CHAPTER 14: CHAPTER NO.14 RANDOM LOOT BOX & STATS

[Location: Morningstar Manor, New York]

Okay, enough distractions. Onto the serious stuff, which is—

’Status.’

[LUCIFER SYSTEM – USER PROFILE INITIALIZED]

• Name: Dominic Nocturne von Morningstar

• Race: Demon (Suppressed) / ???

• Level: 1

• Job: None

• Title: [The Forsaken Lucifer(Locked)], [He Who Shouldn’t Be Awake(Locked),]

• HP: 100/100

• MP: 0/100

[Attributes]

• Strength: 10

• Agility: 10

• Stamina: 10

• Intelligence: 10

• Sense: 10

—Available Stats Points:6

Balanced. Too balanced. Almost artificially so.It was the kind of balance you’d expect not from nature but from someone deliberately zeroing out my existence. A cruel joke.

A pathetic gym bro with too much protein powder and a mediocre deadlift PR could probably out-muscle me right now. And if someone actually had a sword, I’d be the cautionary tale of "demon prince dies in tragic mugging."

I stared at the numbers longer than I should have. They weren’t numbers. They were insults, lined up neatly in a row.

"System," I muttered, leaning back against the velvet armchair in the manor’s study, "you’re mocking me."

The holographic blue interface shimmered back, perfectly innocent, like a waiter who insists you ordered the dish you hate most.

I clicked my tongue. "You’re playing me, aren’t you?"

Still silence.

Of course. A Luciferian system wouldn’t respond with words. It didn’t need to. The weight of its existence was already too much.

Let’s tally this properly. Three points from the so-called Main Quest: [Welcome Back, Prince]. Another three from the Daily Quest I barely even tried at. Six total.

Six.

That was it.

Which raised the question—why did the grand, world-shaking MAIN quest give me the same reward as sweeping the floor or jogging around the block?Main quests are supposed to mean something.

Something like: Here’s the power to make kings kneel and continents tremble.

Not: Congrats, here’s three peanuts, please come again.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. Something about this was deliberate. This system wasn’t weak. It was withholding. Hiding its teeth until I earned the right—or until it decided to show me.

The thought alone made the hairs on my neck prickle.

But that left me with a problem. Six points. Where to put them?

Strength? Always a safe bet. Who doesn’t like hitting harder? But no. With Grayfia around, if I needed raw destruction, she could ice an army with a flick of her wrist. I’d just be playing catch-up.

Agility? Useful. Dodge faster, react quicker. But what good is dodging if one hit still splatters me like roadkill?

Stamina? Tempting. That one was about survival. More stamina, more staying power, more grit to push through pain. That had a certain appeal, considering my current condition.

Intelligence? Mana pool, spell power, and maybe system synergy. Normally the mage stat. But the cruel joke here was that my MP was zero. A big fat zero. Like the System itself was laughing in my face: Nice try, kid. You don’t even get to be a glass cannon. Just glass.

Sense? That was the wild card. Perception, awareness, spiritual instinct. If the Sovereign Haki skill I gained earlier tied into anything, it would probably be this. Sense might actually unlock more of what the system was secretly hoarding.

I steepled my fingers. "So, it’s down to survival or awakening."

Part of me wanted to throw all six into Strength, just to feel something. To stop being helpless. To punch a wall and not shatter my own knuckles. But another part of me whispered that raw stats weren’t the path here. That this system was built on subtler foundations.

And then there was the loot box.

The Random Box (Common) hovered there in my inventory like a smug little question mark.

A box that could contain anything. The promise of treasure. The inevitability of disappointment.

I leaned forward in the armchair, resting my elbows on my knees, and stared at it the way gamblers stare at slot machines just before pulling the lever.

"System," I murmured, "you and I both know this is bait."

The interface pulsed faintly in acknowledgement, like it was nodding at me without actually saying the words.

A common box. Translation: garbage-tier. The kind of thing games throw at you to keep you busy between the real rewards. A handful of healing potions, a rusty dagger, maybe a single-use trinket that breaks when you sneeze on it.

But... this wasn’t a game. This was the Lucifer System. The same one that had spat out an evolution-type willpower skill and made my soul ripple like a storm just by unlocking it.

So what did "common" mean in its language?

I exhaled slowly, the study lights dimming around me like they, too, were waiting for my decision.

"Fine. Let’s roll the dice."

The [Random Box (Common)] shimmered in my inventory window. I tapped the icon.

[Do you wish to open the Random Box (Common)?][Y/N]

"Yes."

The box materialized in midair, faintly glowing like a treasure chest that had wandered out of a cheap RPG. The air around it distorted, faint ripples across reality like someone had thrown a pebble into the pond of my soul. The crackle wasn’t magical—it was systemic, something deeper, something that didn’t belong to this plane.

The lid creaked open.

A flare of pale silver burst out, blinding for an instant before condensing into a single object that drifted gently into my palm.

Not a rusty dagger. Not a potion.

A key.

At least, it looked like a key.

It gleamed with otherworldly green lustre, as if it had been forged from condensed light rather than metal. Its design was anything but ordinary—a long, slender shaft ending in a double-pronged bit carved with intricate hollows, like a lockpicker’s dream. The bow, flattened and wide, bore three smooth circular cutouts that gave it a strange, almost skeletal elegance. Faint runic etchings traced along its spine, pulsing with a dim golden glow.

[Item: Dungeon Key]

[Level of Difficulty: E]

[Type: Key]

[Description: This key enables you to enter an instant dungeon. It can be used at the Basement No.5, Morningstar Manor.]

’Holy...’

The glowing key pulsed in my hand like it was alive, each faint golden flicker syncing with my heartbeat.

A dungeon key.

Of course. Because why wouldn’t my very first loot box hand me an invitation to get murdered in my own basement?

I stared at it for a long, long moment. "System," I muttered under my breath, "are you telling me my luxurious, gothic bachelor pad comes with... a secret death crawl?"

No answer, naturally. Just that faint shimmer of runes down the key’s spine.

I turned it over, squinting. "Difficulty level: E. E for... Easy? E for Excruciating? E for Everyone-dies-but-me?"

The more I looked at it, the more wrong it felt. Not dangerous—yet—but wrong. Like the System had planted something inside my home, waiting for me to stumble into it like a rat sniffing baited cheese.

And here’s the kicker: it wasn’t optional.

This wasn’t the kind of gift you just leave unopened. Not with the System. If I ignored it, it would gnaw at me until my curiosity won.

I sighed and leaned back, twirling the key between my fingers. "Congratulations, Dominic. You’re now the proud owner of a murder-basement."

But it could be my ticket to level up, if this system is like any other.

Killing provides EXP.

Precious EXP to level up, and if the dungeon is like the ones in the novels and anime I read in my previous life, then the dungeon should be filled with monsters to kill, which equals to EXP.

Glorious, shiny, life-saving EXP.

The kind of XP that could turn "pathetic Morningstar weakling" into "slightly less pathetic Morningstar weakling." Maybe even "guy who can open pickle jars without divine intervention."

Let’s Go! The Holy Grind is so on!

Wait!

But... what about Grayfia?

I didn’t know if the time in the dungeon was the same as the real world or not.

That was a problem.

If dungeon-time matched reality, then I’d have to sneak off without her noticing—a tall order, considering Grayfia had the uncanny ability to appear the second I thought about doing something reckless.

If dungeon-time was frozen or accelerated, then I could theoretically disappear for hours—days, even—and reappear in the same moment I left. That was convenient. Too convenient. Which meant I couldn’t count on it.

I twirled the key again, watching the green-and-gold shimmer play across the ceiling. "So what’s the play here, genius? You either gamble on the basement death crawl or... keep pretending you’re okay with having the combat stats of a retired accountant."

Not much of a choice.

The truth was ugly: I couldn’t stay weak. Not in this world, not in this house. Sooner or later, something worse than fainting mid-stretch was going to come knocking—and when it did, I didn’t want to be the helpless Morningstar who got shielded by his maid.

I wanted to be dangerous again.

My fist clenched around the key. "Fine. But we’re doing this my way."

***

Stone me, I can take it!

Goal: 100 Power Stones for an EXTRA Chapter tomorrow.