Ashwall Spire's upper chamber wasn’t hot like he expected from a fire-aligned dungeon. It was dry, drained of moisture, and laced with warmth that radiated from the stone walls rather than any visible flame. Yet despite its calm atmosphere, the dungeon gave off a weight, like it was watching.
He shifted, glancing at the soft glow of the status screen still floating before him. The information pulsed with idle patience. It was almost peaceful.
“Alright,” Nolan muttered, turning toward the silvery shimmer to his right. "Why exactly am I here?"
The Akashic Records manifested with a flicker—half spirit, half data-goddess—her translucent body adjusting its robes as though she had just stepped out of a meeting. Again.
“You were sacrificed,” she said bluntly.
Nolan blinked. “Okay. That’s direct. Want to unpack that?”
She hovered beside the basin, her expression unmoved. “To delay a dungeon surge. A necessary evil, they’d say. The locals perform rituals to reduce monster density and temporarily stabilize the dungeon core. You were part of such a ritual.”
“And they just… what? Toss kids in here like expired offerings?”
“More or less. Every twenty years or so. You ended up in the body of the latest one.”
Nolan looked down at himself. Thin limbs. Scarred palms. Bruised skin, and a ribcage that spoke of prolonged starvation. The lips were still cracked.
“Why him?” he asked.
“Because he was expendable. Born into nobility—House Caldran. But his Talent wasn’t worth investing in. So they used him to buy time.”
He narrowed his eyes. “That’s... efficient. Horrific, but efficient.”
Akashic Records nodded. “This world favors Talents that amplify magic or manipulate elements. Flashy things. Visual power. Yours—Full Body Control—is practically invisible to most people.”
Nolan frowned. “But it's incredibly useful. Movement precision? Breathing control? Reflex enhancement?”
“To us, yes. But to a noble family drowning in expectations? It’s as useful as an empty mana flask.”
He tapped open his status window again, eyeing the words: Talent: Full Body Control.
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“Isn’t this supposed to be registered properly in the system?” he asked. “Shouldn’t there be objective rankings or something?”
Akashic Records exhaled sharply. “That’s the part you won’t like. The system’s information display is my responsibility. I organize the interface. But I don’t create the foundational data—that’s defined by the gods. I can only reflect the world’s understanding.”
She summoned a new screen beside his.
Talent Tier List – Popularity-Based
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S-Tier: Flame Conductor, Spatial Arsenal, Divine Enchanter
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A-Tier: Ice Artisan, Lightning Wielder, Arcane Scholar
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B-Tier: Summoner, Healer, Barrier Technician
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D-Tier: Full Body Control ("Physique Enhancement")
He squinted. "I'm D-tier?"
“Don’t take it personally. The tier list is based on cognition, not performance. The more people believe something is strong, the higher it goes. Think of it as an ecosystem built on opinion polls.”
“So it’s a fantasy gacha meta... Great.”
She smirked. “Exactly. Except this one has real corpses.”
Nolan chuckled dryly and laid back on the stone. The air was heavier near the floor, the moisture thicker. His mana was slowly refilling; the low hum in his veins hinted at recovery.
He stared at the glowing veins of magma above.
“Are there any proper heroes in this world?” he asked.
Akashic Records hovered closer. “Yes. The goddess made sure of that. She hardcoded a global mechanic: every fifty years, a Hero is born. It’s written directly into the Rule Codex.”
“Why?”
“She likes stories. Fairy tales. She wanted her world to have knights and fated saviors and demon lords. So she forced the system to spawn a chosen one every few decades.”
Nolan raised an eyebrow. “You're telling me this is all part of some divine fanfiction?”
“Precisely.”
“How do they even pick these heroes?”
“Academy City monitors all awakened Talents. Whenever someone shows signs of extreme magical or narrative alignment—fate resistance, prophetic dreams, divine attraction—they’re flagged. One Hero Candidate is assigned to each academic generation. The nobles compete to produce them.”
“And I assume they don’t throw those ones into dungeons.”
“Only the ‘useless’ ones.”
He sighed. “So I'm not a hero, not a noble, not even seen as usable. Just a system exploit and a glorified paperweight.”
“You're a disruption,” she said. “And that’s what the world needs most.”
Nolan gave a lopsided grin. “I can work with that.”
He took a few more minutes to drink and stretch. The mana now pulsed evenly, fully replenished. He could feel the flow beneath his skin—like warmth that responded to thought.
“Okay,” he said, standing. “Say I build my little deck of junk tools. What’s next? How do I get out of this place?”
The Akashic Records gestured downward.
“This dungeon, Ashwall Spire, is sealed externally. No one comes in or out until the system detects you’re stabilized.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, when you’ve created enough valid cards and gathered suitable resources, I’ll be able to initiate a soft unlock of the lower levels. It’s tiered by internal checkpoints.”
“So the only way out... is down.”
“Correct. You'll have to progress deeper into the dungeon and survive long enough to reach a safe release zone.”
Nolan looked out over the warm, empty stone chamber, now faintly flickering with shadows.
“And what kind of things live down there?”
“Old experiments. Discarded elemental fauna. Fire constructs. If it was born of flame or metal, it may have found its way here.”
He exhaled and cracked his neck. “Lovely.”
The Akashic Records began to fade. “You have enough mana now. Begin your progress. Start small. Stay smart.”
He stopped her. “Wait.”
She tilted her head.
“Why me, really?” he asked. “You could’ve pulled anyone. Why not someone strong? Gifted? Heroic?”
She smiled—an exhausted, knowing expression.
“Because you’re the only kind of person who doesn’t panic when systems are broken. You work around them.”
She vanished.
Nolan picked up his crafted plank-spear and walked deeper into the dungeon.
He had work to do.