Chapter 127

No matter how intensely Shin-hoo racked his brain, tossing out a barrage of majestic, awe-inspiring names, Luin Vuada refused to react.

Eventually, sheer stubbornness had won out. Muttering to himself out of pure frustration, he had grumbled, ‘Fine, whatever. I’m just going to call you Luin.’ And in that exact moment, Luin Vuada’s eyes had snapped open.

“…I was young and stupid back then,” Shin-hoo muttered bitterly, concluding his humiliating anecdote to Da-on.

It had been a careless mistake, the impulsive outburst of a hot-blooded young man in his early twenties who hadn’t bothered to consider the long-term consequences. If he had known he would still be forced to call out that ridiculous name in his forties, he would have never spoken so flippantly.

“W-Well… at least you managed to secure your unique weapon quickly,” Da-on offered. She wore an incredibly awkward expression, clearly unsure whether she was supposed to comfort him or laugh in his face.

In truth, while he could joke about regretting it now, he had been absolutely thrilled at the time. The sheer elation of acquiring a legendary unique weapon that moved exactly as he willed it had completely overshadowed any concerns about its embarrassing moniker.

“What are you two discussing?”

Haeju suddenly materialized beside them, casting a sweeping glance over the pair. The faint crease between his brows indicated he was still less than thrilled with Da-on’s persistent presence.

“We were just talking about unique weapons,” Shin-hoo replied.

“Ah…”

Instinctively, both Shin-hoo and Da-on’s eyes dropped to Haeju’s waist. Jinmu, currently manifested as a sleek dagger, rested quietly at his side. Da-on’s eyes sparkled with renewed intrigue.

“I bet you had to go through a crazy trial to get your unique weapon, right? What was it like?”

Her gaze was completely devoid of the sympathetic amusement she had shown for Shin-hoo’s farcical tale; she was brimming with genuine anticipation to hear the details of a proper, epic trial.

“Why should I tell you?” Haeju replied coldly.

“Come on, you can at least tell us that much! Don’t be so cheap.”

“Actually, now that you mention it, I am quite curious myself,” Shin-hoo chimed in.

Shin-hoo recalled the moment Haeju had claimed Jinmu in his past life. Against the backdrop of a massive, traditional Hanok estate, Haeju had engaged in a brutal duel against a Dokkaebi to prove his worthiness as the weapon’s master.

When the Dokkaebi was finally defeated and began to fade away, it had engaged Haeju in a quiet conversation. Standing at a distance, Shin-hoo hadn’t been able to hear what they discussed.

“What exactly did you and the Dokkaebi talk about back then?” Shin-hoo asked.

“It was nothing profound.” Haeju quietly rubbed his jaw, rummaging through his older memories. He recalled the question the fading Dokkaebi had posed to him, and the answer he had given in return. “It simply asked what I wished to achieve by obtaining the weapon.”

“And? What did you say? Did you say you wanted to be a hero? Or that you wanted to become the absolute strongest?” Da-on pressed eagerly, leaning forward as if listening to a legendary heroic epic.

Completely ignoring Da-on’s animated reaction, Haeju kept his eyes fixed solely on Shin-hoo.

“I told it I wanted to stand as an equal.”

“…”

“I said I wanted to stand side-by-side with you. I believe I told it that was my most desperate, overarching desire.”

“…I see.”

It was an answer perfectly suited for a Dokkaebi’s trial. It was a goal worthy of acknowledgment from a legendary existence that, despite possessing immense strength, loathed the arrogant flaunting of power and, above all else, loved mingling with humanity.

And simultaneously, it was a profoundly ‘Kwon Haeju’ answer.

“Did you never want to win?” Shin-hoo asked softly.

The person Haeju had desperately wanted to stand beside was obviously Shin-hoo. But as a Hunter, the innate desire to surpass one’s rival and stand at the very apex was a given. To claim that his ultimate ambition for acquiring such a devastating weapon was merely to ‘stand as an equal’ felt almost tragically modest.

“I don’t know.” Haeju took a seat directly beside Shin-hoo. His voice was entirely devoid of any competitive edge or bravado.

“Your dream was much smaller than I anticipated.”

“I considered it a deeply presumptuous, overly ambitious dream. Even as I confessed it to the Dokkaebi, I fully anticipated it would be impossible to achieve.”

Haeju smiled, his eyes curving into soft, affectionate half-moons.

Watching the exchange from a short distance, both Da-on and Yeonjeong narrowed their eyes in unison.

“They’re not even trying to hide it anymore,” Da-on whispered loudly.

“I know, right? I never imagined our Guild Master was this type of person,” Yeonjeong muttered back.

Though they were supposedly whispering, their voices carried perfectly clearly.

In truth, ever since his return, Shin-hoo had made no effort to conceal his relationship with Haeju. He allowed Haeju to stick to his side publicly and never bothered to shut down the man’s blatant displays of affection.

People are heavily influenced by their environment. If the tacit acknowledgment and acceptance of those around them helped soothe Haeju’s lingering anxieties, Shin-hoo was more than willing to let the nature of their relationship spread. It wasn’t exactly a baseless rumor, anyway.

While Haeju’s current state appeared stable on the surface, there were still moments when a sudden, suffocating panic would grip him. Just like today—unable to endure even a brief separation while Shin-hoo was working, he had shown up at the Saint Guild unannounced.

To an outside observer, Haeju appeared perfectly calm and collected. But observing the tightly crumpled hem of Haeju’s jacket, Shin-hoo knew exactly how agonizingly anxious the man had been during the drive over.

“By the way, speaking of unique weapons,” Shin-hoo began, smoothly shifting the topic, “is the weapon we retrieved from the EX-Rank dungeon still in the same condition?”

“Yes.”

The egg radiating five brilliant colors. It was the catalyst for the tragedy that had unfolded in the EX-Rank dungeon four years ago, and it remained an unclaimed unique weapon. Even compared to the myriad of other unique weapons Shin-hoo had encountered, this particular artifact emanated an overwhelmingly, terrifyingly immense aura of power.

“We are currently analyzing it in tandem with the stone slab we acquired recently, but we have yet to discover anything concrete,” Haeju reported.

“Right. I saw it once before too, but I didn’t feel any resonance or connection to it at all,” Da-on added, quickly raising her hand to join the conversation. “I could just tell it was insanely powerful, but that was it.”

Following Shin-hoo’s return, he and Haeju had agreed to cautiously reveal the five-colored egg to a select group of other top-tier Hunters.

In his past life, neither this specific weapon nor a Hunter capable of wielding it had existed. However, speculation was merely speculation. If—by some microscopic, miraculous chance—a Hunter capable of subjugating that weapon were to appear, that individual could very well be the true ‘Savior’.

For the first time in a long while, Shin-hoo checked the glowing quest window hovering persistently in the periphery of his vision.

[Quest: To Save a Perishing World.

What a shame. There is no remaining combat power capable of responding to the battle. Do you wish for another chance? If so, find the ‘true’ savior this time.

Reward upon Success: ???
Penalty upon Failure: Annihilation of humanity.
Success Rate: 50%]

The success rate remained stagnant at 50%. The highest, most violent spike that percentage had ever experienced occurred at the exact moment they discovered the unique weapon in the EX-Rank dungeon. Therefore, it was an absolute certainty that this weapon was intrinsically linked to the ‘Savior’ mentioned in the quest.

Of course, unless a new candidate miraculously appeared, the most probable candidate remained Kwon Haeju. Furthermore, it wasn’t unheard of for Hunters to occasionally change or re-contract their unique weapons over the course of their lives. The possibility that the five-colored egg might eventually bind itself to Haeju still existed.

“Is something wrong?” Haeju asked, noticing Shin-hoo’s prolonged stare.

“No. I was just thinking you look exceptionally handsome today.”

And what if? What if, by some cruel twist of fate, the owner of that weapon wasn’t Haeju? What if Haeju wasn’t the destined Savior? It didn’t matter. Shin-hoo still wanted to protect him.

He would do whatever it took to ensure Haeju never met the same agonizing future where he drove a blade through his own throat.

Leaving Haeju to awkwardly avert his gaze, visibly flustered by the sudden, unprompted compliment, Shin-hoo stood up. The sun was slowly beginning to set. He wanted nothing more than to shoo the boisterous Da-on and Yeonjeong away and retreat to the quiet peace of his home to rest.

Just then, the office door opened.

“Shin-hoo-ya.”

Choi Kanghyun strode into the room. As usual, his face was set in a grim line, and he was aggressively massaging his temples. It was the exact expression he wore when a massive, headache-inducing crisis had erupted.

“We need to talk. It’s urgent. And…”

Kanghyun’s eyes swept over the crowded office. Catching the hint immediately, the socially perceptive Yeonjeong sprang to her feet, grabbed Da-on by the wrist, and dragged her out the door. Haeju, however, remained firmly planted in his seat beside Shin-hoo, utterly immovable.

“…”

Glaring at Haeju with deep dissatisfaction, Kanghyun let out a short, resigned sigh.

“I suppose it cannot be helped. Technically, you are not entirely uninvolved in this matter. Ahem… We just received a Code Red transmission from the Cradle investigation team.”

“Did they locate The Cradle of Genesis?”

“Something similar.”

Kanghyun handed over a tablet loaded with data. It was the intel Gwan Seungya had scanned in the darkroom. While the raw encrypted text and the clunky, automated translation were mostly incomprehensible, the final page featured a distinct, crystal-clear decryption manually parsed by Bale Taylor.

“Their next target is in the United States,” Kanghyun stated grimly. “Specifically, the American S-Rank Hunter, Glys Roban.”

The moment the name dropped, both Shin-hoo and Haeju’s expressions hardened. The target was a significantly larger, more influential figure than they had anticipated. Noting their grim reactions, Kanghyun nodded in grim solidarity.

“Glys Roban is currently leading a subjugation raid in a newly discovered dungeon. However… all communication with his strike team ceased exactly one month ago.”

“Which means…”

Shin-hoo finally understood why Kanghyun had looked so deeply distressed when he entered the room.

“Yes,” Kanghyun confirmed bleakly. “As of this moment, Glys Roban is officially classified as Missing in Action.”

***

The United States Hunter Association instantly plunged into a state of absolute panic.

Already paralyzed with anxiety over Glys Roban’s delayed return, the American officials turned deathly pale upon receiving the classified intel from South Korea. Fortunately, because the American-born Bale Taylor had organized and authenticated the data, they were able to mobilize a search-and-rescue team with unprecedented speed.

“It is a relief they responded so quickly,” Shin-hoo noted.

“They had no choice,” Bale snorted, tossing the dossier onto the table. “The American Association is currently operating under an unspoken rule where they will practically roll over and offer unconditional cooperation the second a certain Hunter’s name is dropped. It definitely made organizing the logistics easier.”

Casting a sidelong, highly suggestive glance at Haeju, Bale shook his head.

“Here is the data on the dungeon Glys Roban entered,” Bale continued, pointing to the documents. “I’ve also compiled the background profiles for every single member of his strike team. The problem is, every last one of these bastards has signed a magical oath of loyalty. I honestly can’t fathom who among them is psychotic enough to risk their life playing double agent.”

Although his tone was characteristically flippant, Bale’s eyes were dark and serious. It was standard protocol for key figures within major guilds to sign not only loyalty oaths, but magically binding non-disclosure agreements regarding classified operations. Naturally, the lethal backlash for violating those contracts was far from trivial.