The Trash Collector Of The End World

Ash didn't head to the Dungeon's core after the defeat of the manipulator. He figured it could wait. Whatever relic or loot was left inside that Rift, it wouldn't disappear by tomorrow.

He'd go back next week. Or next month. Whenever he felt like pretending to care again.

The transport bus dropped him off at the edge of the Lower Tier. From there, he took the magnetic rail up toward Midtown.

Seoul wasn't just Seoul anymore.

Above the skyline—far above clouds, above drones, above the patrol satellites—was High Seoul, the domed sanctuary of the global elite.

Its towers floated, buoyed by anti-gravity tech salvaged from alien wreckage decades ago.

They said the richest never touched ground.

Then there was the Middle Tier: glass roads, shimmering elevators, corporate fortresses guarded by turreted drones and biometric walls.

And then there was the Lower Tier.

Down here, Seoul was still a corpse of the old world. Rotted foundations, uneven streets, flickering advertisements nailed to crumbling walls.

No sky here—just the underbelly of Middle Tier platforms in the sky. The only light came from neon and fire.

Ash walked these streets like he always had, cutting past vendors selling counterfeit mana potions, bioengineered pets, and 'enchanted' charms scraped together from scrap.

Cyber monks preached to the crowd about purification.

Half the people here looked like they'd come out of a Dungeon themselves. Nobody made eye contact.

Ash adjusted the strap on his shoulder, where his vacuum hung like an oversized rifle case, and kept walking.

A few kids stared at him, recognizing the gear. They always did.

Dungeon Crawlers were the new celebrities.

And why wouldn't they be?

It wasn't just about riches, fame, or even power. Every idiot with a sharp stick and enough friends could get a decent kill score.

But what everyone wanted… was 'Him'.

The legend.

The man who found the first Rift. The one who defeated something ancient inside it.

And, according to every lunatic, priest, and official broadcaster since then—he made a deal with a genie. A being that offered three wishes.

Nobody knew where he was now. But the myth said: if you find Him, and you prove yourself, you get the wishes too.

That was the real reason why everyone wanted to be a Dungeon Crawler. Not for monsters, or loot, or even revenge. It was the hope of the genie.

Ash scoffed and walked faster.

He reached the gates of his mansion fifteen minutes later, still inside Lower Tier. It was an old relic of the early Rift Era, back when his clan mattered.

His parents were dead. His brother, Alight, had left three years ago to chase greatness. He said he wanted to find something more than scraps and inheritance.

Now it was just Ash and his sister.

The mansion creaked open as he stepped in, and a familiar voice called out.

"Hey! You're late. You missed dinner again."

Serefine.

She stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, silver hair glowing faintly in the low light. Unlike Ash, she hadn't stopped caring.

"I fought a F-rank Dungeon manipulator with a thing for puppets," he muttered, dragging his vacuum along the polished floor. "I thought you'd be proud."

"I'd be proud if you showered first before entering into the living room."

Ash smiled slightly. It didn't reach his eyes.

After the quick shower, Ash tossed on a shirt and dropped onto his bed like a man who hadn't slept in days.

Before he could sink completely into the mattress, the familiar tone of the system rang in his head.

---

RIFT REPORT: Rift Code 77-F: "Shattered Archives"

Dead Core Slime ×1 – 3 bronze

Thin Monster Tendon ×4 – 2 bronze each

Worn ID Bracelet (Red Class - Forged) ×1 – 17 gold

Strange Black Pill ×1 – 8 bronze

Damaged Neural Fragment ×1 – 4 silver

Spiral Bone Ring (Unknown Material) ×1 – 6 silver, 3 bronze

Total Estimated Value: 17 gold, 10 silver, 19 bronze

Auto-Transfer: Success

---

He blinked the window away. Not a bad haul. The bracelet alone was worth more than most C-Rank dungeon crawlers made in a week, though he wouldn't try selling it to anyone without a death wish.

Anything tied to a forged identity could drag someone's name into blacklists.

Still, it covered living costs, upgrades, and gear replacements. Enough for now.

Later, he moved out to the back veranda.

Their mansion towered above the lower district, situated neatly at the edge of Middle Seoul—a border between the luxury skywalks and the industrial haze down below.

Here, everything was clean.

Ash lay back on a padded chair beneath the artificial sunshade, wearing his usual circular-lensed glasses, and a rare print book open in his hands.

It was titled "From Earth to Eos: 2,000 Years of Colonization."

He flipped another page.

The stars had once been dreams.

But that was before the Rift Era. Now, in Year 402 AE—After Exodus—space wasn't mysterious anymore.

It was categorized, mapped, and taxed. Every planet had a population cap, every moon had a flag, corporations managed terraformed cities, and Dungeon Gates opened on more than a hundred habitable bodies.

And in this world, freedom was a thing sold in monthly installments.

He tilted his head and glanced at the pale blue sky.

He could see the lift lines crisscrossing in the far upper atmosphere, dragging ships up to orbit.

Somewhere out there, thousands were leaving for Mars, for Gaia-3, for Titania's Rift Cluster.

Oh, right... Her...

Then, without warning, Kara's face resurfaced in his mind.

She hadn't been the enemy. Just a victim. Maris had wrapped her up in strings. If Ash hadn't figured it out in time, she'd be dead or worse.

He remembered carrying her out of the rift. He'd flagged a med drone, typed in a random public clinic code, and dumped enough bronze to make sure she'd wake up in a clean bed instead of a morgue drawer.

That was enough.

So, he adjusted his glasses and kept reading.

---

Ash's reading was interrupted by the sound no one wanted to hear before noon.

CLANG!

It wasn't a normal doorbell. It was the kind forged from ceremonial steel and slapped onto ancient aristocratic houses—used only by families who believed subtlety was a sin.

Ash sighed, sliding the book onto the table beside his lemon water.

From inside, footsteps echoed crisply across the hall as Serafine peeked through the main entry screen.

"They've got carriages, and a crest. Someone rich enough to not care about being annoying."

Ash dragged himself to the front entrance. He opened the double doors with a yawn still halfway up his throat.

Outside were three sleek hover-carriages, each pulled by synthetic crystal hounds—a status symbol for anyone too rich to care about practical transportation.

More importantly, six attendants stood in pale armor beneath the fluttering blue-and-white flag of the royal family.

And in front of them stood two figures: a man in a flowing tunic stitched with silver patterns, and a woman with a veil just transparent enough to reveal her practiced, plastic smile.

"We are of the Whiteen Lineage," the man announced before Ash could ask. "Direct blood of Her Holiness, and proudly recognized as the thirty-first heirs of Crown Sector E of the Core Planetoid Union."

Serafine blinked. "Right. Cool."

"I am Lord Varnel Whiteen, and this is Lady Ayla Whiteen, third cousin to the Queen's former first daughter and descendent of the Great Weaver of Eden-IV." He inhaled, proud. "We represent the unbroken chain of—"

"Please," Ash said. "Be straightforward. I haven't had caffeine and you're draining me spiritually."

Varnel flinched, but adjusted his gloves. "Very well. We have come here because—according to reports—you saved someone important to us."

Ash raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess..."

"Kara?"

As if on cue, the third carriage door opened with a slow hydraulic hiss. From it stepped Kara Whiteen, no longer in rift-worn clothes.

She wore a royal emblem now, stitched into a jet-black dress with white and blue trim. Her hair had been tied up neatly behind a silver headpiece. She looked refreshed.

"You saved me," Kara said, staring at Ash with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Which means I owe you my life."

Ash gave a small nod. "Yeah, I dragged you out, flagged a med drone, paid the bill. You're welcome."

"Which means," she continued, stepping forward as her voice sharpened, "we now have a royal reason to kill you."

There was a pause.

"What?" Ash said.

Kara raised a hand, and her tone dropped like a blade.

"A peasant like you, a nobody Janitor-Class scavenger, touched royal blood. You interfered with a noble mission, and worst of all, you saw me at my weakest."

"What the hell...?"

Ash slowly turned toward Serafine, who was already pinching the bridge of her nose.

"This is the part where she says it's a public execution," she muttered.

"I hereby declare," Kara said, voice rising theatrically, "that your punishment is death. Public Execution."