Since the appearance of dungeons, the world had avoided major armed conflicts between nations.
However, the embers were undeniably smoldering.
In a dim warehouse district near a port, two men exchanged words, keeping themselves hidden from prying eyes.
"This is the delivery for today."
"Thank you for your punctuality. I’ll proceed with the inspection."
The man with the attache case handed it over. The man with the monocle pulled a pair of spectacles with geometric frames from his pocket, pinched the bridge of his nose, and fitted the monocle over his right eye.
Once ready, the monocle man supported the case with his left hand and flipped the lid open. Inside were scrolls—skill scrolls. They were rare, coveted artifacts that every explorer diving into dungeons desired above all else.
"Excellent. They are all authentic."
"Of course they are. We would never bring counterfeits to a deal."
The man with the attache case sounded slightly irritated by the implication.
"Haha, my apologies. Lately, there has been an influx of unscrupulous types trying to pass off fakes in transactions like this."
"...Hmph. I see."
"Rest assured, however... we make sure to properly punish those who attempt such insolence."
The monocle man bowed his head and offered a brief apology while explaining his caution. Though the man with the attache case still looked annoyed, he understood the reasoning and accepted the apology without making a scene.
Still, the casual way the monocle man mentioned "punishment" while inspecting the goods piqued his interest. To fill the silence, he asked about the nature of the penalty.
"Punishment, you say... What did you do to them?"
"Oh, it was nothing extraordinary. I simply had them enter a room with a large cat to play together for a while."
"A large cat...?"
"A large calico cat. This one is quite sociable. It has a hearty appetite and isn't a picky eater—a very good child."
"..."
The "large calico cat" the monocle man referred to was, in reality, a tiger. To be locked in a room "playing" with a ravenous tiger meant exactly what one would expect.
The man with the attache case was internally horrified by the monocle man's nonchalant tone.
"Well, enough about cats. Let’s get back to business."
"Right... of course."
"I have confirmed that these are all genuine skill scrolls. The delivery is accepted."
"Then, the payment, if you please."
"Certainly. This way..."
Closing the attache case and stowing his monocle, the man led the way into a nearby warehouse. Waiting inside was a medium-sized truck, its exterior caked in layers of dirt and dust.
"Please verify the payment."
"Very well."
The two men walked to the rear of the truck, opened the doors, and climbed inside. Cardboard boxes and burlap sacks were secured to the floor with netting.
"The items on the surface are for camouflage. They’re just gifts—fruit, alcohol, that sort of thing. Please, share them with your team."
"That’s quite thoughtful. Thank you."
Inside the cargo bed, which was thick with the sweet and sour scent of fruit, they moved the decoys aside to reveal several heavy wooden crates.
"May I...?"
"By all means. Please, check the contents."
"..."
The man with the attache case gripped the edge of a crate's lid and lifted. The wood groaned as the nails were wrenched free, the lid popping off with a sharp crack.
"To pry off a nailed lid with your bare hands... you have incredible strength."
"If you dive into dungeons, this much becomes easy."
"So, you are an explorer as well?" the monocle man asked, looking genuinely surprised.
"Did you think I was just a desk-bound negotiator?"
"Ah, well, my apologies. You didn't strike me as someone who handled the... rougher side of things."
"It doesn't matter. More importantly... these are the ones?"
"Indeed. This is the payment for the skill scrolls."
Setting the lid aside, the man brushed away the paper cushioning. Nestled inside were firearms that gleamed with a cold, black luster.
"As requested: the M2 heavy machine gun. You mentioned you didn't need tripods, so they aren't included. The ammunition is packed in the other crates; feel free to inspect those as well."
The monocle man continued his explanation, but the man with the attache case had stopped listening, his eyes fixed on the weapons.
"These... these are brand new."
"Naturally. These aren't bootlegs or modified scrap; they are genuine, factory-new products. Full-spec versions, too, capable of fully automatic fire."
The man’s eyes widened. If they were capable of automatic fire, these weren't civilian models sold for defense—they were pure military hardware used by regular armies. Securing such legitimate, high-spec equipment required extremely powerful connections.
"...How did you get these?"
"Our organization has deep roots. It takes a snake to know a snake's path, as they say."
It takes a snake to know a snake's path. In other words, they were connected to high-ranking military officers, politicians, or defense contractors—people powerful enough to siphon off military supplies and erase the paper trail.
"How reassuring."
"As long as you provide the payment, we can procure almost anything. You are a valued client; rest assured we would never insult you with used or defective goods."
"..."
Though he felt a chilling sense of dread behind the monocle man's smile, the man held his ground.
"Good. If the opportunity arises, I'll call on you again."
"We look forward to it. If you can provide skill scrolls as payment like you did today, we can guarantee a swift response."
"I'll keep that in mind."
With a short reply, the man finished checking the remaining crates. Once satisfied, they resealed the cargo and climbed down from the truck.
"Is the transaction concluded to your satisfaction, then?"
"Yes. There are no issues."
"Then we look forward to your next order."
"Until next time."
The deal was done. The man with the attache case climbed into the driver's seat and drove the truck away, while the monocle man saw him off with a polite smile.
The moment the truck vanished from sight, the monocle man’s smile evaporated. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a long drag.
"Phew. Man, that guy... he’s buying up weapons and ammo like there's no tomorrow. Is he planning to start a war somewhere?"
He dropped the cigarette and ground it into the dirt with his heel.
"Well, I don't care who he fights as long as the merchandise moves. Besides... war is always good for business."
After a final glance at the empty warehouse, the man left the scene with a faint, cold smirk.
In the capital, the National Chairman received a report from his Secretary and tossed the documents onto his desk in frustration.
"It’s a lost cause. With them scattered across such a vast area, the military alone can't manage them all."
"I agree, sir. Unfortunately, the reconnaissance satellites have confirmed over several hundred dungeons on the surface alone. We simply lack the manpower to secure them. Of course, if we were to suspend all current military operations and reassign everyone to dungeon duty, it might be possible, but..."
"Rejected. If we halt our current operations, our entire national strategy will collapse."
The National Chairman dismissed the Secretary’s suggestion flatly.
"Then what are your orders? Leaving them as they are would be a grave mistake..."
"I'm aware. Give me a rough estimate for the personnel needed to blockade them."
"Let’s see... If we assign one company to each known surface-type dungeon, that’s over two hundred thousand soldiers. But we also need men to search the rest of the country and secure any new ones we find. That’s another hundred thousand. When you factor in supply lines and rotations... we would need at least five hundred thousand men."
"Five hundred thousand... That’s nearly a third of the entire Army."
The sheer scale of the territory was a curse. The National Chairman sat in stunned silence at the logistical nightmare the dungeons had created. To increase the military budget enough to cover such a force would bankrupt the national treasury. The economic growth from the recent bubble had already begun to slow; a massive military expansion was out of the question.
And yet, with domestic unrest simmering, he couldn't simply ignore the dungeons.
"Tell me, can the dungeons be destroyed?"
"We don't know, sir. So far, there have been no reports of any country successfully destroying one. We don't even know if it's possible, or what the consequences might be....Would you like our nation to be the first to try?"
"Don't be a fool. I have no intention of crossing such a dangerous bridge myself."
"A wise choice. If we are to attempt destruction, it should be only after we’ve let another country pull the chestnuts out of the fire for us."
The National Chairman and the Secretary exchanged a knowing look, their cold pragmatism perfectly aligned.
"Then what about a blockade? Can we seal the entrances without destroying them?"
"Technically, yes. I’ve heard that one country covered a dungeon entrance with steel plates and buried it in concrete. So far, they haven't reported any issues."
"Very well. Aside from the dungeons near the major cities that the military already controls, seal them all with steel and concrete. Station security units as soon as the manpower is available."
"Understood. I will make the arrangements."
With the decision made, the Secretary left the room. Once alone, the National Chairman leaned back into his chair and let out a weary groan.
"Dungeons. I never imagined they would be such a headache."
At this point, the National Chairman still believed he had the situation under control.
"Unrest in the autonomous regions, you say?"
"Yes, sir," the Presidential Aide reported. "It appears the orders to blockade the dungeons are being ignored in many of the autonomous regions."
"..."
"Furthermore, our investigation shows that the vast majority of dungeon items entering the black market are flowing through those same regions. It is highly likely that they have already amassed a significant amount of capital."
The National Chairman’s expression grew increasingly grim.
"Do they intend to launch an independence movement?"
"We don't have definitive proof yet, but the possibility cannot be ignored."
"...I see."
"Your orders, sir? Shall we move to impose sanctions on the autonomous regions?"
The National Chairman hesitated. Without hard evidence, sanctions would spark massive backlash. Given the current climate, it might even drive the regions to coordinate a larger revolt. They now possessed both a source of funding and a means of military training through the dungeons.
Finally, he made his decision.
"We will hold off on sanctions for now. However, the moment we have proof, we will seize the ringleaders and crush them. Have the Intelligence Department focus on building a case. And make sure the military is ready to move at a moment’s notice."
"Understood. I will prepare accordingly."
"See that you do."
Even as he spoke, the National Chairman felt a dark, nameless premonition swirling in his chest.
The appearance of the dungeons had been the final blow to an already fragile economy. Corporate bankruptcies surged, the streets filled with the unemployed, and public resentment began to boil over toward the government. In a desperate bid to shift the blame, the government manipulated information, suggesting that foreign powers were responsible for the dungeon outbreak.
The plan backfired. Fueled by frustration and propaganda, the citizens took to the streets in massive, violent demonstrations.
"Compensate us for the dungeon damages now!"
"Make those responsible take accountability!"
Protest placards and hate speech filled the air as large-scale riots erupted across the country.
What began as protests soon became a daily reality of chaos. Rioters, some of whom had gained superhuman strength by secretly diving into unmanaged dungeons, easily overwhelmed the police. Eventually, the military had to be deployed to quell the mobs, turning the streets into scenes of a brutal civil war.