The Hobgoblin didn’t scream. It just gurgled as Arkan twisted the rusted iron spearhead deeper into its throat.

He didn't pull the weapon out immediately. If he did, the toxic blood would spray, ruining the monster's hide. Instead, he pinned the thrashing beast to the damp cavern wall, using his own body weight to hold it steady until the twitching finally stopped.

Three minutes. Arkan exhaled, a cloud of white mist in the freezing dungeon air. He ripped the spear out and quickly crouched beside the carcass. His hands, wrapped in cheap, blood-stained bandages, worked with mechanical precision. A horizontal slice beneath the ribs, a sharp twist of his hunting knife, and a wet shhhk sound echoed in the cave.

He pulled out a marble-sized, murky green stone. A low-grade Mana Core.

"Market value... maybe four hundred credits," Arkan muttered, his voice raspy. He wiped the core on his worn-out cargo pants and tossed it into the canvas bag slung over his shoulder. "Not enough for the good suppressants. I'll have to buy the generic brand for Elara this week."

This was a Dead Zone. An unranked, unstable Gate that the official Guilds deemed 'unprofitable.' It was illegal for an unlicensed scavenger to be here. If the Gate Regulators caught him, he’d be thrown in military prison.

But military prison didn't terrify Arkan. What terrified him was the hospital bill sitting on his kitchen counter back home.

BEEP. BEEP.

The cheap digital watch on his wrist vibrated. He had been inside for exactly forty-five minutes. The Gate’s mana signature was destabilizing. If he didn't leave now, the portal would snap shut, burying him in this subspace forever.

Arkan grabbed his iron spear, ignored the burning ache in his shoulders, and sprinted toward the shimmering blue tear in the air.

He dove through the portal just as the cavern behind him began to collapse.

FWUMP.

Arkan hit the wet asphalt of a dark alleyway in the city. The cold rain of the real world washed over him. The blue Gate behind him shrank into a single point of light and vanished with a quiet pop.

He leaned against a brick wall, gasping for air, sliding down until he hit the ground. He was alive. He had the core.

As he reached into his pocket for his phone to call his buyer, his fingers brushed against thick, high-quality parchment. He pulled it out.

It was an envelope. Pristine, white, and sealed with a glittering gold crest of a sword and shield. It looked completely out of place in his dirty, blood-stained hands.

Arkan stared at it. It was the letter that had arrived this morning.

[Apex Warrior High School]

[Status: ACCEPTED]

His eyes didn't linger on the crest. They drifted down to the bold, red stamp stamped across the bottom of the letter.

[Department Assignment: DUNGEON RAID & LOGISTICS]

Not the Hero Department. Not the golden children who got corporate sponsorships, flashy capes, and cheers from the public.

The Raid Department. The scavengers. The bait. The ones who carried the bags and dug the trenches so the Heroes could shine.

Arkan slowly crushed the empty Hobgoblin core in his left hand, feeling the residual mana burn his skin. A faint, sharp smile crossed his face.

"Raid Department," he whispered to the empty alley. "Perfect. I hate the spotlight anyway."

---

Announcement / Author's Note:

Welcome to Abyssal Raider! If you're a fan of gritty underdog stories, dungeon hunting, and MCs who actually use their brains instead of plot armor, you're in the right place.

This is just the beginning. The real academy survival starts soon. Drop a comment and let me know what you think of Arkan's debut! Don't forget to add this to your library! - itsYurtzy

Apex Warrior High School didn't look like an academy. It looked like a military fortress wrapped in a five-star hotel.

Arkan stood at the massive wrought-iron gates, adjusting the collar of his stiff, tactical-black uniform. The fabric was heavy—designed to resist low-level monster claws and acidic blood. It felt suffocating compared to the worn-out gear he usually wore in the Dead Zones.

Next to him, sleek black sedans and imported sports cars pulled up to the drop-off zone.

Students stepped out wearing pristine white uniforms lined with gold trim. Their armor pieces—shoulder guards, gauntlets, and chest plates—gleamed under the morning sun, enchanted to perfection. They laughed, waving at hovering camera drones broadcasting the "First Day of the Future Heroes" to the local news networks.

The Hero Department. Arkan ignored them and joined the thin line of students wearing the same heavy black uniforms as him. The Raid Department didn't get camera drones. They got directed to the side entrance.

"Look at them," a voice sneered from the Hero crowd. "I didn't realize Apex was accepting charity cases this year. Do they even know how to hold a sword?"

Arkan didn't turn around. He just kept walking. In the Dead Zones, pride got you killed. The only thing that mattered was surviving long enough to cash in your mana cores.

"ALL FIRST-YEAR STUDENTS—PROCEED TO THE MAIN COURTYARD FOR THE ORIENTATION ASSEMBLY."

The mechanical voice boomed from the PA system, vibrating in Arkan’s chest.

As the two lines of students merged toward the massive courtyard doors, the hallway grew crowded. The scent of expensive cologne and ozone mixed with the nervous sweat of the Raid students.

Suddenly, a loud clatter echoed through the hall.

A Gold-trim student—tall, broad-shouldered, with a customized greatsword strapped to his back—had dropped a silver mana-measuring device. It rolled perfectly to stop at the tip of Arkan’s standard-issue combat boots.

The hallway went dead silent.

The Gold student crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips. "Hey. Logistics boy. Pick that up."

A few of the Hero students chuckled. The Raid students behind Arkan instinctively took a step back, lowering their heads. It was an unwritten rule—never antagonize the Golds. They had guild sponsorships before they even graduated.

Arkan looked down at the silver device. Then, he looked up at the Gold student.

Stance is too wide. Center of gravity is resting completely on his heels. His greatsword is strapped too tight to his back—it would take him exactly 1.4 seconds to draw it. He's dead meat if a Goblin jumps him. "I said," the Gold student took a step forward, his aura flaring. A heavy, suffocating pressure filled the hallway, making a few nearby students gasp. "Pick it up."

Arkan didn't release his aura. He didn't need to. He simply shifted his weight forward.

In a fraction of a second, Arkan closed the distance. He didn't draw a weapon. He just walked past the Gold student, his shoulder brushing against the larger boy's chest plate.

It wasn't a hit. It was a precise, calculated shift of leverage.

CLANG.

The Gold student gasped as his feet were swept out from under him by his own displaced weight. He crashed hard onto the marble floor, his heavy greatsword pinning him down like a turtle on its shell.

Arkan didn't even break his stride. He kept walking toward the courtyard doors, his hands casually stuffed in his pockets.

"If you drop your gear in a dungeon," Arkan called out without looking back, his voice completely flat. "The monsters won't pick it up for you. They'll just eat you."

The entire hallway stared at Arkan’s retreating back in stunned silence.

Up on the second-floor balcony, leaning against the railing, a man in a rumpled suit watched the whole exchange. He took a long drag from a cigarette, exhaling a cloud of gray smoke.

"Well," the man muttered, a predatory grin spreading across his scarred face. "Looks like a stray dog managed to sneak into the kennel this year."

---

Author's Note

And so the academy life begins! Arkan isn't here to make friends with the elites. Who do you think the scarred man on the balcony is? Drop a comment, and make sure to add Abyssal Raider to your library so you don't miss the entrance exams! - itsYurtzy