CHAPTER 51: CH 51: HIDDEN LOOT- PART 1

Away from the chaos of online reactions, potion hype, and mounting interest in Mr. ’X,’ Fenrir finally allowed himself a moment of peace to reassess his priorities.

Sitting in his lab, surrounded by empty potion bottles and ingredient bins, he looked down at his hands.

His stats were sky-high thanks to all the buffing potions and health boosters he’d taken over the past week, but his control still felt... off.

It wasn’t a question of strength anymore.

He could obliterate most low- to mid-tier enemies without lifting a finger.

But control—true mana control—was a different beast. Especially when it came to fine-tuned work like cultivating sensitive plants, refining higher-grade potions, or creating mana reactors.

It wasn’t enough to be strong. He needed to be precise.

"If I want to grow ingredients inside the dungeon, I’ll need my mana to flow like a stream, not a flood."

He muttered to himself.

With the tower’s arrival looming in the future—he estimated two months, give or take—Fenrir knew he had to make the most of the relatively unrestricted farming opportunities left.

Once the tower appeared, the world’s focus would shift, and dungeons would likely get repurposed or absorbed.

That meant this was his window. Time to grind.

He slipped on his enchanted black mask, the one that muffled his presence and distorted his mana signature.

It was his go-to disguise when he didn’t want to be recognized as Fenrir—or worse, as Mr. ’X.’

Fully geared, he headed for a known C-class dungeon that had just reset its spawns the night before.

Upon arrival, Fenrir took a moment to observe the entrance.

To his surprise, he saw two familiar faces: Dain and Elaine Croix.

The two were standing unusually close.

Elaine looked nervous but determined, and Dain was speaking to her in a supportive, animated tone.

It was clear they’d grown closer, though Fenrir had no idea when or how. The last time he’d seen Elaine, she’d been distant and wary...and she had tried to kill him.

He raised a brow under his mask.

"Well... that’s unexpected."

He briefly debated whether to greet them, but a part of him—the part that hated dealing with social entanglements—urged him to stay out of it.

If those two were up to something, he didn’t want to get dragged into their business. Trust was a currency he didn’t spend lightly.

Without a word, Fenrir turned sharply and veered to the right side of the map, heading toward the denser monster zones where the better drops awaited.

But the moment he stepped deeper into the dungeon, something caught his eye—a cluster of bright green leaves, glowing faintly with mana.

Duskroot, a rare herb used in mid-grade mental clarity potions.

"...No way. This stuff’s supposed to be extinct in C-class dungeons."

He rushed over and harvested the plant, scanning the area. Just a few feet away, he spotted another—Bluelure, another precious herb.

One herb became two. Two became five.

Before long, Fenrir had his arms half-full of rare materials he didn’t expect to find in such a low-level dungeon.

It was as if the place was regenerating in odd patterns, maybe a side effect of the mana fluctuations he’d noticed lately.

"Okay... one more cluster, then I’ll go back to fighting."

But that didn’t happen. Instead, he found himself crouched beside a pond, trimming Waterveil blossoms and storing them with care.

His original goal—to train his mana control through battle—was now buried beneath piles of freshly gathered herbs.

An hour passed before he even noticed. When he stood up and stretched, the realization hit him like a slap.

"...I got distracted again."

Still, despite his exasperation, he couldn’t help the slight smile tugging at his lips.

His mana had been working the whole time—fine-tuning itself through careful channeling as he harvested each plant.

In a way, it was training. Just not the way he’d planned.

"Fine, we’ll call this control farming. Still counts."

He muttered.

A rumble echoed from deeper inside the dungeon—monsters awakening, perhaps sensing the shift in ambient mana.

Fenrir looked toward the sound, weighing his options.

He could dive deeper and get some combat in now, or head back and prepare potions while the herbs were fresh.

He sighed.

"One hour of farming, one hour of fighting. That’s the new rule."

With his arms full of ingredients and his mana flowing steadier than it had in days, Fenrir moved deeper into the dungeon—ready to take on the monsters waiting in the shadows.

______

Fenrir finally got around to handling the monsters that roamed the deeper part of the C-class dungeon.

With his gun in hand, he activated [Skill Shot], his precision-based ability that enhanced every bullet with a burst of mana, turning them into devastating projectiles.

Each shot hit its mark perfectly, tearing through beasts with terrifying ease. Most of them didn’t even get the chance to retaliate.

It was quick, clean, and almost boring.

But Fenrir knew better than to be proud.

"It’s too easy. That’s just the potions talking."

He muttered, glancing at the charred remains of a four-eyed lizard.

His strength, agility, and mana capacity were all heavily buffed thanks to his latest concoctions.

In a way, he was cheating—skipping the natural progression by enhancing his body artificially.

While it gave him a massive edge in the short term, Fenrir wasn’t blind to the long-term problem: he lacked a wide arsenal of skills.

And skills were crucial.

Potions could only carry him so far.

True combat versatility came from the right set of abilities—offensive, defensive, passive, and support.

Fenrir had a few skills he’d acquired over time, mostly self-developed or granted by his system.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not if he wanted to eventually solo A-class dungeons or challenge what came after the tower.

He had already looked into buying skills on the open market, but the more he studied them, the more he realized how lacking they were.

Commercialized skill scrolls were watered-down versions—safe, mass-produced, and stripped of the nuanced secondary effects that gave dungeon-born skills their edge.

They were tailored for profit, not performance.

That was why he needed to start a deeper investigation.

"If I want real power, I need to find dungeon-generated skills. Ones with hidden modifiers, unique evolutions... not the factory-made junk."

He said.

The dungeons from his past life—especially the unstable and shifting ones—used to drop skill scrolls with traits that couldn’t be replicated.

Some scrolls adapted to the user. Some bound themselves to the user’s mana signature. Others even evolved if used properly.

If such scrolls still existed, they’d likely be kept secret, hoarded by the strongest guilds and elites.

But Fenrir had something they didn’t—his system. It had grown far more advanced than before and had recently started integrating more features.

Pulling up his interface, Fenrir navigated to the dungeon data tab. A flick of his hand activated a new filter:

[Unlisted Loot Possibility.]

A list of dungeons appeared with odds marked in percentages—chances of hidden loot, rare item drops, and more importantly, "skill scroll probability."

He smirked.

"Finally... now we’re getting somewhere."

Scrolling through the list, Fenrir bookmarked three dungeons with the highest probabilities and set alerts for when their entry conditions refreshed.

If even one of them yielded a skill scroll, it would be worth it. With a rare grin, he whispered.

"Let’s see what secrets you’re hiding, old world."