Chapter 110

“Don’t you think that condition is a bit too extreme? Immediate death if we’re further than 50 kilometers apart? Either one of us could have to travel overseas at some point. And domestic business trips are incredibly common,” Nam Shin-hoo reasoned.

“We can just go together. That is precisely why I downsized the Epic Guild,” Kwon Haeju countered smoothly.

“…”

Logic wasn’t working in the slightest.

“Calm down and think about this reasonably. It’s not a problem you need to react to so sensitively anymore.”

Gently grabbing Kwon Haeju’s wrist, Nam Shin-hoo pulled the younger man toward him. Closing the distance until he could feel the man’s breath against his skin, Nam Shin-hoo softly leaned his head against Kwon Haeju’s broad shoulder. Lingering fatigue from yesterday’s intense encounter radiated from him, carrying a slightly higher body temperature than usual.

“Am I really that untrustworthy?” Nam Shin-hoo murmured.

A microscopic flinch vibrated through the shoulder he was resting against. Exactly as Nam Shin-hoo had intended, the steady thrum of Kwon Haeju’s heartbeat abruptly quickened. If the man had the audacity to shamelessly cling to him and act like an over-affectionate dog the second he woke up this morning, he ought to possess at least an ounce of conscience.

While Nam Shin-hoo had initially ambushed Kwon Haeju solely to stabilize his catastrophic mental state, he was perfectly willing to shamelessly exploit the aftereffects. As their body heat mingled and their heartbeats began to synchronize, a soft sigh fluttered from the air above Nam Shin-hoo’s head.

“It wasn’t my intention to doubt you. In that case…” Kwon Haeju began, his head dipping in a profound, solemn nod as if he had just made a monumental compromise. “Let us extend it to 80 kilometers.”

“…”

“…100 kilometers?”

“Haa…”

Every earthly endeavor suddenly felt utterly futile. Nam Shin-hoo felt the life force draining rapidly from his entire body. Surrendering completely, he let his muscles go slack and dropped his full weight against Kwon Haeju’s shoulder.

Though momentarily confused, Kwon Haeju smoothly caught him, firmly supporting the older man’s slumped weight.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just… it’s not your fault. Yeah.”

The terrifying fact that Kwon Haeju’s insides had completely rotted black wasn’t the man’s own fault. Of course, it wasn’t exactly Nam Shin-hoo’s fault either. They had both simply made the best possible choices available to them in their respective, desperate situations, remaining entirely faithful to their own positions.

The resulting fallout just happened to be catastrophically bad.

Returning the embrace, Nam Shin-hoo patted the younger man’s back a few times before gently pulling away.

“Actually, there’s a specific reason I can’t enter into this contract right now,” Nam Shin-hoo revealed.

While the primary reason was obviously his absolute refusal to weaponize Kwon Haeju’s life as a hostage, he still desperately needed an excuse to avoid Bale Taylor’s unique abilities entirely. However, the most compelling argument lay elsewhere.

“It’s also the exact reason I was able to return from the EX-Rank dungeon.”

“…”

Kwon Haeju’s expression instantly froze. He looked exactly like someone who had just been violently stabbed in an unhealed wound. He had never once asked how Nam Shin-hoo had managed to survive and return; merely recalling those past events was undoubtedly an excruciating agony for him. Because of that, Nam Shin-hoo hadn’t planned on volunteering the information.

But the situation demanded it.

“Do you remember when I suddenly appeared in the middle of a dungeon the Epic Guild was clearing in the past?” Nam Shin-hoo asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“It’s the exact same phenomenon. I’m under a curse-like effect that forcibly teleports me to random locations whenever a specific period of time elapses.”

Technically, it wasn’t a curse; it was a Title reward. Whether it could truly be classified as a ‘reward’ was highly debatable, but it had undeniably saved Kwon Haeju’s life once, and subsequently saved Nam Shin-hoo’s life in the EX-Rank dungeon. Regardless, explaining the entire ‘Title effect’ system would take far too long and sound incredibly convoluted, so categorizing it as a ‘curse’ was the simplest, most effective way to make Kwon Haeju understand.

Every hundred days, Nam Shin-hoo would be forcibly relocated. It could be somewhere domestic, entirely overseas, or potentially even into an entirely different dimension. Therefore, signing a proximity-based death contract was absolute suicide.

“It’s not harmful to my physical body. Probably. The problem is that I have zero control over the destination,” Nam Shin-hoo elaborated.

“…Is there absolutely no way to block it?” Kwon Haeju asked tightly.

“Who knows.”

Recalling the vision drawn from Nuckelavee’s memories, even the entity resembling the King of Sand had bitterly complained about its inability to dispel the very same effect. It was highly unlikely that any human-level power could realistically break the phenomenon.

However, Nam Shin-hoo had absolutely no intention of sharing that grim reality with Kwon Haeju; it would only deepen the younger man’s suffocating anxiety.

Nam Shin-hoo anxiously rubbed the pad of his thumb.

“The cooldown reset exactly when we were inside the EX-Rank dungeon, which is how I ended up somewhere else. That’s why I can’t possibly agree to a contract conditional on physical distance.”

Kwon Haeju’s face darkened catastrophically. His gaze dropped, locking onto Nam Shin-hoo’s fidgeting thumb.

“If that is true, then… does that mean it could happen again? Could you disappear for another few years…?”

“I have no idea. This is the first time I’ve ever experienced it,” Nam Shin-hoo replied honestly.

“…”

Seeing the younger man’s shoulders sinking into that terrifyingly familiar abyss, Nam Shin-hoo quickly grabbed them and gave a firm, small shake, desperately anchoring the spiraling mind back to reality.

“That’s exactly why I want us to find a solution together,” Nam Shin-hoo declared.

“Pardon?”

“I’m incredibly uncomfortable with this situation too. So, why don’t we focus on dispelling this curse first? Once we solve it, it won’t be too late to discuss the contract then.”

This had been Nam Shin-hoo’s primary objective from the very beginning: delaying the contract indefinitely. Dispelling the effect bound to him was likely an impossible, borderline mythical mission, providing the perfect, permanent excuse to perpetually dodge Bale Taylor’s lethal binding magic.

Kwon Haeju’s eyes widened at the completely unexpected proposal. He considered the words for a brief moment before his eyes narrowed sharply once more, his expression souring with clear dissatisfaction.

Kwon Haeju wasn’t an idiot; he had undoubtedly seen right through Nam Shin-hoo’s transparent delaying tactic. He was probably already racking his brain to formulate alternative contract conditions, fully prepared to demand a different lethal restriction that bypassed the distance issue entirely.

Before the younger man could voice his new demands, Nam Shin-hoo launched a preemptive strike.

“Plus, I’ve just returned after four years, and my living situation is kind of up in the air. I’m sure Choi Kanghyeon is doing a phenomenal job running the Saint Guild, but I can’t exactly just barge back in and reclaim everything right now. And I don’t currently belong to any active guild. So, until my curse is fully resolved… I was hoping we could live together at your place.”

Realistically, Choi Kanghyeon would never have cleared out Nam Shin-hoo’s living quarters just because he was missing. Even as the current Guild Master, the moment he learned of Nam Shin-hoo’s return, he would undoubtedly surrender his position without a second’s hesitation. However, actual facts were entirely irrelevant right now.

The only thing that mattered was persuading Kwon Haeju. Given the man’s psychotic obsession with keeping Nam Shin-hoo glued to his side, the sheer temptation of formally cohabitating would be an irresistible lure.

“When I meet Choi Kanghyeon this weekend, I’ll ask him to pack up my belongings and bring them here,” Nam Shin-hoo added smoothly.

“You will ask Choi Kanghyeon to do it?” Kwon Haeju repeated slowly.

“Yeah.”

Kwon Haeju thoughtfully stroked his chin. The reaction wasn’t bad. He looked as though his entire perspective was rapidly shifting.

“To Choi Kanghyeon…”

The specific detail that seemed to have captivated him was slightly concerning, but Nam Shin-hoo didn’t dwell on it.

After a long moment of intense deliberation, Kwon Haeju gave a small, definitive nod.

“Very well. We will proceed with the contract after the issue is resolved.”

“Good choice. We can discuss the exact conditions of the contract then. We’re going to be living together from now on anyway, so just think it over slowly. Very slowly,” Nam Shin-hoo emphasized.

Secretly swallowing a massive sigh of relief, Nam Shin-hoo celebrated his victory. He had barely managed to placate the psychotic man. While his argument was built on a mountain of deliberate omissions, the end result was flawless.

Nam Shin-hoo pointed a finger toward the living room.

“Then let’s send that guy back first. We don’t need him right now anyway. Right?”

“Yes.”

Before the painstakingly persuaded Kwon Haeju could randomly hatch another suicidal, psychotic scheme, Nam Shin-hoo desperately needed to remove Bale Taylor from the premises.

Having successfully defused the immediate crisis, Nam Shin-hoo grabbed both of Kwon Haeju’s cheeks.

“Your face is an absolute mess. Go to the bathroom and at least wash it.”

“Pardon?”

The profound, suffocating sorrow that had previously burdened Kwon Haeju’s features had morphed him into a strikingly sharp, mature adult. While drowning in depression hadn’t exactly diminished his devastatingly handsome appearance, Nam Shin-hoo shamelessly pushed him toward the hallway.

“That’s hardly an expression a Guild Master should wear in front of a subordinate. Hurry up and wash up. And practice smiling while you’re at it.”

It was a completely nonsensical excuse, yet Kwon Haeju obediently nodded and disappeared into the bathroom without a single complaint. Leaving him behind, Nam Shin-hoo marched into the living room where Bale Taylor sat alone.

“Hey, finished talking? You guys still seem pretty clo—Urk!“

Grabbing the lazily waving Bale Taylor by the back of his head, Nam Shin-hoo ruthlessly slammed the man’s skull face-first into a thick sofa cushion. Since drawing attention with a loud noise was strictly off the table, he channeled his brutal force directly into the fingers digging viciously into the foreigner’s scalp instead.

“Listen closely,” Nam Shin-hoo hissed.

“Ugh… What the…”

“If you ever secretly pull some bullshit contract involving Kwon Haeju’s physical safety behind my back, you had better be prepared for the consequences.”

Suffocating against the fabric and enduring agonizing pressure that felt like it would literally crack his skull open, Bale Taylor thrashed wildly. Yet, Nam Shin-hoo’s vice-like grip didn’t budge a millimeter.

“You know exactly what the easiest way to nullify a contract is, don’t you? It’s obliterating the caster. If you want your corpse to be safely buried back on American soil, you’ll keep that firmly in mind. Raise your hand if you understand.”

Trembling violently, Bale Taylor managed to frantically raise both hands in surrender. Acknowledging the clear submission, Nam Shin-hoo finally released his grip.

Peeling his face off the cushion, Bale Taylor desperately sucked in massive lungfuls of air, clutching his bruised neck and hacking violently.

“Cough, cough… Wow, haven’t seen you in a while, gasp… You’ve gotten completely vicious… No, wait, you definitely weren’t like this before…”

“I was always like this,” Nam Shin-hoo lied flawlessly. Acting like we’re close friends when we’ve barely even met.

Still panting heavily and warily eyeing Nam Shin-hoo as if terrified the man might actually execute him on the spot, Bale Taylor cautiously spoke up.

“Uh, just in case you’re getting ideas, you can’t just casually murder me because you don’t like me. Just giving you fair warning.”

“Do I look like I care about that?”

When a third party murders a caster currently maintaining an active contract with another individual, the devastating backlash and penalties of that contract are instantly transferred to the murderer. Bale Taylor was clearly attempting to flaunt that specific consequence as a deterrent; that penalty served as an absolute insurance policy protecting his life.

Of course, to a man who would gladly choose his own death over losing Kwon Haeju, that ‘insurance policy’ was less valuable than toilet paper.

“…I honestly can’t tell exactly how much you know,” Bale Taylor muttered weakly.

Nam Shin-hoo glared down at the mumbling foreigner with an expression of profound, unadulterated disgust.