Prologue – The Hundred-Year Blink

In Arcanthos, strength was measured by one thing alone: magical rank.
From the radiant S-Ranks who commanded storms, to the pitiful F-Ranks—barely above ordinary humans—the hierarchy was absolute.

And Rion Vale stood at the very bottom.
An F-Rank Hunter.
No offensive spells.
Barely enough mana to light a candle.
A laughingstock of the guilds.

Yet on the morning his fate changed, Rion sought only to prove he wasn’t useless. Desperate for coin, he entered a dungeon newly discovered on the outskirts of Varos City. The guild’s readings marked it as weak, unstable, safe.

They were wrong.

The Dungeon That Devours Time

The moment Rion stepped inside, the gate slammed shut with a thunderous roar.
The sky dissolved into a crimson void.
A voice, cold and eternal, whispered in his mind:

“Welcome, Challenger. Time here flows… differently.”

Monsters emerged from the shadows—horned beasts, molten titans, wolves of living night. Rion had no magic, no skills, nothing but a rusted dagger and a body that refused to die.

Because in this dungeon, death was not the end.
It was the beginning.
Every death sent him back to the start—each monster stronger than before.

And so began his hell.

A Hundred Years of Battle

Hours became days.
Days became years.
Years became decades.

Rion fought without pause, without mercy. He slept with one eye open, ate what he killed, and trained until his bones shattered—only to heal and shatter again.

With no mana, something else awakened:

Brute force that split the earth. Instincts sharper than any blade. Natural energy that surged like a storm through his veins.

His skin hardened like steel.
His senses stretched until he could hear a heartbeat miles away.
He wrestled titans, tore apart dragons of shadow, and learned to strike fear into death itself.

Eventually, even the dungeon trembled when he walked.

But Rion never realized the truth:
Inside, a century had passed.
Outside, only five hours.

Return to the World

At last, after slaying the final guardian—a beast forged from shattered time itself—the gate split open. Light poured through.

Rion stepped outside.
The wind touched his face.
Rain scented the air.

Hunters waiting beyond the gate froze.
“W-wait… that’s the F-Rank who went in earlier…”
“But… what is this presence…? My knees won’t stop shaking…”

Rion blinked, confused. His mana was still F-Rank. Yet the world felt fragile, breakable with a flick of his finger.

He clenched his fist.
The air cracked.
The hunters recoiled in terror.

Rion looked ahead, unaware he had surpassed every known rank.
A monster forged not by magic, but by will, natural energy, and a century of battle.

The world had never feared an F-Rank.
Until now.