Shadow slave: Sovereign of the Unknown

The wind had died down, leaving the alleyway eerily silent. Three bodies lay sprawled across the cracked pavement, groaning in pain or unconscious. Their defeat was absolute.

He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as he observed his status screen.

---

[System Update]

> Enemies Defeated: 3

Stats Absorption in Progress…

Physical Strength +0.2

Speed +0.1

Martial Technique Absorbed: [Crude Knife Combat]

---

The changes were subtle, but he felt them. His grip felt firmer, his stance just a bit more stable, and his reaction time slightly sharper.

A small improvement. But an improvement nonetheless.

He stared at his hands, flexing his fingers. The sensation of absorbing someone else's combat instincts was… surreal. It wasn't just knowledge—it was experience, seamlessly integrating with his own body.

Predator's Conquest. This ability is ridiculous.

It didn't just let him copy techniques. It refined them. Even an incomplete, sloppy knife style like the one he absorbed was already starting to adapt within his mind, smoothing out its inefficiencies.

Given enough time and battles, his combat ability would grow exponentially.

But he wasn't strong enough yet.

Not nearly enough.

A World of Monsters

He glanced at the sky. The dim, artificial glow of the city's failing infrastructure barely illuminated the towering metal ruins in the distance.

Somewhere out there, true monsters lurked.

Not just humans—Awakened.

And beyond them, in the twisted realm of nightmares, there were terrors that defied logic.

If he wanted to survive, he needed to get stronger faster.

His current stats were still too low. The system's absorption rate was gradual, meaning he wouldn't immediately gain massive power just by winning fights. He had to be strategic with his battles.

If he wanted real growth, he needed to challenge stronger opponents—but not so strong that they would kill him outright.

Which meant…

His gaze shifted to the knife on the ground, abandoned by one of the defeated men.

He crouched, picking it up. The blade was dull, chipped, and barely serviceable—but it was still a blade.

A weapon.

One step closer to what he truly needed: a sword.

His martial path revolved around swordsmanship and unarmed combat, and while the latter could carry him in desperate situations, the former required a proper weapon.

And that meant finding one soon.

An Unforgiving Society

He wiped the knife on the unconscious man's ragged shirt before sliding it into his waistband. Then, without another glance at the defeated trio, he started walking.

Leaving them alive was a calculated decision. They weren't worth killing.

This world was already cruel enough. Those three were nothing in the grand scheme of things. Wiping them out wouldn't help him.

No—he needed to focus on his next move.

As he made his way through the crumbling city streets, he kept his hood low, blending into the shifting crowds of the Lower Districts.

These slums were filled with people just like those Stray Awakened—those who had survived their first nightmare but returned powerless, broken by what they had seen.

But there were others here, too.

Those who preyed on the weak.

His sharp eyes caught glimpses of activity in the shadows—gangs, illegal traders, desperate individuals doing anything to survive.

There were places in this city where a person could buy weapons, information, even stolen Awakened gear… for the right price.

And that was where he was headed.

A Deal in the Dark

After an hour of navigating the labyrinth of ruined buildings and filth-ridden streets, he found himself standing in front of a rusted metal door beneath a flickering neon sign.

No words were displayed on the sign—just a symbol: a blood-red eye with a single vertical slit for a pupil.

He knew this place.

In Shadow Slave, it was one of the underground markets where desperate Awakened and criminals alike gathered to trade. A dangerous place—but also a goldmine of opportunity for someone like him.

He stepped forward and knocked.

A small hatch in the door slid open, revealing a pair of bloodshot eyes.

The voice behind them was rough. "What do you want?"

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small bundle of crumpled bills—money taken from one of the men he had defeated earlier.

"I need a weapon," he said simply.

The eyes studied him for a moment before the hatch slid shut. Then—the door creaked open.

Choosing His Blade

Inside, the air was thick with smoke and sweat. Dim yellow lights barely illuminated the cramped space, where several individuals stood hunched over crates of contraband.

Weapons, drugs, stolen artifacts—this place had everything.

A burly man with a scar across his cheek gestured him over. "You got coin, kid? Or just wasting my time?"

He tossed the crumpled bills onto the table. "Something sharp. Something fast."

The man chuckled, revealing stained teeth. "Got plenty of that. But if you want something decent, you'll need more than this pocket change."

He narrowed his eyes. "Show me what I can afford."

The trader grunted and pulled out a selection of blades—most of them old combat knives, rusted daggers, or cheaply made machetes.

His gaze swept over them before landing on something different.

A single-edged short sword, its blade blackened with age but still sturdy.

He reached out, gripping the hilt. The weight felt… right.

It wasn't perfect. The edge was worn, and the balance slightly off, but it was still a sword.

The trader smirked. "That one? Got it off some dead Stray Awakened. Ain't worth much, but it'll cut."

He tightened his grip on the weapon. It would do—for now.

Sliding the sword into the simple sheath it came with, he turned to leave.

"Hey, kid," the trader called after him. "Don't get yourself killed."

He didn't respond.

He had no intention of dying.

Not today.

Not ever.