Episode 152

2.

When dungeons first appeared, the biggest disappointment for many was the shattering of a particular fantasy: that the world inside would be beautiful.

A dreamlike world you only ever saw in novels.

A place where breathtaking natural scenery, impossible to find in reality, spreads out before you; where you could relax and vacation without anyone bothering you.

In a modern society with CCTV cameras on every corner, a dungeon was the ultimate private space—a land of freedom where one could wander under a vast sky, with the clouds as a blanket.

The moment you stepped into your first dungeon, you realized that was all an illusion.

A dungeon was not a resort provided for players. It was the monsters' territory and their home.

Users were nothing more than invaders who trespassed on their land, killed them, and looted their belongings.

In front of monsters fighting for their lives to protect their home, the word "vacation" simply didn't exist.

Of course, it wasn't all just shattered dreams.

The countless landscapes that unfolded inside, the untouched nature, became objects of envy for people who experienced them indirectly through videos. Even six years in, the vast majority of ordinary people still harbored dreams and a longing for dungeons.

The problem was that only a tiny fraction of players actually had the skill to enjoy them.

To "vacation" in a dungeon, you first had to clear out every monster inside.

In the process, you couldn't trigger the dungeon's clear conditions, but at the same time, you had to partially fulfill those conditions so you could leave whenever you wanted.

Only after jumping through all those hoops could a player finally take in and enjoy the scenery of a dungeon.

However, after killing all those monsters and fighting for their life, those romantic feelings tended to fade.

For all these reasons, dungeons had become less a land of dreams and hope for players and more just… reality.

Just as ordinary people slogged through the same repetitive days, players started entering dungeons like they were clocking in for work, treating them like homework that had to be done.

Dungeon breaks took that a step further, making it painfully clear to ordinary people that their fantasies were just that—fantasies.

"Kyaaaah!"

"It's a monster!"

"This way, evacuate this way!"

"Stop screaming! You're going to draw aggro!"

For players, this was something they had been facing and dealing with for six years.

All that had happened was that it had spilled out through a single door, yet the inconvenience and chaos it caused were beyond words.

On-site, calming the panicked civilians felt like a bigger special mission than actually killing monsters and stopping the dungeon break.

"Tch. What a shitshow."

Clicking his tongue, Kim Buja watched the scene.

It was only natural.

Most people had gone their whole lives seeing zoo predators only from behind bars.

No matter how familiar they had become with monsters on video, having those same monsters burst out into the open and face them with no protection whatsoever was a completely different matter.

Some people could accept it calmly and act composed, but the majority could not.

No, they simply weren't capable of it.

Even so, the players stayed calm and focused on soothing the crowd.

They did this even though the civilians' panic and noise made it harder to stop the dungeon break, dragging the whole process out.

"It's all right. We'll take care of this."

It wasn't just an act to polish their guild's image.

You couldn't say that played no part at all, but the bigger reason was simple: they had all been there once themselves.

The tension, the fear, the terror of stepping into their first dungeon.

Back then, unlike now, there were no veteran players ahead of them to carve a path. The people entering dungeons hadn't even had the time to scream or show their fear.

That was why they waited.

Until people could adapt.

It was both the right and the duty of those who had awakened first—the only kindness they could offer.

Of course, none of that applied to Kim Buja.

While the guild members focused on crowd control, he drew his weapon and immediately took off after the monsters.

He had only one goal.

'End this as fast as possible.'

He needed to collect as many points as he could. To get even a rough sense of how long this endless grind would take, he had to plan and move in a way that made use of every single second.

That was why he had shown up to a guild event he normally wouldn't have cared about, to leverage the Jeong Cheol Guild's infrastructure.

No one tried to stop him.

In fact, for most players with decent levels, it was natural to chase monsters rather than help control civilians.

Over the month since dungeon breaks had started, roles had become clearly defined.

Normally, with his level, Kim Buja should have been at the forefront of protecting and directing civilians, but the Legendary items he carried made it possible for him to run with the other players hunting monsters.

And so the cycle repeated.

The point grind.

He would chase 1 to 2-star dungeon breaks, earn between 1 and 5 points, then head straight to the nearest dungeon break.

The height of inefficiency.

But there was no alternative.

He lacked too many things to come up with a more convenient, faster method.

Even in these poor conditions, he kept thinking about ways to shave off time while he ran down monsters.

And then he made up his mind.

"I'm going to have to invest some gold."

If he wanted to keep this endless fight going even a little more efficiently, he had to.

* * *

If you had to sum up Kim Buja's gaming style in a single phrase, it would be "extreme profit-maximizer."

In games where lives were disposable, he would demand heals from the healer just to save on a single cheap potion, or choose death without hesitation if it was more efficient.

Put nicely, he played frugally. Put bluntly, he was a cheapskate.

Of course, he wasn't the only one who played like that.

Most people who made their living through games were like this.

They treated in-game currency as real money and hated every expense incurred while grinding dungeons to earn it.

They had no choice.

One misclick, one wrong move in VR, and the moment they drank a potion, it was like one of their lunch options for the day had vanished.

Because of that, the idea of spending money to create a better working environment simply didn't exist in his vocabulary.

Invest a small amount to make farming smoother?

It sounded nice, but unless it was basically a bug-level money printer, it took at least a month of effort just to break even, which was no short amount of time for him.

Besides, his way of making money wasn't just grinding and selling loot.

He leveled up fast, then used his level and skill to take on hunts other players couldn't handle, and got paid for it.

Naturally, if he did invest, the amount of money involved would be much higher.

For someone who had pinched every penny to save up, the idea of spending gold to farm points in this situation would have been unthinkable.

If this were still just a game.

But his thinking had changed.

He was no longer the broke version of himself from back then.

You couldn't directly compare gold to real-world cash, but at least right now, points were more valuable than gold.

On top of that, the time and effort required to earn them were brutally inefficient.

Even though he had pushed other priorities aside to run around farming points just to see how good that 5,000-point shirt was, time was still money.

He had to finish this job as quickly as possible and move on to the next thing.

So, as a last resort—something he wouldn't have touched even if he were investing in gear—he finally reached for a consumable.

[Fragrance of Temptation (Human Scent)]

▶ Grade: Epic

▶ A perfume that lures monsters. Its scent spreads up to 1.2 miles and tempts monsters with the smell of the most delicious part of a human body.

▷ If applied to the body, you may attract excessive attention from monsters. Use with caution.

▷ Lasts 48 hours per use.

It cost a staggering 1,000 gold per bottle.

Considering he had earned around 27,000 gold from the Tower of Trials, investing 1,000 gold in an item that wasn't strictly single-use and could be used in various situations wasn't a difficult decision.

The problem was that it was only "not strictly" single-use.

"Why is this so small?"

The tiny perfume bottle in his hand was barely the size of his palm, and it held so little liquid that it didn't look like it would last more than a couple of uses.

To make matters worse, despite being called a perfume, it didn't even have a spray nozzle. He had to apply it drop by drop, and it felt like he'd have to buy a new one after just one or two uses.

"Phew."

In the end, it was basically a single-use item pretending not to be.

He consoled himself with the fact that it lasted 48 hours per application.

"If I use it twice, that's four days."

Four days for 1,000 gold.

Once he used it, he would be spending that time farming points instead of gold, so it would be pure expenditure with no direct return.

Even so, he applied the perfume without hesitation.

One drop, then another.

Carefully.

He capped the bottle with about half of it left and sniffed himself.

"What exactly is the most delicious part of a human body supposed to smell like?"

The description was ridiculous, but he didn't notice any particular scent.

He would know soon enough if it worked. Putting some distance between himself and the other players, he slipped away from the group, and then he understood.

He realized just how effective one of the most expensive consumables in the gold shop really was.

Graaah!

Grrrr!

"…What kind of delicious part smell is this that they're already drooling over it?"

The monsters that swarmed him in less than a minute answered that question for him.

3.

The players in the know had already figured it out.

"He's really going all-in on points."

"I need to see how good that stuff actually is."

The existence of the point shop.

And the information on the items shrouded in mystery.

If you were a player—if you were human—you couldn't help but feel the urge to challenge it.

"If I'm the first one to buy and reveal it, that's my ticket to going viral."

It was the perfect chance to monopolize the spotlight.

Everyone downloaded the dungeon break locator app to get in on the action. The app received real-time reports of dungeon breaks and broadcast their locations, a novel concept for most players. The idea that you could track monster locations on your smartphone felt surreal. That sense of novelty, combined with the growing point craze, slowly began to pull players in.

Of course, even with the chaos, players still flocked to certain places: open areas or locations where it was difficult for monsters to take cover—anywhere they could be hunted easily. For now, dungeon breaks weren't a major threat, so it was far more efficient to find a place where you could quickly clear special missions. Competition in those spots was fierce, but the fact that players were willing to put up with it meant the rewards were worth it.

[Don't go into the mountains unless you absolutely have to.]

[Seriously, what are they even thinking?]

[Just restrict entry to those places and kill the monsters when they spill out. This is way too inefficient.]

Ultimately, all the monsters had to be cleaned up. But with dungeon breaks multiplying endlessly, players had to make a choice: chase points or reduce the monster population as efficiently as possible.

[Who's going to bother? If you get stuck in some mountain, it can take half a day just to clear a single one-point special mission. If your luck is crap, it could take two.]

Naturally, the places players avoided became hotspots where monsters piled up.

And that was exactly where Kim Buja was headed, perfume and all.

* * *

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