Chapter 133

“Hee… heehee. Everything is for Him… for our dawn…”

“His eyes are completely gone,” Silveron spat, his face draining of color. He staggered back, horrified by the sight of a man grinning mindlessly—as if madness had devoured his very capacity for fear. “Fuck, what the hell is this? What the hell is happening?!”

Unable to bear it any longer, Silveron flung the cultist back to the floor.

“…”

Nam Shin-hoo approached the subdued civilians. He stopped directly before the one who appeared to be their leader—the oldest among them, his features soaked in a deeper, more corrosive madness than the rest. The man lay sprawled facedown, his arms bound tightly behind his back.

Crouching before him, Nam Shin-hoo asked coldly, “Name?”

“Hee, heeheehee.”

“Where is the one who gave you your orders hiding right now?”

The leader sneered, his shoulders shaking with manic laughter. “Heehee. It’s useless. No matter how much you think, the ignorant will never understand our great work…”

“The order from the Cradle of Genesis was probably not to kill Glys Roban,” Shin-hoo interrupted, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “It was to kidnap him.”

The leader’s expression instantly froze. “…How do you know that name…?”

“If the target dies, you can’t perform whatever experiment it is you want on him,” Shin-hoo continued, pressing his advantage. “So you brought an antidote separately, didn’t you?”

Why? Shin-hoo wondered briefly.

Among his memories of his previous life, the fragments related to the Cradle of Genesis alone remained strangely hazy. Yet, a few things stayed absolute: their goal had never been the simple murder of Hunters. They dragged them off to their hidden laboratories, treating human lives as mere research materials.

This current point in time was far earlier than the timeline of his past life, but that underlying principle would not have changed.

The shock that had colored the leader’s face quickly twisted back into raw malice. His eyes gleamed with fanatic fervor as he glared up at Nam Shin-hoo and shouted, “There is no antidote! Our only target is strong Hunters. A Hunter who dies from mere poison has no value to us at all! Crumbs that cannot even become fragments of Him are better off ground to dust!”

A drug that only strong Hunters survive…

Thinking back to the fact that their final target in the future had been Kwon Haeju, the pieces clicked into place. The poison was merely a brutal sorting mechanism—a device to filter the strong from the weak. In that case, the leader’s claim that there was no antidote was likely the truth.

Nam Shin-hoo turned the newly acquired information over in his mind as he stepped heavily onto the leader’s shoulder. Crushed facedown beneath the heel of his boot, the man’s forehead slammed hard into the floor.

“Ggh…!”

“If there’s no antidote, then there’s no need to waste any more time,” Shin-hoo said flatly. “Sleep for a while. We’ll discuss the rest in detail outside.”

Shin-hoo pressed down, shifting his weight.

CRACK

A brutal, sickening sound echoed through the room. After confirming that the leader had passed out from the excruciating pain of a dislocated shoulder, Nam Shin-hoo turned away and walked over to Glys Roban.

“How is he?”

“Not good. Haah…”

That heavy, ragged sigh contained too much unsaid grief. Glys Roban could only look down with a bitter expression at Havirain, who lay stretched out on the cold ground, his entire body trembling violently.

Potions had no effect, and there was no antidote. Even if they cleared the dungeon and made it outside, there was no telling how long it would take to receive proper medical treatment.

“It’s… all right,” Havirain forced out, a clumsy, trembling smile plastered on his face as he tried desperately to pretend he was fine. “I was always useless anyway… but at the end, I think I finally… did my part. Hgh, cough!”

Watching him suffer, Nam Shin-hoo quietly approached. “Why did you do it?”

Havirain’s fluttering eyelids turned toward Glys Roban, who stood completely unharmed, without a single scratch. “Because he’s… a much more useful Hunter than me. More useful than a pathetic Hunter like me, who gets taken down by mere civilians…”

Tears gathered in his pain-filled eyes. His expression held too many conflicting emotions at once: agony, despair, and a profound satisfaction strong enough to outweigh them both.

“…”

Nam Shin-hoo loathed that expression. The horribly familiar look sent a visceral chill straight down his spine.

Why? Why do the ones who sacrifice themselves always smile like that?

Hunter Nam Shin-hoo, you are our last hope. Please… avenge us.

Why are the most cowardly, timid people always brave only at times like this?

The old memories grew sharper with every passing day, refusing to fade, never losing their suffocating color.

Shin-hoo clenched his fist so tightly that the heat burning through his chest remained hidden from the world. Feeling his nails bite deep into his palm, he crouched down in front of Havirain. He helped the collapsed man sit with his back propped against the wall, forcing their eyes to meet.

Even standing at death’s door, the man’s gaze was still filled with a stubborn, irritating pride. It was so radiant it made Shin-hoo’s stomach ache with nausea.

“It was useless,” Shin-hoo said, his voice dropping to a freezing, merciless register.

“…”

“Even if you hadn’t blocked it, Glys Roban would have lived. He’s one of the strong Hunters those crows were talking about. Even if he had collapsed from the poison, we were here—he wouldn’t have been kidnapped.”

“Once outside the dungeon, he would have received treatment from a high-tier healer and gone back to work as if nothing had happened.”

Havirain let out a weak, self-deprecating laugh. “Ha… haha. Is that… right?”

“In the end, nothing would have changed,” Shin-hoo drove the needle in deeper. “You would have died a dog’s death. That’s all.”

“Hey! How can you call yourself human after saying that?!” Silveron’s furious voice exploded from behind.

With curses and venomous glares striking his back, Nam Shin-hoo ignored the outburst entirely, keeping his focus locked onto Havirain. “And you still don’t regret it?”

“Heh. No. I don’t…” Havirain breathed, his eyes fluttering. “It was the most… right thing I could do…”

“I see.”

Nam Shin-hoo rose, his gaze fixed on Havirain’s bowed head. It was as if the man had already sensed his impending demise. Shin-hoo clenched and unclenched his fist, a silent testament to his inner turmoil.

It felt as if an unhealed wound inside him had split completely open, gaping red and raw, spilling thick blood all the way down to his feet. That blood would surely be old and rotten by now, blackened beyond recognition.

Shin-hoo turned his head, his gaze landing on Kwon Haeju, who had been watching him silently from the shadows.

I’m sorry…

He offered a silent, internal apology to Haeju, who would have to suffer through watching him do this all over again. But Shin-hoo had no intention of stopping.

If Havirain’s heart stopped here, the shadows that had been shackled to his own ankles for so long felt as though they would leap up, seize his throat, and tear it open on the spot.

Reaching out, Nam Shin-hoo gripped Havirain’s arm tightly. Directly over the spot where the drug had entered his veins.

“What are you doing…?!” Glys Roban shouted, taking a sharp step forward. His expression had turned dangerously sharp the moment Shin-hoo began provoking Havirain with those cruel words. But before he could intervene, Shin-hoo’s voice cut through the air, commanding the dying man.

“Don’t close your eyes. Stay awake. It’ll be over soon.”

With a forceful tug, Shin-hoo began absorbing the toxic energy directly from Havirain’s body. To an observer, drawing energy from a man on the verge of death appeared to be an act of pure cruelty. However, Shin-hoo had a distinct objective.

He had discovered a unique trait shortly after his regression—triggered by his first injury from a plant-type monster’s seed. The poison used by the crows was ultimately an energy infused with an attribute. If this was true, then this poison was something Nam Shin-hoo could forcibly absorb into his own vessels.

Almost instantly, Havirain’s deathly complexion visibly improved. Simultaneously, the skin at Nam Shin-hoo’s fingertips darkened to a bruised, pitch-black hue.

“Shin-hoo hyung!”

Kwon Haeju’s panicked voice tore through the room as he rushed forward. Shoving past Glys Roban without a second thought, Haeju slammed his hand firmly against Shin-hoo’s back.

“Urgh…!”

Shin-hoo’s stomach violently turned. Slapping a hand over his mouth, he bent double. He had no idea what kind of potent poison those bastards had manufactured, but the moment it flooded his system, it felt as though every vein in his body was rupturing and flowing backward.

Haeju’s frantic hands guided him down until he was lying flat on his back. Looking up, Shin-hoo saw the dungeon ceiling, still glowing beautifully with its serene, blue, watery light. Beneath that soft glow and the drifting white bubbles, Haeju’s terrified, worried face swam into view.

“I’m fine,” Shin-hoo managed to rasp out, fighting the agonizing burn. “I can… endure it. I can.”

The crows had explicitly stated it was a poison that strong Hunters would survive. Furthermore, it had already filtered through Havirain’s body once, which meant its initial toxicity should have weakened significantly. It was logically nothing to worry about.

Yet, at the moment, the sheer agony made it difficult to even keep his eyes open.

Shin-hoo weakly patted Haeju’s hand, which was gripping him with terrifying tightness. “I’ll get better… as soon as I’m treated. It won’t be life-threatening. And… we caught the infiltrators, too…”

They had captured the remnants of the Cradle of Genesis. Glys Roban was entirely safe. Since the drug was originally intended to kidnap S-Rank targets, it wouldn’t claim his life. Shin-hoo would survive, and Havirain’s agonized expression had finally eased into peace.

With their remaining combat power, clearing the A-Rank dungeon boss would be a trivial matter. This was the best choice—the optimal calculation that allowed everyone to return safely to their ordinary lives. For that outcome, a level of pain like this was truly nothing.

Shin-hoo scraped together what little strength remained in his numbing limbs and lightly stroked Haeju’s hair. “Don’t… worry too much. I just need to rest for a bit…”

“…Yes.”

The answer was forced out through tightly clenched teeth. Haeju’s face was so violently distorted with grief that he looked more pained than the one actually poisoned. The hand wearing the ring throbbed; a cold, terrifying fury flowed through it, sharp enough to turn Haeju’s knuckles stark white.

I’ll comfort him when I wake up later, Shin-hoo thought.

And then, Nam Shin-hoo’s world plunged into pitch-black silence.

“…”

The sound of someone swallowing hard echoed through the quiet space. What had just happened? Glys Roban stared blankly at the scene unfolding before him, his throat dry as he swallowed again.

Why?

He didn’t understand the mechanics of what Nam Shin-hoo had just done, but the result was undeniable: Nam Shin-hoo had deliberately chosen to take Havirain’s death sentence upon himself, collapsing in the man’s place. No matter how many times Glys Roban calculated the variables, he could not comprehend the logic behind Shin-hoo’s actions.

Nam Shin-hoo had no personal connection to Havirain, nor any loyalty to the United States. If anything, given the political climate, he was a Hunter far more likely to bear a deep-seated grudge against America.

Yet, without demanding a single reward, and without anyone begging him to do so, he had carried out a profound sacrifice that no one had requested. Glys Roban couldn’t tear his eyes away from Shin-hoo’s unconscious face, watching the cold sweat bead rapidly across his pale skin.

He couldn’t understand this man at all. And precisely because of that—he desperately wanted to.

On the other side of the chamber, Silveron helped Havirain to his feet, his entire body tense with disbelief. Havirain, the man they were certain would perish, wiped away his exhausted, sweat-soaked face and stood resolutely on his own two legs. This miraculous feat was a direct consequence of Nam Shin-hoo’s selfless sacrifice.