The bustling starter town churned with noise—shouts, deals, party recruitment calls overlapping into a constant roar.
"Looking for DPS for Goblin Nest! Need a healer too!"
"Tank needed for Bone Ruins, minimum level 8!"
"Selling beginner materials! Fangs, hides, bones—get them cheap!"
Raven moved through the press of bodies, hood low, gear unremarkable. Another face in the tide.
He clocked the players around him out of habit—fresh faces fumbling gear menus, overconfident warriors flashing low-tier swords, guild recruiters shouting offers like carnival barkers.
None of them were looking closely. Good. His nameplate was set to neutral, his posture unthreatening. Nothing to notice. Nothing to remember.
Noise meant cover. The herd camouflaged the predator.
Above, the ranking board flickered.
[Global Rank — Top 100 Players]
New names. New hopefuls clawing for visibility.
Raven’s gaze passed over it without slowing. His name would never be there. The system tallied kills, quests, trades—every visible action. Subjugation, however, counted only once: the moment he bound a monster. What that monster did afterward? The system ignored it.
A flaw buried inside the AI’s accounting.
He wasn’t here to win medals. He was here to disappear.
Two dungeon portals loomed ahead.
Goblin Nest—crowded, lines of parties waiting their turn. Too much noise. Too many eyes.
Bone Ruins—quiet. Sparse groups. Riskier. Better.
Beginner dungeons like Bone Ruins existed so new players could experience dungeon mechanics before stepping into the real heart of Primordial Abyss—the richer, quest-driven dungeons layered with story and missions at higher levels. Here, there were no intricate narratives or special rewards.
Just bare-bones survival.
He adjusted course without hesitation.
He kept the chain hidden beneath his gear for now—its jagged links and sinister design were too distinctive, too risky to display outside dungeons. Inside these forgotten places, it became his weapon and shield, unseen by the outside world.
A few players noticed.
"He’s soloing?" "Overconfident newbie, watch. He’ll get wrecked before the first corner."
Raven kept walking, their words bouncing harmlessly off his mind. Let them think what they wanted. The less attention, the better.
The portal shimmered as he stepped through. The air inside was thick with rot. Bones cracked underfoot. Shadows moved with malicious intent.
The stench of decay clung to his clothes, greasy and heavy, settling into every breath.
Good.
A low growl rose from the darkness.
[Lesser Bone Wolf — Level 5]
It stepped into view, skeletal frame tensed to attack.
Raven lifted a hand.
The chain—black, jagged-edged, wrapped tight around his forearm—uncoiled like a living serpent.
With a sharp flick, it whirled outward, snaring the creature mid-leap. It thrashed, skeletal joints creaking, but the cursed links held.
[Abyssal Pact Attempting Subjugation...]
MP drained like water through a broken vessel. Raven gritted his teeth, riding the pressure bearing down on his mind.
"Submit."
The wolf froze. Then bowed its head.
[Subjugation Successful.]
Raven exhaled, slow and steady. His MP bar was gutted, but manageable. Another few captures like that and he’d hit empty—risky, but necessary.
"Hunt."
The wolf obeyed immediately, slinking into the darkness.
Moments later—
[Lesser Bone Wolf Defeated — XP Gained.]
[Loot Collected: Bone Fragment, Tattered Hide.]
The numbers crept upward.
Unseen. Uncelebrated.
Exactly how he wanted it.
But one wolf wouldn’t build an empire.
He pressed deeper into the ruins.
Normally, subjugating a dungeon boss would grant dominion over every creature inside. But this was his first foothold—and he was solo. Without party backup or a developed base, he needed survival insurance.
Each captured monster wasn’t just a weapon. It was a lifeline, carving out control one link at a time.
Each encounter followed the same rhythm: isolate, subjugate, command. Slowly, methodically, his personal pack of bone wolves grew.
Efficiency demanded sacrifice. He let weaker wolves exhaust themselves clearing monsters, then replaced them. No sentiment. Only results.
At last, he found the heart of the dungeon.
A figure loomed in the center—a mass of bone and rusted armor.
[Bone Tyrant — Dungeon Boss — Level 20]
A normal party would spend minutes dancing around it. Kiting. Dodging.
Raven lifted his hand, the cursed chain shifting slightly under his sleeve—ready to be unleashed if necessary.
"Weaken it."
His pack surged forward. Wolves shredded the boss’s defenses at the cost of their own existence. One by one, they fell—each tearing a chunk of HP away with them.
When the last wolf crumbled, the Bone Tyrant staggered on shattered knees, HP deep in the red.
Now.
[Dominion Chain Activated.]
[Abyssal Pact Attempting Subjugation...]
The MP drain slammed into him like a hammer. His vision blurred at the edges.
Still, he held on. Fingers tight. Mind colder than the grave.
And then—
[Subjugation Successful.]
The boss’s massive frame straightened, eyes burning a new loyalty.
Raven leaned against the crumbling wall, breathing evenly.
It was done.
"Clear the chamber."
The Bone Tyrant moved without hesitation, obliterating respawned monsters before they could take two steps.
[Lesser Bone Wolf Defeated — XP Shared. Loot Sent to Master.]
[Lesser Skeleton Defeated — XP Shared. Loot Sent to Master.]
Over and over.
Raven opened the marketplace window. Bone Fragments: 2 silver. Sharp Claws: 5 silver.
Small pieces. Tiny returns.
But constant.
A machine that needed no rest. No mana.
Step one: stability.
Not glory.
Not fame.
Control.
Footsteps echoed from the dungeon entrance.
A solo player entered—rogue class, judging by the twin daggers.
Raven stayed still, calculating.
This was the real test.
Back then, he’d crafted the theory: if monsters could be farmed, could players be farmed too?
Casualties. Loot. Drops slipping through the cracks of a system built for greed.
Now, standing in the damp ruins, he had the first willing subject.
He shifted slightly deeper into the shadows, heart steady, mind sharp.
Time to find out if the system’s blood ran just as easily from players.
The rogue scanned the chamber. Paused. Frowned.
The Bone Tyrant moved.
Bosses weren’t supposed to do that.
The rogue hesitated.
Too late.
The Bone Tyrant’s sword blurred through the air, severing the rogue’s HP before he could even react.
[Player Defeated — XP Gained.]
[Loot Dropped: Shadow Dagger (Rare), 30 Silver Coins.]
Raven crouched briefly, retrieving the dropped loot.
The dagger gleamed faintly—a clean, mechanical penalty enforced by the system.
He turned it over once in his hand, thoughtful.
The theory was viable.
One test wasn’t proof—but it was a start.
Players could be farmed too.
He tucked the dagger away, already planning how to liquidate it quietly.
Dungeons weren’t just for farming monsters.
They were perfect traps.
Silent.
Relentless.
And soon, the dungeons—and the fools who wandered into them—would feed his empire without ever knowing it.