He did not dial the number.
The business card was tucked between Allen's phone and its case. It wasn't a memento; it was placed there so it could be retrieved at a moment's notice—should the need arise.
Currently, there was no such need.
An A-rank investigator. A scout-type class. He had already identified the "artificial nature" of the dungeon. The GWA knew. Or at least, someone within the GWA knew.
Allen sat on the second-floor platform of the warehouse for twenty minutes, running through the situation from start to finish.
Robert Chen hadn't led a tactical team inside. He hadn't cordoned off the warehouse. He hadn't notified any guilds. He had simply left a card.
When an A-rank Awakened faces the world's first man-made dungeon, the first step he takes is "leaving a business card."
There were two possibilities.
The first: He was fishing. The card was bait, waiting for Allen to initiate contact so he could trace the communication records and lock down his identity.
The second: He was telling the truth—he wanted to "understand."
Regardless of which it was, Allen couldn't move now. He couldn't change locations, he couldn't shut down the dungeon, and he couldn't show any reaction that indicated "I know you were here." Maintain the status quo. Keep operating. Let everything Robert Chen observed remain unchanged.
When there are too many variables, the best strategy is to avoid adding new ones.
Allen turned off the red warning on the management panel. He didn't eliminate the threat; he just muted the notification sound.
Day Three.
Titan Shield moved faster than Allen had anticipated.
At 8:00 AM, the external surveillance on the management panel captured anomalies toward the warehouse—not six people, but twelve.
Wayne Tucker arrived with his original crew, plus six new faces. Two of them carried folding tables and camping chairs, one lugged a crate of bottled water, and another held a roll of yellow caution tape.
The kind used at construction sites. The word "CAUTION" repeated every half-meter.
From the roof of the parking garage, Allen watched the twelve light points scatter around the warehouse. The caution tape started from the main entrance and wrapped around the entire perimeter of the building, sealing off all side windows, fire exits, and back doors within a yellow loop.
The folding table was set up to the right of the warehouse's main entrance. Two camping chairs were placed behind it. The bottled water sat underneath.
Shifts.
A twenty-four-hour rotation of guards.
Allen zoomed in on the surveillance feed. Wayne was standing at the entrance, holding a phone to his ear. The audio capture distance wasn't enough—external surveillance had an effective range of 100 meters around the dungeon entrance, and the warehouse door was barely on the edge. The sound quality was poor, picking up only jagged fragments.
"...Yes, Mr. Black... F-rank, but the drop quality is anomalous... No, it's not a natural mutation... I suggest we register it immediately as a Guild-Exclusive Dungeon... Right, discovery rights belong to us..."
Black.
Allen searched his memory. There was a stickied post on the DeepRift forum—public information on the organizational structure of major guilds in New York's five boroughs. The name was on the management list for the Brooklyn branch of Titan Shield.
Harrison Black. Vice President of the New York branch. A C-rank Awakened.
Wayne was reporting up the chain.
Allen closed the management panel and shifted his position behind the low wall of the rooftop. His knees were getting stiff; he had been crouching here for nearly an hour.
Titan Shield wanted to register this dungeon as an exclusive guild asset. Could they make it stand legally? Likely. Section 23 of the GWA Dungeon Management Regulations: "The Awakened or organization that first discovers and completes a clear record may apply for a 90-day priority exploration right." Originally intended to protect the finds of small teams, it had long since become a tool for major guilds to stake claims.
Ninety days.
Three months.
If this dungeon was registered as Titan Shield's exclusive asset, any entry by a non-guild member within those three months would constitute "illegal trespassing." The GWA would send personnel to enforce the ban. It wouldn't be Wayne's brand of street-thug intimidation—it would be real legal sanction.
Allen needed to resolve this before the registration was finalized.
But not today.
Today, his second entrance was still operational. Titan Shield was unaware of the backup passage in the basement of the parking garage.
Allen took out his phone and sent a mass message to the nine people he had contacted via DeepRift private messages yesterday.
"Original entrance temporarily unavailable. New coordinates updated. Parking Lot B2, Northwest corner, next to pillar P2-17. Enter through the side alley. Do not approach the warehouse."
Sent.
He descended from the rooftop, took a long detour back to the parking lot entrance, and drew a small, inconspicuous mark on the wall next to the rolling shutter with a marker—a tiny rhombus. The same shape as the dungeon entrance. Those who knew would understand; those who didn't would see it as graffiti.
Then, he crouched inside the entrance and waited.
The first to arrive was Lena Walker.
She came alone. No Gus, no other members of the Grey Crows.
Allen saw her walking down the alley through the gap in the shutter. Black tactical gear, high boots, two daggers at her waist—one of which was yesterday's Crescent. The bandage on her left leg had been replaced with a fresh one; it was white, with no bloodstains.
She paused at the shutter and saw the rhombus mark on the wall.
Without hesitation, she slipped inside.
Allen stood at the corner of the spiral ramp on the second basement level, purposely letting his footsteps precede him. Appearing suddenly in front of a C-rank assassin was never a good idea.
Lena reacted instantly—the moment she heard the footsteps, her right hand moved to the hilt of her dagger, her center of gravity dropped, and she half-turned toward the source of the sound.
Allen stepped out from the corner. Hoodie, jeans, sneakers. The standard "harmless passerby" configuration.
Lena's hand eased off the dagger. Her reaction was faster this time; she recognized him.
"You again."
"Me again." Allen tilted his head toward the second basement level. "The entrance is below."
"What happened at the warehouse? I saw Titan Shield putting up caution tape when I passed by."
"They've declared it a guild-exclusive dungeon. Twenty-four-hour guards."
Lena's jaw tightened for half a second.
"Discovery rights?"
"Probably."
"Then this entrance—"
"Another way. They don't know about it."
Lena studied him for three seconds. Yesterday's two-second gaze had become three.
"How do you know about a second entrance?"
Allen had prepared his answer.
"I live nearby. The second basement started glowing a few days ago. I came down to check. A rift entrance, just like the one in the warehouse."
Reasonable. Natural dungeons occasionally had multiple entrances—while uncommon, it was recorded in the GWA database.
Lena didn't press further. She nodded and headed down the spiral ramp.
Allen followed, maintaining a five-pace distance.
The rhombus opening of the backup passage glowed quietly in blue next to pillar P2-17. Lena crouched to inspect it for a few seconds before jumping in.
On the management panel, a new green light point appeared in the side corridor of the first room. The Phantom Mirror scanned automatically—Lena's full System panel data flooded into the client files.
C-rank Assassin. Four skills. One more than yesterday—Moon Shadow. The passive skill from the Crescent Dagger had been activated.
The second group arrived: three independent adventurers, two males and one female, all E-rank. Allen recognized one of their IDs from the forum list. They hesitated at the parking lot entrance before seeing the rhombus mark and filing in.
The third group—
An external surveillance alert popped up on the management panel.
It wasn't from the parking lot entrance. It was from the warehouse.
Allen swiped his finger across the panel. The surveillance feed of the warehouse area cut in.
A figure stood by the caution tape outside the warehouse. Small. Thin. Wearing a camouflage jacket at least two sizes too large, the sleeves rolled up three times but still hanging past the wrists. He carried an old backpack; the zipper was broken and held together with wire.
Management panel tag: Unknown Awakened. Rank determination—F-rank.
An F-rank. At the warehouse entrance.
He was peeking inside.
Behind the folding table sat two Titan Shield guards—a D-rank Warrior and an E-rank Support. Rotational shift. The D-rank warrior had his legs crossed, an unlit cigarette in his mouth, scrolling through his phone. The E-rank support was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed.
The teenager hesitated for about ten seconds, then lifted his leg and stepped over the caution tape.
Allen's finger froze on the management panel.
The teenager took three steps. On the fourth, the D-rank warrior looked up from his screen.
"Hey."
The boy stopped.
"Can't see the yellow line?"
"I... I saw a post on the forum saying there was a dungeon here—"
"Guild-exclusive. Are you with Titan Shield?"
"No. I'm... I just awakened recently, F-rank, I wanted to find a place to train—"
The D-rank warrior uncrossed his legs. The chair scraped against the gravel.
"F-rank."
He didn't move fast, but when he stood straight, he was a full head taller than the boy.
"That post you saw on the forum? Told you the rewards were good? Told you you could get E-rank gear for clearing it?"
The boy nodded slightly.
"Did that post forget to tell you this place belongs to Titan Shield now?"
"I didn't know—I just got here today—"
"Didn't know." The D-rank warrior repeated. He walked around the folding table and stood in front of the boy.
Allen saw the warrior's detailed data on the management panel—the Phantom Mirror had scanned him before. Marcus Davis. D-rank Warrior. Strength D, Stamina D-.
The F-rank boy's strength was roughly one-eighth of his.
"Buddy, let me tell you something." Marcus placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. It was the exact same gesture Jason had used on Allen in the Awakening Hall.
The difference was the force.
The boy's knees buckled.
"This dungeon is the property of Titan Shield. Illegal trespassing on guild assets, according to GWA regulations—"
"I just wanted to train—"
"I wasn't finished."
The force increased by another notch. The boy's shoulder was pressed down, a pain response flickering on his face—lips thinning, nostrils flaring.
"I'll ask you one more time. Did you find this through that forum post? Who gave you the coordinates?"
The boy couldn't form a full sentence. Staccato syllables came through the audio—"I... don't... know..."
Marcus slammed him to the ground.
Gravel surface. The boy's back hit first, followed by the back of his head. The backpack slid off his shoulder and bounced twice on the gravel.
Allen heard a thud. The sound of a skull hitting the ground. It wasn't sharp or high-pitched. It was a short, solid sound.
The boy curled up. Hands over his head. Instinctive reaction.
Marcus kicked him. The toe of his boot slammed into the boy's ribs.
"I'm asking you a question."
A second kick. The same spot.
The boy's body tightened into an even smaller ball. The back of the camouflage jacket was covered in dust and gravel powder.
"Who gave you the coordinates?"
"For... forum... anonymous..."
A third kick. This time, he aimed for the arm.
Allen heard the sound of bone through the management panel. It wasn't a snap—it was that low, structural stress sound when something bends to its limit.
The teenager screamed.
It wasn't an adult's scream. It was the sound of a voice that hadn't fully broken yet, squeezed out by extreme pain.
The management panel's audio automatically identified the frequency characteristics, popping up a line of text: [Estimated age: 15-17 years.]
Allen pulled his finger back from the screen.
A crowd began to gather on the warehouse lot. Passing independent adventurers, low-level Awakened from the neighborhood. Five people, seven, ten. Standing outside the caution tape.
Not a single person crossed it.
Allen's management panel automatically tagged several known light points in the crowd. Levi, the stout man, E-rank Explorer. The leader of the first team to be wiped out yesterday. He stood at the outer edge of the crowd, his goggles pushed up on his forehead, his hands hanging at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling repeatedly against his thighs.
Lena Walker was not in the crowd—she was already inside the dungeon.
But Gus of the Grey Crows was there.
Gus stood on the right side of the crowd. His left arm was still in a sling. His right hand—the only one he could use—clutched a piece of iron pipe. No idea where he'd found it. Rusted, about a foot and a half long.
The other two D-rank members of the Grey Crows stood beside him. One was tugging at Gus's sleeve.
"We can't fight a D-rank, Gus."
Gus didn't move.
"Not with their whole guild behind him."
Gus's right hand twisted the pipe. The angle of his knuckles wasn't clear on the panel. But finally, he let go. The pipe fell to the ground, bouncing once on the gravel and rolling half a turn before stopping.
Marcus stopped. Not because of the crowd—he hadn't even looked their way. It was because the E-rank support had gotten up from his chair, walked over, and grabbed Marcus's arm, whispering something in his ear.
Marcus looked down at the boy on the ground.
The teenager's right forearm was bent at an unnatural angle. It wasn't a dislocation. It was a fracture.
The sleeve of the camouflage jacket was pulled up, revealing a wrist that hadn't fully developed. On the wrist was a plastic digital watch. The face was shattered.
"Beat it. If I see you here again—" Marcus didn't finish. He didn't need to.
The boy used his left hand to push himself up. His right arm hung limp, his whole body shaking with every movement. He picked up his backpack—the wire handle was broken, so he had to cradle it with his left arm.
He crawled under the caution tape.
The crowd automatically parted to make a path. No one helped. No one spoke.
Holding his backpack, his right arm dangling, the boy limped toward the end of the street. After twenty paces, he stopped and doubled over, vomiting. Gastric acid and the remnants of breakfast.
Then he kept walking.
Two blocks away, Allen stood at the parking lot entrance. The surveillance feed was still hovering on the left of his vision. He had watched the entire thing.
From the second Marcus's hand landed on the boy's shoulder to the moment the boy disappeared at the end of the street.
Three minutes and forty-two seconds.
Allen closed the management panel.
The sunlight at the parking lot entrance hit his face. March in Brooklyn; the wind was cold, carrying the scent of seawater and rusted iron.
He looked down at his hands.
They were steady. No shaking.
This wasn't the first time he had seen violence. The news footage from the day of the Grand Cataclysm was ten thousand times more horrific than this.
But the people in the news didn't have names, or age estimates, or a system tag saying "15-17 years."
Allen turned and walked into the parking lot, heading down the spiral ramp. Each step was at his normal pace. His breathing rate didn't change.
He sat down next to the backup passage on the second basement level. The blue light of the rhombus opening reflected off his glasses.
The management panel expanded again.
He didn't open the warehouse surveillance. He didn't rewatch those three minutes and forty-two seconds.
From the backup passage in the parking lot, a green light point covered in wounds was moving toward the exit—Lena had cleared it.
Allen waited at the corner of the spiral ramp. Three minutes later, Lena climbed up from the rhombus opening. A tear was ripped into the left sleeve of her tactical suit. Residue of black mist—from the Shadow Knight—clung to the edge of her Crescent dagger.
She saw Allen and paused.
"You've been waiting here this whole time?"
"Nothing else to do."
Lena sheathed her dagger. She bent down to check the bandage on her left leg; there were no new wounds today, and yesterday's claw marks were healing.
"Something happened over at the warehouse," Allen said.
Lena's movement hitched for a beat.
"Titan Shield beat up a kid. F-rank. Wanted to clear the dungeon. Broke his arm."
Lena didn't reply. She finished tucking the end of her leg bandage tight and slowly stood up.
Silence lasted five seconds.
"Who did it?"
"Marcus Davis. D-rank. One of Wayne's rotational guards."
"In front of everyone?"
"A dozen people watching. No one stopped him."
Lena's left hand brushed against her medical wristband. The movement was fast.
"Gus was there," Allen added. "He picked up a piece of pipe. Your other two teammates held him back."
Lena closed her eyes.
Not for long. Just a blink. When she opened them, her gaze landed on Allen's face.
"When you were there, why didn't you—"
"I wasn't there."
Lena's mouth snapped shut.
"I'm here." Allen pointed to the parking lot floor. "I'm an F-rank. Even if I were there, I couldn't stop a D-rank."
The logic was flawless. A self-proclaimed F-rank low-level Awakened was powerless against the violence of a D-rank warrior. Normal. Reasonable. Consistent with the rules of this world.
Lena looked at him for three seconds.
This wasn't a glance. It was longer. Quieter.
Then she turned and walked up the spiral ramp.
After seven or eight steps, her footsteps stopped.
"The kid you mentioned... what did he look like?"
"Camouflage jacket. Two sizes too big. A backpack with the zipper held by wire."
Lena stood at the turn of the ramp. Her silhouette was barely an outline in the dim light of the garage.
"...How old?"
"System estimate is fifteen to seventeen."
Five seconds of silence.
Lena's left hand touched the medical wristband again. This time, the movement was slower. Her index and middle fingers gripped the edge of the band and pressed—she wasn't looking at information. She was confirming something.
She left.
Allen stood in place, listening to her footsteps rising circle by circle up the ramp, getting further away.
Once the footsteps vanished, he looked down at his phone. 2:12 PM.
There was a new post on the DeepRift forum. Posted fifteen minutes ago.
Poster ID: GreyCrow_Lena.
Title: "Brooklyn Warehouse Dungeon—Titan Shield Violent Blockade, D-rank Breaks Arm of Underage Awakened, Multiple Angles Video Attached."
Lena didn't post it—she had been inside the dungeon for the last hour.
But the three videos embedded in the post came from different angles. Someone had filmed with a phone. From within the crowd.
Allen scrolled to the top comment. Posted two minutes ago, four hundred likes.
"Look at what Titan Shield is doing. Beating a sixteen-year-old kid. a B-rank guild bullying an F-rank rookie. 'Guild Exclusive'? That's just theft."
The second top comment.
"I watched the video three times. That D-rank kicked him three times. The third kick broke his arm. The kid screamed and then vomited while walking away. Is Titan Shield a gang?"