The power system of this world was beautifully simple and absolutely brutal in its implications.
Skill Points were everything. They were the difference between life and death, between mediocrity and greatness, between surviving in the ruins and ruling a Sanctuary.
Every awakened human understood this fundamental truth: without SP, you were just a slightly enhanced baseline waiting to die.
The System had created multiple acquisition methods, but each came with built-in limitations that prevented easy exploitation.
Dungeon clears provided the most reliable source, but each dungeon could only be attempted once per week per person, with diminishing returns for repeated runs of the same rank.
Monster kills yielded random SP cores, but the drop rates were deliberately low and the monsters grew progressively more dangerous.
Achievement systems rewarded unique accomplishments, but by definition, achievements could only be earned once.
Meditation and cultivation techniques could generate SP through focused mental effort, but even the most advanced methods topped out at maybe a few hundred points per day of intense, exhausting practice.
The System’s most elegant restriction was the Soul-Bound nature of Skill Points themselves.
They couldn’t be traded, stolen, or transferred between individuals. This prevented direct monetization and kept wealthy families from simply buying power.
But the System wasn’t completely inflexible. It recognized that some individuals had advantages—bloodlines, resources, training—that others lacked. So it created the Contribution System.
Legacy families, those ancient bloodlines that had survived the Dimensional Descent and carved out positions of power in the new world, could indeed provide massive SP loans to their descendants.
A promising young heir might receive 100,000 or even 500,000 Skill Points as an advance on their potential.
But those points created Soul Debt—a metaphysical chain that bound the recipient to their family until every point was repaid through personal achievement.
The debt accumulated interest over time, growing heavier with each passing month. Fail to make adequate progress, and the Soul Debt would begin consuming the debtor’s own earned SP, creating a downward spiral that could cripple their advancement permanently.
This system ensured that even privileged awakened had to work, had to risk their lives in dungeons and battles to justify their advantages. Talent and determination still mattered more than birthright.
Also, Skill Points couldn’t be used to enhance one’s stats, for that, one would need attribute points which could only be gotten after every level up.
The most advanced meditation techniques developed by Legacy families might generate 2,000-3,000 SP per day through intensive, twelve-hour sessions that left practitioners mentally and physically exhausted. These methods were closely guarded secrets, passed down through generations and protected by soul-binding oaths.
And here was Zeph, generating the same amount by breathing.
His PP counter now read 34 and was still climbing with each unconscious inhalation. Twenty thousand points per day, minimum. If he focused on deep, controlled breathing, he could probably push that number even higher.
’Completely broken,’ he thought, shaking his head in amazement. ’I could out-progress entire Legacy bloodlines just by existing.’
And if he ever got his hands on one of those advanced meditation techniques? The combination would be absolutely devastating. While others exhausted themselves generating a few thousand SP through pure mental effort, he’d be stacking that on top of his passive generation rate.
Another laugh bubbled up from his chest, wild and slightly unhinged. The sound echoed through the white space like the cackle of someone who’d just realized they’d been handed the cheat codes to reality.
But then he caught himself, forcing the hysteria back down. This wasn’t the time for manic celebration.
’Focus,’ he told himself firmly. ’Don’t be one of those cliché protagonists who wastes half the story angsting about powers they can’t change or control anyway. That’s just lazy writing designed to pad episode counts.’
He had a cheat. A completely game-breaking, reality-defying cheat that would let him advance at impossible speeds while remaining completely undetectable. The why and how didn’t matter right now—only the what came next.
His fingers wrapped around Phantom’s hilt, feeling the familiar weight of the absurdly wide katana. The weapon had been his constant companion for three years, but now it felt different. Enhanced. The System integration had improved his coordination and strength, making the blade feel like a natural extension of his body.
’Time to see what this new world has to offer.’
"Initiate dungeon," he said aloud, his voice carrying clearly through the infinite white.
The space around him began to shimmer, like heat waves rising from summer pavement. The perfect white gradually thinned, becoming translucent, then transparent, until it finally dissolved entirely.
Zeph found himself standing in a vast stone chamber.
---
Dungeons in this world operated on principles that would have been familiar to any RPG player, but with deadly real-world consequences. They were pocket dimensions created by the System, separate realities where the laws of physics were more... flexible. Time flowed differently inside—usually at a 2:1 ratio, meaning two hours in a dungeon equaled one hour in the real world.
Tutorial dungeons were special. They were designed specifically for level 0 awakened, serving as a controlled introduction to System mechanics and combat. The challenges were real—death was still possible—but the difficulty was carefully calibrated to push new awakened to their limits without exceeding them.
Successful completion guaranteed several rewards: enough experience to reach level 1, access to the class selection system, an initial skill selection, and a substantial Skill Point bonus that usually ranged from 5,000 to 15,000 points depending on performance.
For most awakened, the tutorial dungeon represented their most lucrative single SP gain until they were strong enough to tackle C-rank or higher challenges. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to establish a foundation for future growth.
---
The chamber was clearly ancient, built from massive stone blocks that had been fitted together with architectural precision. Hieroglyphs covered the walls, glowing with faint blue light that provided just enough illumination to see. The air was stale and heavy, carrying scents of dust, age, and something else—something organic and unpleasant that made his enhanced senses recoil.
Zeph moved into a combat stance automatically, every survival instinct honed by three years in the ruins screaming warnings. Empty chambers in dangerous places were never actually empty. They were traps, ambush points, or tests waiting to spring on unwary explorers.
But nothing attacked him.
He spent the next hour exploring methodically, checking every corner, examining every wall, testing each stone block for hidden switches or pressure plates. The temple—because that’s clearly what it was—stretched further than seemed possible, corridors branching off in multiple directions that led to more empty chambers.
’This is giving me serious Solo Leveling vibes,’ he thought, remembering the manhwa he’d obsessed over in his previous life. ’Creepy ancient temple, ominous atmosphere, protagonist exploring alone... I just hope I don’t run into any stone statues that suddenly come to life.’
At least his PP generation was working perfectly. The counter in his peripheral vision had climbed to 1,247 points—more than enough to upgrade an F-rank skill to E-rank the moment he acquired one. The realization made him grin despite the ominous atmosphere.
While he was getting creeped out by empty hallways, he was also getting richer with every breath.
That’s when the smell hit him.
Sharp, acrid, unmistakably biological. Zeph’s enhanced senses, still adapting to their new capabilities, caught the scent a split second before his brain processed what it meant.
He threw himself backward just as something brown and steaming slammed into the wall where his head had been.
The projectile splattered against the ancient stone with a wet, disgusting impact, leaving a trail of chunky brown liquid that dripped slowly toward the floor.
Zeph stared at the mess, his mind struggling to accept what he was seeing.
’Is that...?’
It was definitely shit.
Something had just tried to kill him with actual, literal feces.
’What kind of fucked up tutorial dungeon is this?’