Fifteen corpses lay neatly in a row in the stone corridor, waiting to be carried away.

  Ethan exhaled, the warm vapor from his mouth forming a thin wisp in the damp air of the fifth floor.

  Before him was a sight he had grown familiar with in the last six months of working as a Sanitation Specialist: the remnants of a battle that ended in total defeat. Basalt walls blackened by magical strikes. A floor smeared with thick green liquid, not blood, but mana residue that had congealed after monster bodies exploded.

  And in the midst of it all, the Tier 4 Rankers who had been laughing arrogantly in the Sanitation Headquarters dining room just this morning now lay still with their eyes wide open.

  "Overtime again," he muttered quietly, his voice swallowed by the roar of the ventilation system overhead.

  "Don't complain, Ethan Vance." Ronald's heavy voice came from behind.

  The middle-aged man with a prosthetic iron left arm stepped closer, hauling a large sack in his right hand. "This is only the fifth floor. There are still three more locations before the shift ends."

  Ethan turned, regarding his coworker with a flat stare. "A Tier 4 team died on the fifth floor. You know what that means? It means the monster that killed them is still roaming somewhere, waiting to greet the unarmed cleaning team."

  "The cleaning team has rules." Ronald knelt beside the first corpse, a man in his thirties with body armor badly dented at the chest. "Thirty minutes after the battle ends, monsters move to another floor. Their patterns have been studied."

  He began examining the body with efficient movements, searching for signs of salvageable equipment. "Unless you believe in ghosts?"

  "I believe in statistics." Ethan pulled rubber gloves from the pocket of his gray jumpsuit, putting them on slowly. "And statistics say, in ten percent of cases, monsters stay behind because the bodies are still warm."

  "Twenty years in this dungeon." Ronald snorted, his prosthetic iron arm emitting a creaking sound as it moved. "I've never seen a monster wait around for cleaners. They're too busy regenerating."

  From the end of the corridor came the sound of rapid footsteps.

  A thin young man with thick glasses, a member of another team, came running over, his breathing ragged. "Ronald, there's a problem on the sixth floor. A report from the surveillance team says there are monster remains that haven't fully decomposed. They're asking us to check before entering the core area."

  Ronald furrowed his brow. "The sixth floor? That's a blue zone. There shouldn't be any monsters there for the next two hours."

  "That's exactly why they want it checked." The young man wiped sweat from his forehead. "The surveillance team doesn't want to take risks. They sent two people ahead, but they need the cleaning team to—"

  "To be bait if anything happens." Ethan finished the sentence flatly. "Classic."

  Ronald exhaled a long breath, looking at Ethan with an expression that was hard to read. "Vance, can you handle it here yourself? I have to go upstairs, deal with the report. The other team needs a leader."

  Ethan looked at the corpse-filled corridor before him, then back to Ronald. "You mean, I have to clean up fifteen bodies alone while you go attend a meeting that won't produce any results?"

  "I'll send the transport team within an hour." Ronald was already standing, clapping Ethan on the shoulder with his prosthetic hand, the cold touch of metal that felt strange through the jumpsuit. "You know the rules. This area is sterile now. No threat. You just need to finish your work."

  "My work." He repeated those words without inflection. "Cleaning up other people's messes."

  Ronald paused, looking at him with a gaze that softened. Behind that man's roughness, there was something that almost resembled empathy. "Listen, son. I know this isn't your dream job. But you've lasted six months. Longer than most beginners. That means something."

  He clapped Ethan on the shoulder once more, this time with his real hand. "Finish this. Later I'll treat you to a drink."

  "Getting drunk in the middle of a shift. Great idea."

  Ronald grinned, showing teeth that were already uneven. "Now that's my subordinate." He turned, gesturing for the thin young man to follow. "Take care of yourself, Vance. If anything happens, shout. Maybe someone will hear."

  "Comforting."

  Ethan watched Ronald's retreating back until the figure completely disappeared around the bend in the corridor. Then he turned back to face the bodies before him, and for the first time this morning, he was truly alone.

  Fifteen corpses. Thirty minutes. One body every two minutes.

  Ethan counted in his head as he began to work. This was a routine he had memorized inside and out: check the identification tag, record the position and condition, remove any still-usable equipment, then drag them to the collection area to be transported to the surface. Nothing complicated. Nothing dangerous. Just hard labor that numbed the senses.

  The first corpse was a woman in a green robe, a mage judging from the broken staff beside her body. Her face was still intact, eyes half-open with an expression of surprise, as though she couldn't believe her life had ended here, on the fifth floor of a dungeon that should have been easy for Tier 4. Ethan knelt, reaching for the identity card hanging at her neck.

  Lina Vex. Tier 4 Ranker. Affiliation: Aether Corps.

  "Aether Corps," Ethan murmured, studying the rising sun logo on the card. "Of course. Always the big corporations with the most casualties."

  He removed the card and placed it in the sample pouch. Other equipment, a mana ring on her finger, a hair clip that turned out to be a portable mana storage, boots with weight-reduction rune engravings, all collected with efficient movements. No regret. No emotion. Just the mechanics of work, well-practiced.

  The second corpse. Third. Fourth.

  Every body told the same story: they had come here confident, with the best equipment money could buy, backed by the largest guilds in Ouroboros City. And now they lay on the cold stone floor, waiting to be carried away like trash.

  At the fifth corpse, Ethan found something strange.

  A middle-aged man in a deep red robe, the characteristic color of an Archmage and the highest rank among mages, lay in the corner of the corridor, somewhat separated from the others. His body showed no significant external wounds. No dented armor, no open wounds, no signs of physical struggle. He simply lay there with his eyes closed, expression calm, as though asleep.

  But that was what made Ethan suspicious.

  He approached, bending down to examine. The deep red robe was made of high-quality material, mana silk woven with silver thread, its price equivalent to a year's wages for a cleaner. The staff beside his body was made of heartwood that was thousands of years old, carved with runes that Ethan couldn't even read. This was no ordinary Tier 4 Ranker. This was someone who shouldn't have died on the fifth floor.

  The identity card at his neck confirmed that suspicion.

  Archmage Aldric Vane. Tier 7. Affiliation: Independent.

  Tier 7. On the fifth floor.

  Ethan furrowed his brow, trying to process that information. A Tier 7 Archmage was a being capable of destroying half a city with a single incantation. They didn't die on the fifth floor of a dungeon because they were ambushed by ordinary monsters. They didn't die alongside a Tier 4 team who, judging from their equipment, were clearly no match for him.

  So what happened here?

  He examined the Archmage's body more carefully. No wounds. No blood, or the mana particles that were the technical equivalent of blood. No damage to the robe. This man died how? A heart attack? Impossible. A Tier 7 Archmage was already biologically half-divine. Their hearts could beat for another hundred years without issue.

  Ethan's hand, without thinking, reached for the Archmage's wrist. To check for a pulse, even though he knew it was futile. Thirty minutes had already passed since the battle ended. There was no way—

  The skin was still warm.

  Ethan froze.

  That made no sense. In a dungeon, corpses lost heat within minutes. The damp and cold ambient temperature accelerated the process. But this Archmage's wrist, through Ethan's rubber gloves, still felt like a living person.

  His instincts told him to let go. Never touch anything that is still warm. Rule number two from Sanitation Headquarters: Zero Contact. If an adventurer was still alive, let them die on their own, for interference from a cleaner could accelerate Sepsis.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  But his hand didn't move.

  Instead, something strange happened.

  From the point of contact between his rubber glove and the Archmage's skin, Ethan felt a subtle vibration. Not a physical vibration, but something deeper, like a small tremor at the base of his consciousness. The world around him began to change. The dark stone corridor began to fade. The droning sound of the ventilation vanished. The damp smell and mana residue disappeared, replaced by a total silence that pressed against his eardrums.

  Then, light.

  Ethan was no longer on the fifth floor of The Infinite Maw.

  He stood in the center of a magic circle blazing with painful intensity. Around him, the same stone walls, but in pristine condition, with no traces of battle yet and no corpses yet. And before him, a man in a deep red robe, Archmage Aldric Vane, stood with arms outstretched, palms facing toward the unseen ceiling of the cavern.

  The man was still alive. His eyes were wide open, shining with the deep blue light of mana flowing powerfully through his veins. But in his eyes, Ethan saw something that tightened his chest: regret.

  "No..." the Archmage whispered, his voice echoing in the space that Ethan could somehow hear. "No, I should have... I should have used that Tier 7 incantation. I had enough time. I had enough mana. But I hesitated. I always hesitate at the last moment."

  Around the Archmage, shadows began to take form, liquid-bodied monsters with glowing red eyes emerging from the cracks in the walls. Ethan understood this was an attack. These were the Archmage's final moments, recorded by something he couldn't explain.

  "I can stop them." Archmage Aldric spoke to himself, his hands trembling. "[Arcane Explosion] Tier 7. One incantation, and all these creatures vanish. But the radius... I'll be caught in it too. Might die. But the team behind me will survive. They will—"

  The monster shadows were already too close. The Archmage drew a final breath, his mouth opening to speak the final words—

  Then the world shattered.

  Ethan was flung back into the stone corridor with an impact that felt physical. He crashed to the floor, his knees striking stone, his breath gasping. Above him, the same cavern ceiling. Around him, the same corpses. But in his chest, there was something new.

  Heat.

  Not physical heat, but something flowing through his veins like living mercury. Something that felt foreign yet also familiar. Like a memory that wasn't his, implanted in his neural tissue.

  And at the corner of his eye, a presence.

  A pale blue screen appeared in his field of vision, transparent, with simple letters forming one by one.

  [ANOMALY DETECTED]

  Unknown system... initializing...

  [THE DUNGEON CLEANER'S LEDGER]

  Status: First Activation

  Source: Residual Regret (Archmage Aldric Vane — Tier 7)

  Compatibility: 83%

  [Residual Regret Detected]

  Final Words: "I should have used that Tier 7 incantation..."

  Skill Acquired: [Arcane Explosion (Degraded)]

  Tier: 4 (Original: 7)

  Condition: Unstable — First Use Only

  Warning: Vessel strain detected. Compatibility threshold exceeded.

  Ethan read those words with blurred vision. His head throbbed. His chest burned. And beneath all those physical sensations, there was one emotion that dominated: fear.

  Magic.

  He hated magic.

  Since childhood, since the day that arrogant adventurer dragged Tier 3 monsters into his village and let those monsters slaughter half the population, including his parents, Ethan had hated magic. He hated the mages who played with powers they didn't understand. He hated the system that worshipped them as heroes even as they left destruction in their wake. He hated everything connected to mana, incantations, and supernatural power.

  And now, that thing he hated was inside him. Flowing through his blood. Beating in his heart. Becoming part of him.

  No.

  Ethan tried to stand, but his knees were weak. He reached for the wall to support himself, but his hands trembled so violently that he could barely grip the stone. In his mind, the image of Archmage Aldric Vane was still vivid, the regret on his face, his voice whispering about the incantation he had never used.

  I should have used...

  "I don't want this," Ethan whispered, his voice hoarse. "I don't want this magic. Take it back."

  The blue screen remained, unmoving, unresponsive.

  [Arcane Explosion (Degraded)]

  Status: Stored in LedgerStability: Low

  Warning: First use will automatically activate under critical conditions.

  "Automatically?" Ethan laughed bitterly, a laugh with no humor in it. "Of course. Because my life wasn't chaotic enough."

  The world around him began to spin. Whether from shock, whether from the foreign burden in his body, he didn't know. What he knew was that the stone floor was drawing closer, and he had no strength to resist. As his vision began to blur, he heard the sound of footsteps, fast and panicked, and Ronald's voice shouting from a distance.

  "VANCE! ETHAN!"

  Then darkness.

  Ethan opened his eyes to a tremendous dizziness. The familiar ceiling of Sanitation Headquarters, with its rusted metal panels, flickering neon lights, and ventilation pipes encircling the room, greeted him coldly.

  He lay on an emergency cot in the second-floor break room, still wearing his dirty gray jumpsuit, but his gloves and gas mask had been removed.

  "You're awake?" Ronald's voice came from beside him.

  The man sat in a folding chair near the cot, holding an aluminum cup containing warm water. His eyes were tired, the dark circles beneath them more pronounced than usual. "You were unconscious for three hours. The medical team already checked, but they're puzzled. They said your body is physically fine, but your heartbeat... strange."

  Ethan looked at Ronald, then shifted his gaze to the ceiling. "Strange how?"

  "Like there are two heartbeats in one body." Ronald sipped his water, the sound of swallowing clearly audible in the quiet room. "They thought the equipment was broken at first. But when they checked again, it was the same."

  Ethan was silent. Inside his chest, that foreign heat was still present, not as intense as the first time, but enough to be felt. And at the corner of his vision, the blue screen still waited faithfully, displaying the same notification.

  [The Dungeon Cleaner's Ledger]

  Status: Dormant

  Stored Skills: 1

  Warning: Stench Level will be detected after first activation.

  "Vance." Ronald's voice cut through his reverie. "Do you want to tell me what happened in there? When I found you, you were holding the Archmage's wrist. And your face... sorry, but your face was as pale as someone who'd seen a ghost."

  Ethan turned, looking at Ronald for a long moment.

  The old man wasn't a bad person. In the six months they had worked together, Ronald had always been fair to him, even tending toward the protective, like a father who had lost his own child five years ago. But this was not a secret that could be shared.

  "I..." Ethan paused, searching for the right words. "I felt dizzy. Maybe exhaustion. I've been working overtime a lot lately."

  Ronald looked at him with a sharp gaze, disbelieving but not pressing. "You sure that's all?"

  "What else?" Ethan countered, his voice flat. "Maybe there's toxic gas on the fifth floor that hasn't been detected yet. Or an ancient curse awakened from that Archmage's corpse. You know better than I do. You're the one who's been in this dungeon for twenty years."

  The jab hit its mark. Ronald exhaled a long sigh, shaking his head in resignation. "Fine. Keep it secret if you want. But remember, Vance. In this dungeon, secrets can kill people. Sometimes they kill others, sometimes they kill yourself."

  He stood, placing the aluminum cup on the side table. "Rest first. Tomorrow is the morning shift, third floor. Another team needs help."

  In the doorway, he stopped, turning halfway. "Oh, one more thing. That Archmage... Aldric Vane. His name is familiar. They say he was a legend once. But in recent years he... disappeared. It feels strange to see him dead here, on the fifth floor, alongside a Tier 4 team."

  The door closed, leaving Ethan alone with his thoughts.

  He sat up slowly, feeling every muscle in his body protest. Then, carefully, he opened that blue screen again.

  [The Dungeon Cleaner's Ledger]

  Name: Ethan Vance

  Tier: Novice Sweeper (Tier 2)

  Grade: E

  Status:

  STR: 12

  DEX: 14

  VIT: 11

  PER: 15

  INT: 10

  WIL: 12

  Stored Skills:

  1. [Arcane Explosion (Degraded)] — Tier 4

  Compatibility: 83%

  Stability: Low

  Effect: Mana explosion radius 3 meters (equivalent to Tier 4)

  Source: Archmage Aldric Vane (Tier 7)

  Stench Level: [NOT YET DETECTED]

  Note: First skill activation will initialize measurement.

  Ethan read every line with mixed feelings, with fear, confusion, and in the deepest corner, a curiosity he didn't want to admit. This system, what was this? A gift? A curse? Or merely a side effect of touching the wrong corpse?

  His hand reached for the side of the cot, seeking a grip. He wanted to stand, wanted to walk, wanted to do something other than lying passively waiting for the next strange thing to happen. But as his fingers touched the cold metal of the cot frame, the blue screen flickered.

  [Warning: Stench Level Initializing...]

  Anomaly detected in surrounding environment.

  Source: Unknown.

  Recommendation: Stay alert.

  [Stench Level: 5/100]

  Effect: Normal — Monsters do not react specially.

  Note: Level will increase with each skill use.```

  Ethan furrowed his brow. Stench Level? Smell? What did that mean?

  He reread the explanation, but there was no additional information. This system, whatever its name, was not user-friendly. No manual, no tutorial, no explanation. Only numbers and warnings that left him more confused.

  But one thing was clear: there was something in this environment that was not right. Something the system called an "anomaly."

  Ethan rose from the cot, ignoring the dizziness that still remained. He walked to the small window in the corner of the room, drawing open the thin dusty curtain. From here, he could see the corridor leading to the main cleaning area. Some of his colleagues were still working, transporting equipment, checking supplies of cleaning fluid. Everything was normal. Nothing was strange.

  Then his eyes caught something.

  On the wall of the corridor, directly above the door leading to the storage warehouse, there was a small symbol carved, perhaps long ago, perhaps recently. A symbol of an inverted triangle with a circle in the center. Ethan had never seen it before. Or perhaps he had, but had never paid attention.

  As he stared at that symbol, the blue screen at the corner of his vision flickered again.

  [Anomaly Detected: Stench Source]

  Location: Inverted triangle symbol — Storage Room Door, Floor 2

  Intensity: Low (5/100)

  Recommendation: Monitor developments. Report if intensity increases.

  [Warning: Stench Level stable at 5/100]

  Current status: Normal. No action required.

  Ethan stared at the symbol for a long time, then returned to the screen before him. The number 5/100. Stable. Normal. But why did he feel this was only the beginning of something far larger?

  In the distance, the neon light in the corridor flickered, briefly going dark then lighting up again. The hiss of electricity was heard faintly. And behind all of it, Ethan could feel something he couldn't explain: a subtle change in the air, as though the world around him was beginning to notice his presence in a different way.

  He closed the blue screen, drawing a long breath.

  "I hate this," he whispered to himself. "I hate magic. I hate systems. I hate everything that smells of mana."

  But in his chest, the [Arcane Explosion (Degraded)] incantation belonging to Archmage Aldric Vane pulsed slowly, waiting, like a promise he couldn't deny. And in the corridor, the inverted triangle symbol seemed to flicker back, a sign that the chaos had only just begun.

  [THE DUNGEON CLEANER'S LEDGER — NOTIFICATION]

  Warning: Anomaly Detected.Stench Level: 5/100Source: Unknown (Symbol — Triangle Inverted)

  Recommendation: Monitor closely.

  System Note:First Regret has been collected. The soul of Archmage Aldric Vane is recorded in the archive. Access to [Necropolis of Failures] will open after Stench Level reaches 30.