Chapter 118

As soon as the concepts of “Hunters” and “Dungeons” emerged, China immediately slammed its borders shut. Leveraging its overwhelming population density and vast territorial expanse, it constructed an entirely isolated, self-sustaining ecosystem. They established their own unique terminology, forged their own brutal laws to manage the dungeons, and relentlessly cannibalized their weaker neighboring states to artificially inflate their power.

No internal information ever leaked out, and no external information ever trickled in.

Because of this impenetrable isolationism, China was the one nation Nam Shin-hoo had completely excluded from his countermeasures against Nuckelavee. No matter what diplomatic or forceful methods he employed, it was a faction that would never offer an ounce of cooperation.

Attempting to recklessly interfere with them was a volatile variable that could easily trigger a far more disastrous outcome.

The secret society known as ‘The Cradle of Genesis’ fell into the exact same category.

It was an organization born in the shadowy depths of China that had slowly, systematically eroded the foundations of Europe. However, there was a completely different reason why Shin-hoo hadn’t paid The Cradle of Genesis any mind until now.

Because they were an organization destined to be wiped out soon anyway, he thought grimly.

The Cradle of Genesis was a phantom syndicate. Despite operating for years, their true nature and leadership remained an absolute mystery; they moved like ghosts through the black markets, leaving almost zero trace of their passing. And the moment their dark machinations in Europe swelled too large to conceal—the very moment they finally made their name known to the world—they were instantaneously annihilated.

Therefore, during the early stages of his regression, Shin-hoo had exclusively focused his efforts on securing South Korea and the United States. He had planned to eventually extend his reach to the European Union once it stabilized, hoping to establish a united front against Nuckelavee.

That plan had been formed back when he had completely forgotten that the extermination of The Cradle of Genesis was Kwon Haeju’s final, tragic achievement.

Shin-hoo scrolled through the data newly transmitted to his tablet, meticulously filtering out the useless noise to extract whatever actionable intelligence remained.

Since The Cradle of Genesis was still an organization submerged deep beneath the surface with no obvious way to track them, he had asked Choi Kanghyeon to scrape together any vaguely similar data points he could find. This dossier was the result of that desperate search.

“You look busy,” Kanghyeon noted, placing a tall glass of iced coffee on the desk.

“I am,” Shin-hoo replied without looking up. “Have you finished your tasks for the morning?”

Kanghyeon didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he swept his gaze across the space where Shin-hoo sat, an expression of profound, aching nostalgia softening his usually stoic features.

Shin-hoo was currently working out of the Saint Guild’s master office for the first time in years. Considering he had been missing for four years, he naturally assumed Kanghyeon would have repurposed the Guild Master’s office for his own use. However, Kanghyeon had preserved the space exactly as Shin-hoo had left it, keeping the chair empty until the day its rightful owner returned.

“You are the Guild Master now, Kanghyeon. You should be using this office.”

“I am merely holding the position temporarily.”

“How long were you planning to leave it empty? You told me yourself that you thought I was dead.”

“Forever,” Kanghyeon answered quietly. A bitter, self-deprecating smile touched his lips. “This office was the tomb I built for you. If a day like today had never arrived, this room would have remained sealed and empty for the rest of my life. That is what this space means to me.”

When Shin-hoo had resigned himself to death and remained behind in that collapsing dungeon alone, his primary concern had been Haeju. But the very next person to surface in his thoughts had been Choi Kanghyeon. To Kanghyeon, Nam Shin-hoo had never been just a simple friend or a commanding officer.

“…Thank you, Kanghyeon-ah.”

“I merely preserved an empty office. It is hardly something worthy of your gratitude.”

“Thank you for holding on. For enduring.”

“…”

Kanghyeon’s smile completely stiffened. Struggling to maintain the painfully forced expression, his shoulders eventually slumped in quiet defeat.

“And let me apologize in advance,” Shin-hoo added softly. “There may be a few more times in the future where I act just as recklessly.”

“I suppose me trying to stop you wouldn’t change your resolve.”

“No. I’m sorry.”

Nam Shin-hoo had chosen a future where everyone could live. If asked, the vast majority of people would likely praise his choice as undeniably righteous.

Everyone, that is, except for two people in the entire world: Kwon Haeju and Choi Kanghyeon.

Those two would desperately wish for Nam Shin-hoo’s survival, even if it meant the utter annihilation of the rest of the world. Because he knew that, he owed them an apology. They were the ones condemned to suffer alongside him because of his selfish, sacrificial choices.

“By the way…” Kanghyeon purposefully changed the subject, turning his head away to hide his reddening eyes. “It is quite unusual that he did not follow you here today like a shadow.”

“Kwon Haeju?”

“Yes.”

Kanghyeon no longer directed his usual sharp hostility toward Haeju. It was something Shin-hoo had noticed recently; the incredibly tense relationship between the two men seemed to be slowly, gradually easing into a tentative truce.

“Ah, he mentioned he had another schedule to attend to.”

“It must be related to the Hyeonjeol Guild, then. Coincidentally, I received a report earlier this morning that Hunter Kwon Haeju was paying their headquarters a visit.”

“Hyeonjeol? Ah… Yoo Da-on’s guild.”

The Hyeonjeol Guild was the organization jointly established by the S-Rank siblings, Yoo Da-on and Yoo Yeonho. Shin-hoo mentally reviewed the guild’s name, having only seen it briefly in the paperwork.

‘Hyeonjeol’ (玄節)… The Black Bamboo.

It was a surprisingly elegant name that perfectly encapsulated the unique characteristics of the two siblings.

Picking up Shin-hoo’s empty coffee cup, Kanghyeon murmured, “It is an incredibly rare occurrence. For Kwon Haeju to initiate a visit to another guild’s headquarters.”

“Did those two have a bad relationship?”

“I wouldn’t call it bad, per se. It was more that Kwon Haeju unilaterally ignored their existence after he ceased his public activities. He cut off all communication—not just with Hyeonjeol, but with the entire Hunter community—and operated entirely alone.”

What was the relationship between Kwon Haeju and Yoo Da-on like in my past life? Shin-hoo racked his brain, digging through his older memories.

When Da-on awakened, she was twenty-one years old; Haeju had been twenty-six. As South Korea’s first female S-Rank Hunter, the public’s interest in her had been utterly explosive. Consequently…

Weren’t there… dating rumors about them?

Given their perfectly appropriate age gap and undeniably striking appearances, it was the absolute perfect narrative for the media to obsess over.

Of course, those romantic rumors were swiftly crushed once Da-on’s incredibly firm, uncompromising personal tastes were later revealed to the public. However, during the initial stages of her career, it had been a massively popular gossip topic.

Shin-hoo stared down at his phone screen. After dropping him off at the Saint Guild that morning, Haeju hadn’t contacted him once.

“Hmm…”

Shin-hoo checked the time hovering above his completely empty notification panel. It was currently 3:00 PM. Four entire hours had passed since they parted ways.

“You said Kwon Haeju was at the Hyeonjeol Guild this morning?”

Kanghyeon nodded. “I am unsure if he is still there, however.”

“Is that so?”

Closing his file folders, Shin-hoo abruptly stood from his desk.

“Kanghyeon-ah, could you prepare a car for me?”

***

True to its status as a newly minted organization, the Hyeonjeol Guild utilized a sleek, modern building defined by soft, architectural curves as its headquarters. It was a pristine, brand-new construction without a single smudge on its expansive glass windows.

Upon identifying Choi Kanghyeon’s vehicle pulling into the driveway, the security guards frantically alerted the interior staff of their arrival. Having to unexpectedly host the Epic Guild in the morning and now the Saint Guild in the afternoon, the utterly bewildered security team scrambled to summon someone with the proper authority.

The person who eventually jogged out to meet them was…

“We met recently, didn’t we? I am Yoo Yeonho.”

It was Da-on’s older twin brother, looking thoroughly exhausted as he greeted them.

“I apologize if my unannounced visit startled you,” Shin-hoo said smoothly, dismissing Kanghyeon with a wave before shamelessly approaching the weary young man. “By the way, your guild building is quite impressive.”

Yeonho maintained a very deliberate, cautious distance from Shin-hoo as he led him inside, his face tight with wary apprehension.

“Did you… perhaps come to retrieve Hunter Kwon Haeju?” Yeonho asked hesitantly.

“That was one of the reasons, yes. But if it isn’t too much trouble, I would also love a brief tour of the interior facilities.”

Though his expression clearly screamed his reluctance, Yeonho dutifully guided Shin-hoo into the lobby. To still offer proper hospitality to an uninvited guest… Yeonho’s manners perfectly matched his princely appearance; he truly acted like a flawlessly educated, well-bred young master.

“I imagine… there will be many aspects you find lacking, Hunter Nam Shin-hoo,” Yeonho demurred politely. “We are still a very new organization.”

“Many things seem to have changed over the past four years.”

As Yeonho tapped his keycard against the scanner, a holographic display flickered to life beside the turnstile, projecting the visitor’s name and rank. Beneath those details, a highly familiar string of code numbers appeared.

It was an individualized, unique identification number assigned to every registered Hunter. It was the specific code issued to users of the Hunter Support AI, ‘Seiros’.

While Shin-hoo had been absent, the development of the Seiros AI had progressed at a terrifyingly rapid pace. According to his reports, Haeju had voluntarily taken over the communication and coordination with Seon Chan-jae—the AI’s original developer—while Kanghyeon was desperately trying to keep the Saint Guild from collapsing.

After drastically downsizing the Epic Guild, Haeju had thrown himself into the dungeons alone, meticulously gathering data, harvesting monster samples, and organizing the reward algorithms. He had done all of that single-handedly over the past four years.

“Would you mind waiting here for a moment?” Yeonho requested, gesturing to a sleek lounge area. “I will prepare some tea while Da-on finishes her conversation with Hunter Kwon Haeju.”

“Just a glass of water is fine, thank you. I just had coffee.”

Yeonho nodded gratefully and hurried off to fetch the drinks himself. Left entirely alone, Shin-hoo took the opportunity to thoroughly scan his surroundings. The technological advancements were staggering. It wasn’t just the AI program; a massive electronic billboard dominating an entire wall continuously refreshed real-time data, flashing the daily dungeon subjugation percentages and constantly updating various Hunter records.

An incredible amount of change had occurred in a mere four years. The speed of progression was simply incomparable to his past life.

According to Kanghyeon, this rapid centralization had led to some provincial areas being severely marginalized, but the overall survival rate of Hunters and the stability of the dungeons had skyrocketed to unprecedented levels.

Yeonho soon returned, carrying a crystal glass filled with ice water. Setting the drink down with practiced, formal politeness, he awkwardly checked Shin-hoo’s reaction, clearly preparing to make a hasty retreat. However, Shin-hoo had no intention of letting him escape so easily.

“Shall we have a little chat?” Shin-hoo offered pleasantly.

“…”

Predictably, Yeonho froze in his tracks, his desperate attempt to flee the uncomfortable situation completely foiled. His sheer reluctance was so transparent it was almost comical.

Shin-hoo studied the awkward young man as he stiffly lowered himself into the opposite chair.

Yoo Yeonho. He had awakened as an S-Rank Hunter at the age of twenty-two, a full year after Da-on, and was currently twenty-three. Although he officially held the title of Co-Guild Master of the Hyeonjeol Guild, his actual operational role was strictly relegated to supporting Da-on from the shadows.

And…

“Your ability is quite fascinating,” Shin-hoo remarked casually.

“…What exactly do you mean by that?” Yeonho’s voice instantly tightened with defensive suspicion.

“I mean it as a compliment. Being different from the rest often means you possess the potential to excel far beyond them.”

Yoo Yeonho, an S-Rank Hunter, was a man who despised his own abilities more than anyone else in the world.