Uninvited Guest Beneath the Ballroom
Thud, thud, thud. The vibrations from above shook down dust in steady rhythm. The lavish waltz melody pierced through the thick marble floor, slithering all the way into the underground sewers.
The Imperial Palace's grand ballroom. Up there right now, chandeliers brimming with mana were probably blasting blinding light, while nobles draped in top-shelf silk giggled with empty smiles and twirled through social dances.
"Fuck, this upstairs noise is such bullshit."
I leaned against the damp sewer wall and let out a short sigh. The stench of rot and mold creeping from rat holes stabbed at my nose. It was a scene utterly cut off from the glittering romance fantasy above ground—thirty meters below the imperial capital.
My eyes were locked on the translucent blue holographic window floating in midair. Invisible to anyone else, it was the interface of the [The Last Survivor] system, accessible only to me.
[The Last Survivor System Active]
I pulled up an Excel sheet in my head to check current inventory. Level 3 gas mask filters: 120. Combat rations and canned Spam: 400 boxes. Antibiotics and first-aid kits: 3 sets. And my most reliable lifeline.
Ka-chunk. Pulling back the slide on the M870 pump-action shotgun resting on my knees sent a dull, crisp metallic ring slicing through the humid sewer air.
I wiped down the barrel with hands forged from daily 10km runs and strength training, then clicked my tongue.
"Those mana fireworks they're popping off upstairs? If they funneled that into generators, how many underground hydro plants could they power? Fucking idiots. No clue about wasting resources."
This world was insane. Overflowing with miraculous energies like mana and divine power, but that fancy shit was just squandered proving the "epic love" of the crown prince and duke's daughter, or nobles flexing their power. A warped dump.
The problem? Exactly one year from now. In a year, the sky rips open and Abyssal Spores—that bullshit natural disaster—comes crashing down. Those spores love the mana and divine power at the core of this romance fantasy world. The more magic you sling, the more aura you wrap yourself in, the better chum and growth booster you become for them.
In short, all those showoffs upstairs—the 9th Circle Masters, the Sword Master crown prince—would just be "walking high-calorie buffets" a year later.
In the post-apocalypse, real power doesn't come from aura. It comes from bunkers that shrug off magnitude 10.0 quakes and spore contamination—absolute defense bunkers—and firearms with infinite mags that blow zombie heads clean off.
And to snag that survival template? I needed Survival Points (SP).
"Seria! I'll forsake everything for you—I love you! Treasures like this mean nothing compared to your smile!"
That's when a familiar lunatic's bellow filtered down through a vent slit in the ceiling. The crown prince. Here we go again.
Clang! Something tossed from above sailed through the vent grate, sparking and rolling across the sewer floor to land at my feet. A palm-sized gem pulsing faint blue light. A low-grade Mana Stone.
The crazy prince had chucked it in a lover's huff while confessing to the heroine. Worth millions back on modern Earth, now wallowing in rat-shit sludge.
"If you're dumping it, hand it over in cash next time."
I stood casually. Before scooping the mana stone, I fished a gold ornament from my pocket—one some drunk count's kid had puked up and dropped on the street.
'System, exchange.'
The moment my intent connected, the gold trinket pixelated away like digital dust, sucked into the void.
Current Remaining SP: 2,850
Close, but no cigar. To legally buy the massive ancient bunker in Sewage Zone 17—the one I'd scoped out—I needed exactly 3,000 SP.
I reached for the crown prince's sparkling low-grade mana stone at my feet. Feed that into the system, and the bunker's mine.
"How dare a filthy rat touch His Highness's possession!"
That's when a sharp shout echoed from the dark sewer tunnel ahead. A man in flashy uniform stepped out, face twisted in disgust at the muck on his shoes, drawing the longsword at his hip. Obviously some noble errand boy sent to retrieve the tossed mana stone.
"If you don't want your wrist severed, back off that mana stone now. It was prepared by His Highness the Crown Prince for Lady Seria...!"
I tuned out the errand boy's scripted bullshit, fiddling with the shotgun barrel. My brain crunched numbers fast. M870 at close range. Pull the trigger, and with that boom, his head pops like a watermelon. Satisfying as hell.
But right after? Problem city. This was the palace underground. Gunshot echoes, and in five minutes, aura-wrapped palace knights swarm like bees.
Worse was the system's penalty: the World's Compulsion Force. This world had a shitty restorative force to keep the original romance plot on rails. If I splatter the prince's lackey with overwhelming physics and dent the main romance arc? Under "narrative consistency correction," my system shop freezes for at least two weeks.
With spores inbound, two weeks locked out means no titanium bunker plating, no hydro generator blueprints. That's game over.
'Quiet. Legal. Non-lethal takedown.'
I exhaled short and summoned the system shop.
'Taser Gun (X26). 50,000 volts. Buy now.'
50 SP deducted.
A black pistol-shaped taser dropped from thin air into my hand.
"You dare ignore me? Fine, you lowly scum. In the name of the Third Sword Unit Vice-Captain of the Imperial Knights, receive judgment from the blue mana in my blade...!"
The errand boy bugged his eyes and raised his sword high. Blue light shivered around the blade as mana gathered. Classic romance fantasy casting: shout the skill name, pose, charge up.
Without a flicker of emotion, I lifted the taser like swatting a fly. Cool as ice.
"Casting's too damn long."
Pop! A sharp hiss of compressed gas, and two electrode darts nailed his fancy uniform dead center.
"G-gaaah?!"
Mana or whatever, human nerves are equal before 50k volts. His body went rigid like a log and slammed into the sewage. Froth at the mouth, flopping like a fish—quite the sight.
I nudged his twitching body with my foot, then pocketed the low-grade mana stone he couldn't reach.
"Heard your epic love confession loud and clear. This stone you dropped? I'll sweeten it into Gatling turret fuel, Your Highness."
I fed the low-grade mana stone into the system, and a cheerful chime rang out.
Current Remaining SP: 3,300
Target hit. I left the spasming errand boy behind and headed for Sewage Zone 17.
How long did I walk? At the sewer's end, in a dry rock chamber free of even musty smells, a massive rusted iron door loomed.
Built in the ancient empire era but mana-dead to nobles, so thoroughly abandoned. An underground bunker.
I pulled up a holographic scan of the imperial code.
"Imperial Code Article 14, Clause 2. Mana-null barren lands and abandoned underground ruins belong to the pioneer."
What a beautiful, legal loophole. Nobes obsessed with love triangles and surface bullshit have no clue about this massive, sturdy bunker right underfoot.
Of course, making it real would need red tape—and they'd block it with excuses. But not me.
I signed the system's Sewage Zone Purchase Deed with mechanical efficiency.
3,000 SP deducted.
Legal procedures approved. Ownership of Zone 17 Bunker has been transferred to you.
Screeech. With the transfer, the rusted bunker door crumbled away, revealing a simple wooden one.
I sighed in relief and adjusted my gas mask. Slap on some titanium plating and shotgun traps, and it's a perfect fortress.
Stepping through the wooden door, something twitched in the lantern-lit corner inside the bunker.
"...?"
Where spiderwebs should have been, someone slumped bleeding on the floor. Torn red silk dress. Tousled but still haughty silver hair. Venomous red eyes.
The original story's main villainess, Duke's daughter Ayla Erzen.
Why the bloodied antagonist had crawled into my unopened bunker? Not my problem.
Spotting me, she bit her bleeding lip and spat in a ragged voice.
"W-who are you...? Some lowly commoner? Hide me now. Harm me in any way, and the Erzen Duke's house will crush your family...!"
"Shut up and stay still."
I sliced through her murderous threat and strode over. The panicked duke's daughter flinched back, but my gaze didn't spare a millimeter for her beauty or wounds.
My eyes fixed solely on the fist-sized massive mana stone necklace dangling from her torn dress at the collarbone.
The system's blue scanner overlaid shimmering text on the necklace.
Estimated Exchange Value: 50,000 SP
Holy shit. 50k SP? A dry laugh escaped my lips.
A year's food and ten titanium barrier sets had walked right in.
"Y-you rude bastard! Where are you looking...!"
I swallowed hard.
"...Jackpot just rolled in."