Donald didn’t wait for the Iron Dog enforcers to rush the front door of the noodle shop.
He closed his eyes, letting his [Lesser Mana Perception] map the area. The ambient magic of the Slums was a messy gray static, but the hostile intents of the gang members flared like hot red embers in his mind.
"They’re blocking the main street," Donald whispered, grabbing his heavy, tarp-wrapped Pile Bunker. "Three in the front, two coming around the back alley. They are trying to box us in."
Evelyn raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. "You can track their exact positions through the walls? That is a very rare sensory skill, kid. Lead the way."
Donald pushed open a rusted side window that led out into a narrow, trash-filled ventilation shaft. They slipped out into the rain just as the front door of the noodle shop was kicked open behind them.
For the next twenty minutes, Sector 4 became a deadly game of hide-and-seek. Silas had clearly mobilized his entire gang. Packs of thugs armed with bats, chains, and cheap swords roamed the streets, flashing cheap lumen-lights into the shadows.
But with Donald’s mana radar, they were always one step ahead. He guided Evelyn through flooded basements, over chain-link fences, and across the slick rooftops of shipping containers, completely avoiding the gang’s net.
"We’re running out of territory," Evelyn noted as they dropped into a dark, muddy trench near the very edge of the Genesis Ward’s outer wall. "If we go any further west, we hit the Deadlands. We need to go underground."
"You mentioned a Dungeon," Donald said, wiping rain from his eyes. "Which one?"
"The Iron-Vein Mines," Evelyn replied, pointing toward a massive, jagged crack in the concrete foundations of the city wall about a half-mile away. An eerie, pulsing orange light bled out from the crack. "It’s a natural spatial fracture. E-to-D Rank limits. The official Guilds refuse to regulate it because the mana inside is toxic and the layout constantly shifts. It’s a meat grinder."
"Sounds lovely," Donald muttered, feeling a nervous knot tighten in his stomach. "Why are we going to a meat grinder?"
"Because Silas’s thugs rely on numbers, not individual strength," Evelyn explained, her blue eyes reflecting the distant orange glow. "Inside an unregulated Dungeon, the corridors are tight, the monsters are highly aggressive, and the traps are lethal. A street gang won’t survive past the first floor. It filters out the weak. Plus, the monsters inside the Iron-Vein drop heavy metallic cores. High value. We grind the first few floors, gear up, and get rich."
Donald looked at his system interface. He only had 150 credits left in his pocket. He was incredibly strong now, but he was still a broke slum kid at heart. The idea of getting rich sounded very good.
"Alright," Donald nodded, gripping his weapon tightly. "Let’s go."
They quickly approached the entrance. The Iron-Vein didn’t have a clean, marble portal like the Guild-controlled Dungeons in the upper city. It was a massive, jagged cave mouth surrounded by rusted scaffolding.
A small, ugly shantytown of tents and campfires had popped up around the entrance. Desperate scavengers and unguilded mercenaries sat in the mud, sharpening weapons and drinking cheap alcohol.
Blocking the actual glowing orange portal was a barricade made of spiked steel barricades. Four heavily scarred Awakeners stood guard, wearing mismatched, blood-stained armor. These were the Toll Collectors, an independent faction of brutes who controlled the entrance through pure violence.
As Donald and Evelyn approached, the largest guard, a man with a metal jaw and a massive battleaxe, stepped forward, blocking their path.
"Halt," the guard grunted, spitting a wad of black chewing tobacco into the mud. "Iron-Vein toll. Seventy-five credits a head. No Guild discounts. No refunds if you die."
Donald did the math. One hundred and fifty credits. Exactly everything they had left.
He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the cred-chips he had looted from Silas’s men, and handed them over.
The guard snatched the chips, counting them quickly. He looked at Donald’s clean, new clothes, then his eyes drifted over to Evelyn. He spent a little too long looking at the curve of her hips and the beautiful, mature lines of her face.
"Seventy-five gets you through the door," the guard sneered, a nasty glint in his eye. "But you’re carrying a lot of hidden baggage under that coat, boy. And your woman there has a nice-looking sword. Let’s call it an extra fifty credits for a ’weapon tax.’ Otherwise, the lady stays out here with us."
The other three guards chuckled, stepping closer and resting their hands on their weapons.
Evelyn’s eyes instantly went dead and cold. She didn’t say a word, but her thumb rested on the wolf-head hilt of the Bloodhound’s Fang. The crimson blade hummed hungrily in its leather loop.
But Donald moved first.
He didn’t step back. He stepped right into the large guard’s personal space.
Donald activated his [Valuation Eye].
[Target: Toll Collector (Level 8 Brawler)]
[Combat Value: Moderate.]
Donald didn’t draw his weapon. He simply let the tarp slide off his shoulder just an inch, exposing the dark, gleaming, B-Rank metal of the Type-3 Pile Bunker. He channeled a tiny fraction of his massive 37 Mana into the weapon.
The Pile Bunker let out a mechanical, high-pitched whir, and a spark of compressed blue kinetic energy flashed from the barrel.
Donald looked up at the guard. With his Level 4 SSS+ Investor stats backing him, Donald’s presence had fundamentally changed. He wasn’t shaking. His eyes were hard and completely unflinching.
"The toll is one hundred and fifty," Donald said, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm, even tone. "There is no weapon tax. Unless you want me to pay it directly into your chest."
The guard with the metal jaw looked down at the massive, military-grade kinetic cannon strapped to Donald’s arm. He felt the dense, suffocating wave of Donald’s mana. The guard swallowed hard. The nasty smirk vanished from his face.
"Right," the guard grunted, taking a step back and waving his hand to the others. "One hundred and fifty. Go on through. Don’t come crying to us when the crawlers eat your legs."
Donald adjusted the tarp back over his weapon and nodded to Evelyn. She gave him a small, highly approving smirk.
They walked past the barricade and stepped up to the swirling, orange spatial fracture. It looked like a pool of boiling liquid light standing perfectly vertical in the air.
"Ready?" Evelyn asked, pulling her crimson sword free.
"Ready," Donald breathed.
They stepped forward together, plunging into the orange light.
The world twisted. The sound of the rain and the shouting scavengers vanished, replaced by a sudden, heavy silence and the overpowering smell of sulfur and rusting iron.
They were standing in a massive, dimly lit cavern. The walls were made of dark, jagged rock laced with veins of glowing, orange ore. Heat radiated from the ground.
A blue screen popped up in Evelyn’s vision, but a completely different, golden box flashed violently in front of Donald’s eyes.
[System Notice: You have entered the ’Iron-Vein Mines’ (Rank: D-)]
[Environment Danger: High. Toxic Mana concentration detected.]
[Dynamic Quest Generated: ’Shared Grinding’.]
[Objective: Protect your Asset. Clear the First Floor.]
From the deep shadows of the tunnel ahead, a chorus of sharp, clicking claws echoed against the stone.
"Keep your shield up, Investor," Evelyn whispered, her Vanguard aura flaring to life around her body.
"I’ve got your back," Donald said, the heavy Pile Bunker locking into position on his right arm.