For three grueling, unrelenting hours, Sector 4-B was turned into a literal slaughterhouse.
The darkness of the subterranean junction was illuminated only by the rhythmic muzzle flashes of failing shotguns, the brilliant sparks of my reinforced steel blade slicing through thick bone, and the terrifying, crimson glow of predatory eyes. The Shadow Direwolves did not hunt like mindless beasts; they utilized the pitch-black fog, ambushing the survivors from the shadows of overturned train cars and dragging them screaming into the maintenance shafts.
I kept my position firmly anchored near our concrete alcove, acting as an unyielding wall. Minsoo moved like a shadow, her twin daggers executing wounded wolves that tried to bypass our perimeter, while Yoon Sul provided a constant stream of status buffs, his Gamer interface whirring at maximum capacity. Every beast that crossed into our zone was systematically dismantled, providing me with a steady stream of experience and system points.
But away from our small sanctuary, the rest of the camp was a massacre. The Level 1 and Level 2 survivors, already physically weakened by days of starvation and starved of stats because of Woojin's extortionate taxes, stood absolutely no chance against C-Rank threats. Their makeshift shields were crushed instantly, and their pipes and spears merely bounced off the wolves' vulcanized hides
By the time the final, massive black wolf collapsed onto the gravel tracks with its chest cavity completely caved in by my upgraded blade, the heavy silence that descended upon the metro station was suffocating.
The thick, metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, mixing with the damp stench of rusted iron. The rhythmic, automated chimes of the system interface finally rang out, signaling the conclusion of the initial wave.
[Wave 1 has been successfully cleared.]
[Calculating surviving population...]
[Initial Population: 82 Players.]
[Current Surviving Population: 21 Players
Out of the eighty-two souls who had sought refuge in the Smiling Devil's sanctuary, only twenty-one remained standing. More than sixty people had been violently culled in a matter of hours, their bodies dissolving into the digital mana threads of the system.
I wiped the dark, acidic blood from my infantry blade, my eyes scanning the ruined station. The pristine, orderly community Woojin had built was gone. The remaining survivors were huddled together in absolute horror, covered in ash and blood, their minds completely broken by the sheer scale of the devastation.
Remarkably, among the twenty-one survivors, Woojin was still alive.
He was breathing heavily, his dark jacket torn to shreds and his neat black hair matted with sweat and grime. Two of his four inner guards lay dead near the tracks, but he had somehow managed to survive the first wave. Through my Dragon's Eyes, I could see that his mana paths were dangerously depleted, and his physical attributes were flickering weakly. He had clearly used his surviving guards as absolute human shields, forcing them to take the lethal blows while he cowed in the center of his dwindling perimeter. Even in the face of absolute annihilation, the weakest of the Eight Evils had clung to life through pure, unadulterated cowardice and manipulation.
Suddenly, the high-pitched, static hum vibrated through the air once more, forcing the surviving twenty-one players to gasp and cover their ears.
The space above the central platform fractured horizontally, and the tall, skeletal form of the Cull-Stalker drifted out of the violet rift. Its circular jaw clicked rhythmically, the rows of needle-thin teeth grinding together as it peered down at the blood-drenched ruins of Sector 4-B.
"C-Congratulations," the creature rasped, its multi-layered, stammering voice echoing off the concrete walls like a scratched record. "Y-You... have... c-completed... monster... wave... one..."
The creature paused, its eyeless head tilting slightly as its jaw widened into a grotesque, mocking imitation of a smile.
"B-But... this... is... o-only... the... b-beginning."
The crimson system screens forced themselves open in front of us, the text shifting and updating in real-time as the difficulty adjusted to the remaining population.
EMERGENCY QUEST: THE CULLING OF THE STAGNANT (UPDATED)]
Current Status: Wave 1 Complete.
Remaining Survivors: 21 / 82
Next Phase: Wave 2 Preparation.
Time Remaining until Wave 2 Begins: 10:00
Note: The system registers continued stagnation. The difficulty of the next wave will adapt to ensure the absolute elimination of the weak. Grow teeth, or be cleansed.
"Only the beginning?" Yoon Sul whispered, his voice trembling as he looked at the ten-minute countdown timer ticking away in crimson digits. "Hyung... look at the survivors. They don't even have the strength to stand up. If another wave hits, the barricades won't hold for a single minute."
I looked across the tracks, meeting Woojin's dead, calculating gaze. He was staring at me, his eyes locked onto my perfectly uninjured form and my pristine, high-tier steel blade. The Smiling Devil had survived the first wave by sacrificing his flock, but he knew as well as I did that his sheep were running out—and the system was still incredibly hungry.
The ten-minute timer loomed over the ruined station like a digital guillotine, its crimson numbers bleeding a faint light into the dark, ash-choked air.
09:59... 09:58...
The absolute silence that followed the Cull-Stalker's announcement was broken only by the ragged breathing of the twenty-one remaining survivors. Men and women huddled in the ruins of the overturned train cars, their eyes hollow, staring blankly at the dark patches on the concrete where their friends and family members had dissolved into nothingness. The panic had burned itself out, replaced by a profound, paralyzing despair.
What they were experiencing wasn't just the fear of death; it was the total collapse of their worldview. For millennia, humanity had built civilizations on the premise that safety lay in numbers, that huddled masses could ward off the cold dark. But the system was an unfeeling mirror, reflecting a brutal cosmic truth: a crowd of the weak does not create strength; it merely creates a larger target. In this new world, artificial architecture and social contracts were illusions. The only true currency was personal evolution.
"Hyung," Yoon Sul murmured, his face pale as he tapped furiously at his glowing interface. "I'm checking the local sector registry through the Gamer network. The average level of the survivors just took a massive leap—not because they leveled up, but because all the Level 1s are dead. The lowest surviving level right now is 3, and most of those are Woojin's inner circle."
It doesn't matter," I replied coldly, opening my own character status screen. "The system scales to numbers, but it also tracks efficiency. By wiping out sixty deadweights, the system just cleared the board. Wave two will be far more condensed, and far more lethal."
My eyes scanned my updated interface, a dark sense of satisfaction settling in my chest.
[Player Status]
Name: Riyo Kim
Level: 8
Available System Points: 3,850
The three hours of non-stop slaughter, combined with the massive siphoning of points from the shelter's population earlier, had transformed me into an absolute anomaly for the first week of the tutorial. While the average global ranker was still figuring out how to efficiently wield a common iron sword, I was sitting on a mountain of wealth and a level that technically put me at the apex of this entire tutorial sector. It was a stark reminder of the system's cruel equity: I had bled, anticipated, and adapted while others surrendered their agency to a false prophet.
"Riyo," Minsoo said, her voice tight as she leaned against a cracked concrete pillar, her twin daggers dripping with the fading black mist of the shadow wolves. "Look across the tracks. The devil is trying to pull his strings again. It's pathetic how people run back to the very chains that bound them, just because the open air is terrifying."
I shifted my gaze. Thirty yards away, near the shattered remnants of the registration desk, Woojin was standing in the center of a small circle. Only two of his heavily armed guards remained, their faces pale, their hands trembling violently as they gripped their empty shotguns. The other eighteen survivors were slowly crawling toward Woojin, desperately seeking the comfort of the man who had promised them an absolute sanctuary.
"Administrator Woojin... please," a bloodied woman wept, clutching at the hem of his torn dark jacket. "What do we do? The food is gone, the monsters are coming back... you said we were safe here!"
Woojin's face was a mask of sheer, suppressed rage, but as he looked down at the weeping woman, he forced his features to soften. His eyes glowed with a faint, desperate trace of mana as he activated [Whisper of the Subconscious], trying to piece together the shattered remnants of his psychological virus.
"Do not lose heart," Woojin said, his voice smooth, though a slight tremor betrayed his inner terror. "The system is testing our faith. We cleared the first wave together. If we fortify the inner tracks and share our remaining stamina, we can endure. I will lead you through this."
Lie, I thought, a cold sneer forming on my lips.
Through my Dragon's Eyes, I could see exactly what Woojin was doing. He wasn't trying to save them; he was preparing his next layer of defense. His psychological virus was whispering to their panicked brains, subtly shifting their positioning, arranging them so that the remaining civilians would naturally form a physical perimeter around him when the second wave erupted from the tunnels. The physically weakest of the Eight Evils was preparing his secondary meat shield. He was a creature who existed only by consuming the vitality of others, a parasite who mistook the compliance of the dying for his own sovereignty.
But the survivors were no longer the blind sheep they were three hours ago. Trauma is a violent awakener. The sheer trauma of seeing sixty people slaughtered had weakened the hold of his mental control.
With what weapons?" a man shouted from the back, his voice cracked with indignation. "Your guards ran away when the wolves leaped the cars! You used Min-jae as a shield—I saw you push him!"
Woojin's expression stiffened for a fraction of a second. The mana paths around his temples flared violently as he attempted to force compliance back into the dissenter's mind. "Min-jae sacrificed himself bravely for the collective survival of this shelter—"
"He didn't sacrifice himself! You threw him to the wolves!" the man screamed, backing away from the circle.
The illusion was fracturing. The remaining twenty-one survivors were beginning to see the horrific reality of the man they had worshiped. They were starting to realize that the sanctuary was nothing more than a well-dressed slaughterhouse, and Woojin was the butcher.
Woojin realized he was losing them. His eyes darted across the ruined junction, flashing with a sudden, vicious realization as they locked onto me. I stood perfectly calm in our clean, blood-stained alcove, completely uninjured, my D-Rank blade resting loosely against my shoulder.
"It's him," Woojin suddenly declared, pointing a trembling, righteous finger at me. His voice boomed through the vaulted station, carrying the full weight of his remaining mana. "He is the reason the system is punishing us!"
The survivors turned their heads, their hollow eyes shifting toward our alcove.
"Think about it!" Woojin shouted, his face twisting into an expression of flawless, calculated desperation. "He arrived, and immediately the atmosphere changed. He hoarded high-tier food, extorted your hard-earned points, and refused to contribute to our collective defense! The system punishes greed! The system brought this culling because a parasite entered our sanctuary and broke our unity!"
The mental virus surged through the air, riding on the back of Woojin's accusation. The desperate, starving survivors, looking for any scapegoat to explain their horrific reality, began to murmur. The invisible threads of [Whisper of the Subconscious] latched onto their exhaustion, warping their perception until a few of them began to glare at me with genuine, burning resentment.
"He's right..." a man muttered, his eyes clouding over once more. "He has all those points... he didn't even bleed..."
"He killed the wolves so easily," another whispered. "Why didn't he save the others? He let them die!"
Minsoo's eyes flashed with absolute homicidal intent. She took a step forward, her daggers spinning, but I extended an arm, blocking her path.
Let him talk," I said quietly, my voice carrying a terrifying, unyielding calm that resonated through the damp air, instantly cutting through Woojin's frantic psychological conditioning.
I stepped out of the alcove, the metal plate of my boots clicking sharply against the concrete tracks as I walked toward the center of the junction. I stopped ten yards from Woojin, looking down at the physically weakest evil with absolute, undisguised contempt.
04:30... 04:29... The timer ticked down above us.
You really are a pathetic creature, Woojin," I said, my voice echoing clearly off the vaulted ceilings. "Even now, with four minutes left before the system tears this place apart, you're still trying to play the puppet master. You truly believe that morality exists in a void, that you can talk your way out of the natural laws of strength."
I turned my gaze to the remaining survivors, my Dragon's Eyes piercing through the mental fog clouding their features.
Look at him," I commanded, pointing my blade directly at Woojin's chest. "He stands there, accusing me of greed, while his own inventory is entirely empty because he spent his points trying to buy up my food to maintain his pathetic monopoly. He talks about unity, yet his attributes are the lowest in this entire room. He offers you comfortable lies because he has no strength to offer. If the next wave breaks through, he cannot protect a single one of you. He will simply watch you die from the center of his circle, just like he did three hours ago. In the end, a shepherd who cannot fight is just a wolf waiting for a larger pack."
The raw, unyielding logic of my words acted as an absolute wedge, shattering the fragile remnants of Woojin's mental virus. The survivors blinked rapidly, the purple fog clearing from their eyes as they looked at Woojin's trembling hands and torn, useless jacket.
You... you monster..." Woojin hissed, his benevolent mask completely melting away, revealing the raw, ugly malice of the tyrant he was destined to become. "I built this place! I kept them alive!"
"You kept them as livestock," I corrected him coldly, adjusting my grip on my infantry blade as the timer reached the final sixty seconds. "But the system is an absolute meritocracy, Woojin. The tutorial is over for you. The universe is coming to collect its debt, and your sheep have finally realized that you don't have any teeth."
Deep within the darkness of the maintenance shafts, the terrifying, rhythmic thud of thousands of incoming claws began to echo once more. The black fog rolled in, thicker and more violent than before, and the skeletal form of the Cull-Stalker lowered itself from the ceiling, its circular jaw grinding in anticipation.
00:03... 00:02... 00:01...
The second wave had arrived, and this time, the hierarchy of Sector 4-B would be written entirely in blood, completely divorced from the words of men.