Level up the Colony

He tried again.

Another miss.

Frustration bubbled up inside him.

Slowly, weakly, he inched forward, his body dragging across the floor, each attempt bringing him closer...

BAM!

The moment his palm struck the ground...

Darkness consumed the hall.

The only light left came from the altar in the center.

Timothy's breath hitched.

From where he sat, he could make out the faint outline of a person lying on the altar.

What the hell…

He tried to stand, reaching for something to brace himself against.

His hand found something solid.

Not the door.

Not a wall.

It was rough

A statue.

PUTCHI!

Pain exploded in his chest.

That's twice today…

His body gave out.

He collapsed to the ground, gasping, eyes fixed on the glowing altar.

A searing heat spread through his body.

Time seemed to slow.

Then...

A voice echoed in his mind.

[Completion requirements for 'Open Quest: Survival of the Weakest' have been met.]

Timothy's vision blurred.

...What?

[You have acquired the right to become a King Player. Do you accept?]

Timothy chuckled weakly. King Player… like picking up girls and stuff?

[Failure to answer within two seconds will result in a painful death.]

His instincts kicked in.

He subconsciously accepted.

Then he remembered...

He was already dying.

[Congratulations. You are now a King Player.]

A blinding light engulfed him.

The moment it vanished...

Timothy was gone.

The statue behind him crumbled, leaving behind only the inscription:

"Strength in numbers, foundation in unity."

—

Immediately, the flames atop the altar flickered.

One snuffed out.

A corresponding tower collapsed.

The remaining statues trembled violently, shaking the ground beneath them.

Eleven people now stood in front of eleven different statues.

Some conscious, others held in place by strange, thread-like strands.

The rest lay motionless on the floor.

The flames above the statues flickered...

Then turned blue.

One by one.

Then, as if responding to the shift...

Everyone collapsed.

OUTSIDE THE GATE

The Hunter Association had spent the entire day assessing the situation.

The area was sealed off, preventing civilians from getting too close.

With no signs of activity and no survivors emerging, they reached the most logical conclusion: the gate had likely been cleared but at the cost of the entire team.

A D-rank gate shouldn't have required such a heavy sacrifice, but with nothing else to go on, the investigation was officially closed.

The site remained a restricted zone, just in case another gate formed in the future.

As the team packed up their equipment and prepared to leave, a call came in.

"A gate just opened at the same location."

A woman in a black suit stiffened at the report.

"What?"

"How could we miss this?"

A man beside her frowned.

"Our tech isn't perfect, but we should've detected something. I'll check with the analysis team."

The convoy of black vehicles returned to the abandoned warehouse, tires crunching against the gravel as agents stepped out, scanning the area.

But the gate was gone.

No energy readings.

No shimmering portal.

Nothing.

"Is this a joke?" someone muttered.

"It's real," an older man nearby said.

"I saw it with my own eyes. It opened for barely five minutes, spat out a bunch of people, and vanished."

The agents fanned out, inspecting the scene.

Just as the witness claimed, twenty individuals lay scattered across the warehouse floor, bruised, battered, their clothing torn.

Ambulances were called in.

Since the Hunter Association provided medical care for registered hunters, all survivors were treated on-site before being transported.

Meanwhile, agents gathered testimonies from witnesses.

As the ambulances pulled away, a suited man approached the lead investigator, handing her a file.

"I consulted the analysis team. They're reviewing earlier data, but here's what we know."

She flipped through the file as he continued.

"Twenty-four hunters entered. Twenty-three were D-rank, and one was E-rank. Four healers, a mix of warriors, assassins, and mages. Only twenty made it out."

The woman sighed, closing the file.

"At least we don't have to issue all their death benefits. Still, monitor the survivors. We can't make assumptions yet."

The man nodded as she gave a dismissive wave.

Moments later, her convoy pulled away, leaving a handful of agents behind to secure the scene.

---

Timothy's eyes fluttered open, staring at a white ceiling.

A sharp breath filled his lungs, the sterile scent of disinfectant burning his nostrils.

He sneezed violently.

His back ached as he jolted upright, accidentally tugging on the wires and tubes attached to him.

Some tumbled off as he instinctively scanned his surroundings.

A hospital.

It had been a long time since he'd last set foot in one.

After his sister awakened, they stopped relying on hospitals. Healing magic was part of her training, and besides, hospitals weren't exactly cost-effective.

Yet here he was... Again.

Timothy frowned, then lifted his shirt.

He ran his fingers over his chest, stomach, and back.

No wounds.

No scars.

No pain.

Flexing his arms experimentally, he felt… light. No fatigue.

No soreness.

Did I survive?

Fragments of the dungeon flashed through his mind.

He should have been dead, stabbed multiple times, bleeding out before even escaping.

His fingers trembled as they pressed over his heartbeat.

"I'm… alive?" he whispered.

Tears welled in his eyes, a mix of relief and disbelief swelling in his chest.

"Yes, you are."

A deep voice cut through the moment.

Timothy's head snapped to the side.

A tan-skinned man in a suit stood at the doorway, watching him with quiet curiosity.

"…Though I wonder how."

The man had a natural build, not too handsome, but not someone to look down on either.

Timothy instinctively took a step back.

"Who are you?"

The man gave a slight nod.

"Oh, pardon my intrusion. I was sent to check on the survivors of the D-rank dungeon raid in Port Harcourt." He extended an ID card.

Timothy took the card, his gaze briefly flickering past him to the young man behind him, dark-skinned like him but younger, head lowered, gripping a briefcase.

Looking at the ID, the name read:

'Joshua Agu, Section Chief of the Monitoring Division, Nigeria.'

The formal name for such a brute-looking guy… Timothy mused.

The man had a three-step fade low cut, a stylish choice for someone in his line of work.

"I have a few questions if you don't mind," Joshua said, holding out his hand.

Timothy returned the ID and gestured toward the chairs in the corner.

The hospital room was surprisingly spacious, unusual treatment for someone like him, but he wasn't complaining.

He sat across from Joshua, reminding himself to mind his manners, the man hadn't come in with force, so he deserved some courtesy.

The Monitoring Division was essentially the policing arm of the Hunter Association.

While the actual police handled regular human crimes, the division oversaw hunters, keeping top-level fighters in check.

It wasn't strange for them to investigate survivors of a gate incident.

Still, he asked.

"What does the Monitoring Division want with me?"

Joshua didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he just stared.

So did the kid behind him.

Then it stretched into silence.

Timothy knew this tactic, it was a psychological technique meant to put pressure on a subject.

He had read about it before.

Was it working?

Yes.

Yes, it was.

Sweat beaded at his brow.

He had prepared for violence, not this.

In Nigeria, nine out of ten situations ended in fists flying, and street fighting was something Timothy was prepared for.

This? Not so much.

Finally, Joshua spoke.

And the revelation hit like a hammer.

"I was unconscious for a week?!" Timothy blurted.

"Yes," Joshua confirmed.

"We've handled your daily needs in the meantime."

Timothy barely heard him.

His thoughts immediately shifted to his parents.

His siblings.

He wasn't the breadwinner, but he was a crucial piece in his family's survival.

And he had been gone for a whole week!!!

Joshua leaned forward.

"We need to know what happened before you lost consciousness in the dungeon."

Timothy thought nothing of it and immediately began recounting his experience, except for his hallucinations near the end.

Strangely, he couldn't recall what happened after he collapsed by the door.

His memory was hazy, almost like something had erased those moments.

After his explanation, he looked to Joshua for answers.

But instead of an explanation, he got a dismissive response. "That's classified information."

Timothy frowned as Joshua continued.

"We also ask that you don't discuss this with anyone."

It wasn't what he wanted to hear, but he let it go.

His priority was his family, not the mystery of how he got out.

As far as he was concerned, some top guilds had probably cleared the gate and rescued him.

That was enough.

Joshua, however, wasn't convinced.

For years, he had seen countless survivors emerge from dungeons, some traumatized, some broken, some grateful to be alive.

But Timothy? He didn't seem curious or relieved, just indifferent.