Cataclysm, when information was the key to nurturing adventurers — and Korea, uniquely, had almost none.

And there was a reason for that…

[What the hell is Legend Seven, you damn geek?]

This game hadn’t just flopped — it had catastrophically flopped.

Especially in Korea.

Abroad, there were at least small communities like Xddit where players shared information, but in Korea? There wasn’t even a minor forum thread, let alone a dedicated board.

An unprecedented situation for a “nation of gamers.”

The higher-ups bore much of the blame for this mess.

Because the game used cutting-edge AI tech — a hot-button issue at the time — government regulators had refused to give it a rating, citing concerns that its generative AI might output excessively sexual or violent content.

As a result, the game could only be accessed domestically through VPN workarounds. And since it wasn’t even well-known overseas, Korean player numbers were effectively zero.

Thanks to that, not a single Korean made it into the top 100 adventurer rankings.

Even if you looked all the way down to 500th place, you’d only find a handful of Koreans.

The only silver lining was that, despite Korea’s weak adventurer force, no other country had openly tried to exploit or antagonize it.

The other powers were too busy keeping each other in check to let one nation monopolize all the major institutions.

And so, Korea enjoyed a fragile peace — like walking on thin ice.

“Phew…”

And among those working to prolong that peace, even a little, was a certain woman.

For example, Lee Jeong-yul, a team leader at the Tower of Records — where adventurer clear times were logged — was constantly scouring for new talent.

“Taegyun, have you finished compiling today’s low-rank dungeon clears?”

“Yes, ma’am. But… do you really think updating this every day is going to help us find rookies?”

“Of course it will.”

“…We haven’t had any results for two years, though.”

At her subordinate Park Taegyun’s remark, Jeong-yul could only give a wry smile.

She knew it herself — Korea’s prospects weren’t exactly bright.

The veterans had already gone abroad long ago, and the rare rookie who popped up was usually angling to be scouted by a major foreign guild.

That was why this work mattered.

If she could find a talent so new that foreign guilds hadn’t yet noticed them, she’d have some leverage.

Her job at the Korean Adventurer Management Headquarters was to find anyone who could bolster the nation’s dwindling adventurer power — even a little.

“We haven’t met one in two years, so maybe today’s the day. Forget the low-rank dungeon — what about the tutorial?”

“I was just about to check. But… do we really have to? Isn’t that a bit overkill?”

“We need to be overkill. We still can’t forget that day.”

“…Understood.”

Muttering complaints under his breath, Taegyun scrolled through the tutorial records — and suddenly stopped, scrolling back up.

‘Huh? Is this a glitch…?’

For most players, the tutorial dungeon took about ten minutes.

Korea’s current #1, Seo Juhyun, barely scraped an S-rank with 9 minutes 58 seconds.

The world #1, Spain’s Alberto, was the only player ever to break five minutes, earning an SS-rank.

And yet…

‘0 minutes… 34 seconds? Is that even possible?’

He quickly called over Jeong-yul.

“Team leader! You need to see this!”

“What is it?”

“This tutorial clear record… Could it be a glitch?”

She looked — and blinked twice.

“Clear time… 0 minutes 34 seconds…?”

“Must be a bug, right?”

A bug?

No. Impossible.

The Tower of Records’ data was absolute. It couldn’t be tampered with by human hands.

“What about their adventurer info?”

“Private.”

“Ah, right. Makes sense.”

If they were in the tutorial, that meant they’d just awakened — they probably hadn’t even registered yet, so there’d be nothing to display.

“Location? Where did they enter the dungeon from?”

The Tower of Records could at least reveal the country of entry.

“Uh… what?”

“Where?”

“KR server… Our country.”

Her hands trembled.

Excitement surged.

Could this finally be a Korean who could make the rankings?

‘No. Calm down, Jeong-yul.’

She forced herself to tamp down the excitement.

She couldn’t be sure it was a Korean citizen — Korea was swarming with foreign adventurers.

Still, the odds weren’t bad.

“Taegyun, gather all newly registered adventurers from now on.”

“All of them? Until when?”

“Until we know.”

She explained her reasoning: someone who had just broken a tutorial record would likely enter the next beginner dungeon soon. If they broke that record too, she could cross-reference the registration list and narrow down their identity.

If that happened, she’d go out to meet them personally.

‘This is a big fish. I have to land them.’

Her instincts screamed it: whoever had awakened today was no ordinary rookie.

‘Please let them be Korean. And patriotic, while we’re at it!’

“Good work, Herr. You may rest now.”

“To think I must part from you so soon after reuniting!”

“We’ll meet again soon enough. Go, and await my call.”

“…If that is your will, Master. I shall yearn for the day.”

With lingering regret, Hertia dissolved into the clouds.

Finally alone, I let the tension drain and sat down.

“Phew—”

Hertia was… undeniably powerful.

Powerful enough to make me rethink my entire Adventurer Oh Hyun-woo’s Growth Plan A-to-Z.

Still, this was going to be fun from now on.

With the tutorial complete, I could finally start working as a full-fledged adventurer.

And Korea had everything — every facility from Legend Seven was here now.

Growth-boosting dungeons like the Attribute Rune Dungeon and the Forest of Growth.

Towers that would flood monsters into the world unless raided periodically.

A Legend Seven theme park, basically.

But before diving in, there was one chore to handle first.

《Please register as an adventurer at your country’s Adventurer Headquarters.》

That meant officially reporting my awakened status.

Normally, no big deal.

But my case wasn’t exactly normal.

If Hertia were a typical legendary or myth-tier summon, I’d happily parade her around as the “ideal talent of the era.”

The problem was… my summons were villains.

And not just in name.

A summon’s risk factor mattered as much as its power.

If a summon’s skills or temperament were likely to cause uncontrollable harm, it could be seized — or even destroyed — by the state.

Imagine a summon with mind-control abilities roaming free in society.

The damage would be catastrophic.

Now imagine word getting out that I controlled multiple overpowered summons with atrocious personalities…

‘Minimum penalty: confiscation. Worst case: death.’

And that’s before accounting for high-ranking guilds trying to steal them.

In reality — unlike the game — adventurers can steal each other’s summons, by coercing them into transferring ownership, or by killing their master and contracting them themselves.

So if I revealed my identity while still weak, I’d basically be painting a target on my back.

‘Give up my villains? Not a chance.’

I’d fought too hard for this shot at turning my life around.

‘So… I’ll hide my identity until I’m untouchable.’

From now on, my modus operandi would be: The Anonymous Adventurer X.

Occasionally appearing to smash records, but impossible to pin down.

I’d still have to register to clear the tutorial, but I’d need ways to dodge public attention in all my real activities.

I had a few ideas…

But first —

‘Let’s check the marketplace!’

Even Mount Geumgang comes after a good meal.

I had two rewards in hand: a Hero Summon Ticket and a Hero Selection Ticket.

And I was broke — overdue hospital bills, my sister’s tuition, even late rent.

I opened the market.

[Hero Summon Ticket]

• Rare: 85.3%

• Hero: 14.2%

• Legendary: 0.5%

Even ordinary hero-grade summons had great stats — hence the high prices.

‘Normal: ₩20k. High-grade: ₩100k. Rare: ₩500k. Hero… ₩2 million!’

I’d earned nearly a month’s wages in just 34 seconds as an adventurer!

What was that in hourly pay? My heart was racing too much to do the math.

And the Hero Selection Ticket…?

Hardly any for sale.

‘Makes sense — it’s a rare reward.’

Still, I checked past sales history.

One recent sale…

‘₩100 million?!’

Two million had seemed like a fortune — now this?

But thinking about it, it made sense.

Hero summons ranged from near-myth-tier monsters to total duds.

A ticket that let you pick only the jackpot ones… no wonder it sold that high.

So, use it or sell it?

‘No brainer. Sell it.’

My optimal growth route didn’t require a high-grade summon right away.

I listed the selection ticket for ₩100 million and decided to visit HQ tomorrow.

After clearing some floor space in my trashed studio apartment…

Morning came.

“Selection ticket!”

I checked the market — no buyers yet.

Not surprising for a nine-figure item.

But I had plenty to do.

I got ready and headed to the Adventurer Central Management HQ in Yeouido.

Easiest building to spot near the park — the tallest one there.

Even early in the morning, it was packed.

“Recruiting guild members!”
“Join our family-like guild!”

Small guilds hawked for members outside.

‘Guilds… I miss that.’

In Legend Seven, guilds were essential — some content was locked behind guild membership, like Guild Arena PvP, raids, and the lucrative Forgotten Sanctuary.

‘I’ll need one eventually.’

For both fast growth and safety, I’d need my own faction someday.

But not yet — guild content unlocked at level 30.

I set aside the thought and went in to register.

“Fill in the highlighted parts by hand. Then we’ll verify your awakening.”

“Got it.”

“See the adventurer code in your status menu settings? Write it here.”

“Uh… yeah.”

I handed over the form. The staffer nodded, then…

Thud!

“Please complete the rest of these.”

“….”

So much for just the highlighted parts — the whole form was glowing yellow.

As I slogged through the paperwork, a commotion broke out nearby.

“I’m telling you, that guide is wrong!”

“Sir, the beginner guide we provide is compiled by the world’s top-ranked players—”

“There’s a better one, from someone more trustworthy!”

“And who might that be?”

“The Anonymous Adventurer! A Korean veteran! He posted guides right after the Cataclysm and then vanished, but he was right about everything! Even his beginner route says—”

“Sir, please calm down.”

…No way.

I looked over.

“…Who?”

“The Anonymous Adventurer! Cleared the final chapter back in the day, I bet! The current top players haven’t even done that!”

“Do you have proof?”

“We can check the Tower of Records!”

“Records from before the Cataclysm no longer exist, sir. Next!”

“Hey! I’m not finished—”

Security escorted him out, yelling the whole way.

“You’re making a mistake! If he sees the mess Korea’s in now, the Anonymous Adventurer will leave for overseas too!”

Bold words for someone who looked barely in his twenties.

When I handed in my forms, I asked,

“That guy — who was he?”

“The youngest grandson of the Taepyeong Group.”

“As in, Korea’s #1 conglomerate?”

“Yes. He comes in every quarter to make a scene like that.”

No wonder he was fearless.

And if he was going around name-dropping me so persistently… maybe more people knew about me than I thought.

“What’s this ‘Anonymous Adventurer’ thing, exactly?”

“According to him, there was an information broker in the early Cataclysm. Nobody paid much attention back then, but it turns out a lot of their guides were accurate. Few people ever saw them, so it’s kind of an urban legend now.”

I’d deleted the posts myself once the atmosphere turned grim.

“Apparently, there’s even a secret auction among top players for an archive of those guides — selling for huge sums.”

“What? How much—”

“All done! Here’s your registration card. We look forward to your activities. Next!”

“….”

And with that not-so-subtle dismissal, I found myself outside again.

Between the paperwork battle, the chaebol heir’s antics, and the news that my old guides were selling for absurd prices, I was… not angry, no. Just slightly taken aback.

But it didn’t matter.

Only growth mattered now — mine and Hertia’s.

I had to make up for lost time.

And the heir’s outburst had confirmed my next step:

“Even the beginner guide starts you in the Forest of Growth…”

The standard newbie route was indeed to start there — an easy dungeon with good rewards, added late in Legend Seven’s lifespan as a catch-up mechanic.

‘But if I break that record, I’ll be identified instantly.’

The Adventurer Management Association was probably already monitoring all beginner dungeon records after that tutorial time was posted.

No way was I walking into that trap.

‘But I also don’t want to gimp my rewards by intentionally getting a low rank.’

The solution?

‘Run a dungeon that doesn’t record clear times.’

Like the Attribute Rune Dungeon, used for farming upgrade materials.

That had been my plan from the start — it gave far better rewards than the Forest of Growth.

The only problem…

‘A freshly awakened adventurer would normally die instantly there.’

Rune Dungeons were meant for fine-tuning your summon builds once you’d plateaued — veterans only.

For a level 1 summon, it was suicide.

‘But with Hertia, I’ve got a shot.’

High risk, high reward.

This was the fastest growth route ever devised — by the unofficial world #1, Lucifer.

And I was going to take it.