Chapter 124

Shin-hoo slowly approached the decapitated head. The entity, born of sand and destined to return to it, met his gaze with shockingly gentle eyes. It was a look one might reserve for a cherished follower, or perhaps a beloved child.

“I wish to know the method to avoid being translocated every 100 days,” Shin-hoo stated clearly.

[That is impossible. That is the power of a Being far greater than I… However, it is a blessing. It shall eternally guide you to the path you are required to walk. Submit to it. Only then shall you obtain that which you truly desire.]

This was an answer Shin-hoo had largely anticipated. In all his experiences thus far, the effects of the titles he had received as rewards had never resulted in negative consequences.

However, he had needed absolute confirmation that this safety would persist. He needed a guarantee that he would remain unharmed during the next forced translocation. And now, he had received that guarantee directly from the Sand King himself.

“That is sufficient.” Having obtained a satisfactory answer, Shin-hoo nodded.

[I am so very tired now. I shall return to the new flow, but…]

A faint light began to pulse from within the boss’s parted jaws. It took the form of a long, thin slab, resembling a tongue.

[Take this. A fragment containing the truth. May it provide even a fraction of assistance on the miserable journey that lies before you.]

With those final parting words, the Sand King’s eyes slowly slid shut. The petrified remnants, now entirely devoid of life, disintegrated into sand without leaving a single solid trace behind, spreading out into an impeccably flat layer across the vast pyramid floor.

Reflecting the sunlight pouring in through the shattered ceiling, the sand decorated the chamber floor like a brilliant golden carpet. It was a beautiful, majestic end, as resplendent as the jewels that had once adorned his body.

“Kwon Haeju. Please collect that for me.”

Retrieving the stone slab from the floor, Shin-hoo handed it to Haeju. As Haeju approached, Shin-hoo noticed a fresh, bleeding scratch—a glancing blow Haeju hadn’t quite managed to evade in the storm. Reaching out, Shin-hoo gently brushed his fingertips over the thin red line scoring Haeju’s forearm and cheek.

“Does it hurt?”

Haeju shook his head firmly.

“You were so reckless. You could have been seriously injured.”

“That would never happen.”

The short reply carried an absolute, unwavering certainty. And Shin-hoo knew better than anyone that it wasn’t empty bravado. He had witnessed it firsthand; he had felt the terrifying perfection of their synchronization. Haeju had been absolutely confident that no matter what attacks Shin-hoo unleashed, he could effortlessly evade them while penetrating the enemy’s defenses.

But a deadly risk was still a deadly risk.

“Do not ever do that again. If you pull a stunt like this again, know that I will throw myself in there right alongside you.”

“…Understood.”

“Also, I have a few things to wrap up here. Would you mind waiting outside first?”

Haeju’s brow instantly furrowed. The eyes that hadn’t wavered for a second even when plunging headfirst into certain death now glared at Shin-hoo in blatant dissatisfaction. Eventually, however, Haeju’s shoulders slumped.

“You must come out immediately.”

“I know.”

He felt guilty dismissing Haeju after he had fought so brilliantly, but there was one more person Shin-hoo needed to check on. Watching Haeju step through the portal, Shin-hoo turned around.

“Yoo Da-on.”

“Huh? What? Ah… yes?”

Standing numbly before the remnants of the fallen boss, Da-on jolted in surprise, desperately trying to gather her wits. She was currently in a state where she simply couldn’t process the sheer impossibility of what had just occurred.

“W-What the hell was that just now? The boss… the boss spoke! Like a person, holding an actual conversation… Are all gimmick-type dungeons like this? No, that can’t be right. I’ve never heard of or seen anything like this before… I don’t know anything about this…”

Da-on’s face was a mask of absolute, unadulterated shock. She looked as though she were on the verge of tears, her usual fiery energy completely drained.

She had looked exactly like this earlier, too. When she had witnessed Haeju and Shin-hoo moving in perfect, lethal harmony, her eyes had swirled with profound emotion. It was something far deeper than simple awe or envy.

And within that gaze, Shin-hoo had finally recognized a profound, aching deficiency he had been completely blind to until now.

Ah…

Only then did Shin-hoo finally understand Da-on’s true heart. He understood the desperate sincerity she kept buried, and the profound, isolating sorrow she carried alone.

Speaking in a slow, gentle cadence, Shin-hoo asked, “Before the battle began, you asked me a question. You asked if I was truly unbothered by your attitude.”

“Huh?” Da-on blinked vacantly for a second before frantically waving her hands in denial.

“No, look, I wasn’t asking to pick a fight or anything! It’s just… well, you’re incredible, ahjussi. I knew all the rumors, but seeing you actually fight in person was even more unbelievable…”

Hesitating for a moment, Da-on lowered her head, staring at the floor.

“I just figured… a brilliant, accomplished adult like you would be offended having to put up with informal speech and being disrespected by a much younger girl. That’s why I asked. That’s all.”

It is often said that the language a person chooses reflects the state of their heart. And the brief explanation Da-on had just offered was loaded with heavy implications.

Adult. Younger girl. Disrespect.

These were not words the brazen, overflowing-with-confidence Yoo Da-on should ever utter about herself. This was the raw, bleeding wound she hid from the world.

With those crucial clues, the missing pieces of the puzzle Shin-hoo had found so perplexing finally snapped into place.

Until now, he had assumed Da-on’s personality had mutated simply because the era had changed into a more relaxed environment. But he was wrong. Nothing happened by mere coincidence, and every change had a catalyst.

Offering a soft, reassuring smile to the flustered young woman, Shin-hoo spoke.

“Your tone and the titles you use haven’t offended me in the slightest.”

“Really?”

“So, continue doing whatever makes you comfortable.”

“Huh?”

Her arrogant tone, her defiant attitude, her drastically altered personality—what was the single greatest difference between the Da-on of this life and the Da-on of the past? The answer was obvious once he truly thought about it.

Her environment changed. Drastically.

Although she and Yeonho were currently packaged together as an S-Rank set, Da-on had actually awakened a full year earlier than her brother.

In her early twenties, having barely shed the awkwardness of adolescence to become a legal adult, she had been violently thrust into the absolute center of the nation’s attention overnight. At that precise time, the other veteran S-Rank Hunters had either retired or were entirely consumed with their own desperate survival.

A renaissance period for Hunters had arrived, yet the apex of their hierarchy was effectively a barren wasteland. At the very pinnacle of that empty pyramid, Da-on had been forced to stand entirely alone.

An S-Rank Hunter who possessed overwhelming power but absolutely zero practical knowledge regarding dungeons or monsters. It didn’t take a genius to imagine the kind of leeches that would have swarmed a young, inexperienced female Hunter in that position.

Veterans with lower ranks wielding their seniority like weapons to command her. Selfish opportunists—exactly as Da-on described them—trying to manipulate a ‘younger girl’ for their own agendas. Greedy syndicates aggressively trying to exploit her potential.

The people surrounding the newly awakened Da-on had likely been pathetic excuses for adults.

To avoid being devoured alive in that shark tank, Da-on had no choice but to project an aura of unassailable strength. She had to ensure no one dared to look down on her, no one dared to use her.

She must have had to fake absolute confidence while clearing dungeons she was experiencing for the very first time. She couldn’t afford the luxury of hesitation when facing terrifying, unfamiliar monsters. A single moment of vulnerability would have instantly made her prey.

Ultimately, Da-on only had one viable survival strategy.

She had to mask her paralyzing terror behind an abrasive, irreverent persona, acting fiercely independent and aggressively confident. Concurrently, to break free from the suffocating control of the established Hunter elites, she had chosen to pivot her career, operating more like a beloved celebrity to garner the absolute backing of the civilian masses.

The billboard advertisements funded by her fans, the massive crowds and coffee trucks deployed to her raid locations—under the watchful, adoring eyes of the public, the cynical reporters couldn’t freely slander her, and the arrogant veteran Hunters could no longer afford to disregard her.

And more importantly than anything else…

Her fans would remain her absolute, unconditional allies.

Shin-hoo suddenly recalled the vow Choi Kanghyun had made—promising to build a world where Shin-hoo would never have to bow his head to anyone ever again. While Da-on’s circumstances weren’t exactly identical to Shin-hoo’s past, she had undoubtedly been trapped in a similar, suffocating predicament.

Having grasped the full scope of her suffering, a bitter taste flooded Shin-hoo’s mouth.

It is my fault.

All of this had transpired precisely because Shin-hoo had abandoned his post. Shattered by his disappearance, Haeju had vanished into isolation, which in turn forced Kanghyun to dedicate every waking second to keeping the Saint Guild from collapsing, leaving him no bandwidth to mentor the rookies.

The greatest victim of that massive power vacuum had been Yoo Da-on.

During the early stages of his own awakening, Shin-hoo had been mentored by Cheon Je-ok. Even though recalling the man was repulsive, and their connection was a toxic nightmare he would have been better off without, Shin-hoo had undeniably learned the crucial foundations of survival from him. Similarly, Haeju had learned the fundamentals of navigating the Hunter world directly from Shin-hoo.

But Da-on had had absolutely no one. She had possessed no senior Hunter to offer guidance, and lacked even a single role model to emulate.

Shin-hoo met Da-on’s exhausted, vulnerable gaze. What words of comfort could he possibly offer an S-Rank Hunter who had been forced to endure the absolute pinnacle alone, without even being taught the fundamental mechanics of a gimmick dungeon?

“The Hyeonjeol Guild’s headquarters is quite impressive,” Shin-hoo remarked quietly. “Your guild members all looked very comfortable and secure.”

“Where did that come from all of a sudden?”

“I mean that you have built a wonderful guild. You raised it well.”

In truth, she didn’t need his belated pity or comfort. She had already carved out an incredibly successful, brilliant path entirely on her own.

“…”

Da-on’s eyes trembled violently. The uniquely dark, intense pitch of her irises suddenly wavered, becoming glassy with unshed tears.

Feigning ignorance, Shin-hoo kept his gaze fixed straight ahead.

“You may use whatever titles make you comfortable. It seems you have earned the right to stand at that level on your own merit.”

Slowly lowering her head, Da-on offered no reply. She stood perfectly still for a long time, her face completely hidden from view. Finally, she stepped forward, lightly bumping her shoulder against Shin-hoo’s as she walked past him.

Given the significant height difference, it was actually her shoulder bumping against his bicep, but Da-on didn’t seem to care as she marched rigidly toward the portal. As she passed, a faint, trembling whisper reached his ears.

“You’re so annoying. Acting like a real adult…”

Leaving those words behind, Da-on vanished through the swirling blue light of the gate.

“…”

Shin-hoo stared at the empty space where she had disappeared for a long moment, before finally turning his steps across the sand-covered floor.