Chapter 43: Night Had Arrived
Night had arrived.
Cold Moon District glowed beneath a sea of artificial lights.
Roads stretched endlessly through the city like rivers of gold.
Countless buildings stood illuminated against the darkness, their lights painting the skyline in a breathtaking display.
Yet none of it held Amon’s attention.
He stood atop the highest skyscraper in the district.
Silent.
Motionless.
The wind swept across the rooftop.
His long black leather jacket fluttered behind him.
Far below, the city carried on as normal.
Cars moved through the streets.
People walked home.
Restaurants remained open.
Children laughed.
Countless ordinary lives continued peacefully.
None of them knew.
None of them realized how close danger truly was.
Amon’s gaze remained fixed on the horizon.
There.
Far in the distance.
A massive dungeon gate towered above the city.
The B-rank dungeon.
Even from dozens of kilometers away, its presence was impossible to ignore.
The enormous vortex rotated slowly in the night sky.
Dark crimson mana spilled from its surface.
The clouds above it twisted unnaturally.
Lightning occasionally flickered within the swirling darkness.
It looked less like a dungeon.
And more like a wound carved into reality itself.
The wind intensified.
Moon stood several meters behind him.
Silent as always.
His white robes fluttered softly in the darkness.
One black figure.
One white figure.
Standing atop the city.
Watching.
Waiting.
Amon slowly narrowed his eyes.
The countless dungeons he had spent the entire day clearing flashed through his mind.
One after another.
One after another.
Without rest.
Without pause.
His strength had risen at a terrifying rate.
His levels.
His abilities.
His techniques.
Everything had grown.
The man who had first awakened the system felt almost unfamiliar now.
Back then, he had worried about E-rank monsters.
Feared D-rank hunters.
Viewed B-rank dungeons as insurmountable disasters.
Now...
A faint smile appeared beneath the Butcher’s Mask.
Now he was hunting them.
His hand slowly tightened around the Winter Frost Blade.
The sword trembled.
Not from fear.
Excitement.
As though it could sense what was about to happen.
The wind howled across the rooftop.
Amon’s gaze remained fixed on the distant gate.
His eyes gradually became colder.
Deeper.
More dangerous.
The city believed that B-rank hunters were monsters.
The Human Alliance believed B-rank hunters were strategic assets.
Entire districts depended upon their existence.
Yet Amon had reached this point in less than a week.
The thought would have sounded absurd before.
Now it simply felt inevitable.
A faint pressure began leaking from his body.
The surrounding air distorted slightly.
The rooftop beneath his feet cracked.
Thin lines spread across the concrete.
Then further.
Then further.
As though the building itself could no longer endure his presence.
The wind suddenly stopped.
The city below remained unaware.
Yet countless sensitive hunters throughout Cold Moon District abruptly looked toward the sky.
Their instincts flared.
An inexplicable sense of danger washed over them.
Amon’s lips slowly curved upward.
Not a warm smile.
Not a happy smile.
A predator’s smile.
A smile that belonged to something standing at the top of the food chain.
The Butcher’s Mask seemed darker beneath the moonlight.
More sinister.
More alive.
Amon slowly lifted his head.
The moon hung high above the city.
It was bright, silent, and ever-watching.
For a brief moment, he simply stared at it.
Then his gaze shifted back toward the distant gate.
A suffocating killing intent erupted from his body.
BOOM!
The rooftop beneath him shattered.
Massive cracks spread in every direction.
The pressure lasted only an instant.
Yet it was enough.
Enough for Moon’s white robes to whip violently behind him.
Enough for the air itself to groan.
Enough for the night to feel heavier.
Then it vanished.
Amon exhaled slowly.
His eyes remained locked onto the distant dungeon.
At last.
No more C-rank dungeons.
No more warm-ups.
No more preparation.
Only the final hunt remained.
The corner of his lips lifted.
"It’s time."
Space rippled, and the city lights blurred.
The wind twisted.
And atop the skyscraper, the Butcher and the Monarch of Death vanished.
Leaving behind only a cracked rooftop beneath the moonlit sky.
And a B-rank dungeon waiting for its executioner.
...
Space folded, and the world shifted before stabilizing.
Amon and Moon instantly appeared outside the towering dungeon gate.
It was deep red and radiated an immense aura of death and destruction.
Any weaker hunter standing before the gate would immediately feel weak in the knees.
The dungeon towered over a hundred meters high, looking like a gateway to another dimension.
He glanced at Moon, then with a nod casually stepped inside.
Amon wasn’t worried.
He was confident in his own strength now.
He’d finally entered A-rank.
At this rate, he felt confident enough to challenge an S-rank hunter or dungeon beast, let alone a normal A-rank beast.
He appeared atop an ancient stone platform.
The moment he appeared inside and his feet touched the ground, Amon’s eyes narrowed slightly beneath the Butcher’s Mask.
This dungeon was different.
Very different.
The sky above wasn’t crimson.
Instead, it was trapped in an eternal twilight.
Massive floating islands drifted silently overhead.
Ancient ruins sat atop many of them.
Broken temples.
Collapsed palaces.
Shattered towers.
The entire world looked as though it had once belonged to an ancient civilization before being reduced to ruins by some unimaginable catastrophe.
The air itself felt heavy.
Old.
Ancient.
Amon slowly surveyed his surroundings, and his eyes flickered.
Humans.
Hundreds of them.
A faint smile appeared beneath the mask.
Interesting.
Without hesitation, he stepped forward.
Moon silently followed behind him.
The two figures crossed the stone platform and descended into the valley below.
The farther they traveled, the more signs of human activity appeared.
Monster corpses.
Temporary roads.
Supply crates.
Defensive structures.
This dungeon had clearly been explored for a long time.
Eventually, a massive military encampment appeared before them.
Steel walls had been erected between two mountains.
Watchtowers overlooked the surrounding terrain.
Hundreds of soldiers and hunters moved throughout the camp.
The moment Amon appeared.
Everything stopped.
Conversations died.
Footsteps halted.
Dozens of gazes instantly shifted toward the black figure walking toward the camp.
The pressure surrounding him wasn’t overwhelming.
Yet something about it made people instinctively uncomfortable.
Like staring into a bottomless abyss.
Several guards immediately tensed.
Their hands moved toward their weapons.
Not because they intended to attack.
Their instincts simply reacted on their own.
Amon ignored all of them.
His footsteps never slowed.
Moon followed behind him in complete silence.
The white robes fluttering behind the clone contrasted sharply with Amon’s dark leather jacket.
One black.
One white.
The strange pair walked directly toward the encampment.
The atmosphere gradually became tense.
Just then.
A powerful pressure descended.
Several figures emerged from deeper within the camp.
The surrounding hunters immediately straightened.
Respect appeared on their faces.
Amon’s gaze swept over them.
B-rank.
Every single one.
There were seven in total.
Each carried an aura that far surpassed ordinary hunters.
Veterans.
Experts.
The true pillars of the nation.
Yet among them, one figure stood above the rest.
A middle-aged man walked at the center of the group.
His expression was calm.
His steps steady.
Yet the pressure surrounding him eclipsed everyone nearby.
Amon immediately understood who he was from a single glance.
After all, he’d seen reports and interviews featuring him back when he was still unawakened.
The President.
The strongest hunter in the country.
The man responsible for holding the nation together through countless dungeon disasters.
The group eventually stopped.
The President’s gaze settled on Amon.
"So you’re the Butcher."
Silence.
The wind swept through the encampment.
Amon didn’t stop walking.
Didn’t respond.
Didn’t even glance toward him.
His gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon.
The President’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Following Amon’s line of sight.
Toward the center of the dungeon.
Toward its deepest region.
Toward the place even the B-rank hunters had been unable to conquer.
