Chapter 4

“You could have at least washed the blood off.”

“I figured it would be troublesome if an impatient person used it as an excuse to cancel the meeting and leave.”

Kwon Haeju pulled out the chair furthest from Nam Shin-hoo and sat down.

Seeing him after so long, Kwon Haeju looked younger than Shin-hoo remembered, which made sense considering the last time they had met, Haeju was thirty-five. Perhaps that was why the face that had once instantly ruined his mood now elicited a surprisingly refreshing feeling.

Leaning back in his chair, Nam Shin-hoo watched as Kwon Haeju brushed the back of his hand against his neck, evidently trying to wipe away blood that had splattered inside his shirt collar. Looking closely, Shin-hoo noticed an unhealed gash on Haeju’s neck, a wound deep enough to leave a scar even after a potion had been poured over it.

“Are you dissatisfied because the wound is shallower than you expected?”

“Hmm?”

Kwon Haeju ran a hand roughly through his wavy bangs, tilting his head slightly back to expose the injury in stark detail. “I imagine you’re disappointed you couldn’t completely pierce my throat.”

Ah, it seemed the Nam Shin-hoo of the past was the one who had inflicted that wound. Mentally cursing his immature younger self, Shin-hoo offered a vague smile.

“I’m not disappointed, but it does bother me a bit.”

“Is that so?” Kwon Haeju tilted his head. “Well, I’m quite disappointed that your shoulder looks perfectly fine.”

So that bothersome ache in his shoulder was Kwon Haeju’s handiwork. His vague smile turned bitter. He remembered their past relationship as merely bad, but it seemed there were times they had actually fought with lethal intent. Thinking back, he supposed they really had.

Is this why they say memories are romanticized?

“I was just looking because your clothes look uncomfortable. The dried blood makes it a mess.”

“I only pay attention to my attire when I’m meeting someone worthy of formalities.”

The retort came back razor-sharp. They were the kind of people desperate to put as much distance between each other as possible the moment they crossed paths. The Nam Shin-hoo of that era would have thought it didn’t matter if Kwon Haeju showed up stark naked, and would have hated being kept waiting for a wardrobe change even more.

Kwon Haeju rolled his wrist irritably, revealing small scratches visible beneath his sleeve. Unable to tell if those were his own handiwork or injuries sustained while clearing the Crack, Shin-hoo decided to change the subject.

“It looks like you had a hard time dealing with that sudden dungeon Crack. Were there any civilian casualties?”

The other man’s expression shifted strangely, as though the words ‘Don’t poke your nose into things that don’t concern you’ had risen to the very tip of his tongue before he forced them back down.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“…I handled it cleanly. Naturally, there were no casualties.”

“Is that so. That’s a relief.”

During this period, the newly established Epic Guild was suffering from a severe manpower shortage, and a guild of that size would naturally lack a dedicated response team for Cracks. Even though it could be considered a blow to his pride for a Guild Master to personally manage minor Cracks, Kwon Haeju handled every single one directly without a word of complaint. It was a very Kwon Haeju-esque way of operating, a response born from an absolute refusal to show a single opening or expose any weakness.

In the past, Shin-hoo had considered even that attitude arrogant, but through the eyes of a man in his mid-forties, it simply looked like the reckless bravado of a young man overflowing with motivation but lacking finesse. It was an incredibly inefficient method of grinding one’s own body into dust.

“Don’t step up personally for mere Cracks. Establish a dedicated response team instead. Trying to shoulder everything alone will burn you out quickly, and as the guild grows, it’ll only become harder to manage.”

“…”

“A response team of C-Rank or lower Hunters will be more than enough. In an emergency, they just need to track the target while you dispatch backup. If you equip them primarily with escape-specialized gear, their survival rate will go up.”

Kwon Haeju’s brow furrowed as he glared at Nam Shin-hoo, deeply suspicious of the sudden, unsolicited advice. It was entirely understandable that he would find it revolting for the very person who had been trying to tear his throat out just a little while ago to suddenly act concerned.

“I will handle my own affairs, so you don’t need to concern yourself. Let’s focus on the meeting.”

Contrary to his subdued verbal response, Kwon Haeju’s grip on the documents tightened, seemingly choosing to conclude the meeting quickly rather than argue against the interference.

Unfolding the documents prepared in advance by the Association, Kwon Haeju asked, “Have you reviewed the agenda for today’s meeting?”

“Roughly.” Nam Shin-hoo left his copy of the documents untouched on the desk and crossed his arms. There was no need to check them; he already knew the exact purpose of this meeting and its outcome.

The Hunter Association had summoned the two guilds today to discuss a new policy: the establishment of a cooperative system between Hunter Guilds, later designated as the Eclipse Hunter Network, or EHN for short. The core of the policy called for the two most actively operating guilds to take the lead in protecting small guilds and freelance Hunters, a proposal for mutual cooperation aimed at increasing the survival rate of the dozens of small guilds and independent Hunters that emerged every year.

In the past, Nam Shin-hoo had vehemently opposed this policy.

You want us to look after Hunters who operate solo, fully knowing the survival rate is abysmal? If they make a foolish choice, they should bear the responsibility themselves. I see no reason for the Saint Guild to concern itself with such people.

Once awakened as a Hunter, you were welcomed anywhere. Even if entering a massive guild was difficult, joining a mid-sized one was easy enough. Yet freelance Hunters were people who actively chose to operate solo, whether due to their personalities or a simple aversion to belonging to an organization.

In the past, Shin-hoo had despised such Hunters, dismissing them as people who made irrational decisions out of overconfidence in their own strength and definitively concluding that providing protection for them was a waste of assets.

Kwon Haeju, however, had supported the EHN plan.

There are still very few properly established Hunter Guilds. We need a system to protect small guilds and freelance Hunters while they grow.

At the time, listening to Kwon Haeju’s words, Nam Shin-hoo had sneered inwardly. Looks like he’s trying to absorb the small guilds to expand his own power base. It was a natural perspective during a period when absolutely everything Haeju did rubbed him the wrong way.

“Since you said you’ve read it beforehand, you should know…” Kwon Haeju continued slowly, his voice low and steady. “It’s an agenda regarding a newly implemented Hunter system. It doesn’t seem like a topic Hunter Nam Shin-hoo would particularly welcome, but it is worth discussing.”

The content hadn’t deviated by a single syllable from his past life. The time, the place, and the person were all exactly the same. Everything except Nam Shin-hoo himself.

Nam Shin-hoo lightly tapped the documents with his fingertips. “It doesn’t seem like a bad policy.”

“Excuse me?”

“It looks fine. It’s exactly what’s needed at this time, too.”

Kwon Haeju, who had fully expected vehement opposition given Shin-hoo’s personality, froze in his tracks. He set down the materials and scrutinized Shin-hoo intensely, his eyes darting as he tried to figure out what ulterior motive lurked beneath the surface.

In the past, Shin-hoo had questioned the need for cooperation between Hunter Guilds, but having already lived through that era once, he was different now. Facing the utterly despair-inducing power of the Nuckelavee, he had felt the agonizing reality of their insufficient combat power in his very bones.

If only we had just a few more Hunters. Even if they weren’t strong, if we just had more Hunters to protect the civilians. If we did, we wouldn’t have met such a catastrophic end.

“If the Epic Guild has no other objections, let’s proceed exactly as proposed.”

“Are you serious?”

“As you said, we’re not exactly in a relationship to be cracking jokes.”

The Nuckelavee was devastatingly powerful, and even if the true savior mentioned in the quest stepped up, they would have to brace for a certain degree of casualties. Now that he had returned, Nam Shin-hoo wanted to preserve as much combat power as possible until that day arrived, needing vastly more Hunters than they currently had to save even one more life.

“Weren’t you the one who hated concerning yourself with anything that didn’t directly benefit your guild? I never expected you to agree.”

“Right. I didn’t expect it either.”

“Are you messing with me?”

“Of course not.”

As Nam Shin-hoo smiled slyly, Kwon Haeju’s eyes narrowed into slits.

“…Well, whatever bizarre whim brought this on, fine. We will proceed with this policy as is. I will convey the decision to the Association.”

“Alright.”

“I just hope you don’t cancel it later on another pointless whim.”

Nam Shin-hoo nodded lightly. The young Kwon Haeju stared at him with an intensity that felt like it could pierce straight through him, his gaze clearly trying to dissect whatever scheme Shin-hoo was harboring.

In the past, Shin-hoo had considered that kind of gaze arrogant and presumptuous, but in truth, even then, he had known Kwon Haeju wasn’t simply a man overflowing with ambition and youthful vigor. That was precisely why he had hated him even more.

After awakening as a Hunter, Kwon Haeju voluntarily entered highly dangerous dungeons, personally clearing zones with abysmal survival rates and seeking out areas suffering from civilian casualties to offer his support. Kwon Haeju was a fundamentally different breed of human from Nam Shin-hoo. He didn’t calculate efficiency, but moved to wherever he was needed, acting purely on his own convictions until the bitter end, even while weathering accusations of hypocrisy.

I thought I was right back then…

Nam Shin-hoo had branded Kwon Haeju a hypocrite, firmly believing that Haeju would eventually trip over his own self-righteous convictions and fall. Looking back now, it had been nothing but useless stubbornness. Having experienced the future, Nam Shin-hoo had learned the definitive answer: he had been entirely wrong, and Kwon Haeju had been entirely right.

“It seems we’ve said all we need to, so I’ll be taking my leave.”

Kwon Haeju stood up from his seat. “The Hunter Association will send each of us the materials as soon as the specific details are finalized. Since our opinions aligned much faster than expected, there’s no need to waste any more time here.”

“Hmm…”

“What is it. Do you have some other business?”

Staring at the quest commanding him to find the true savior, Nam Shin-hoo strengthened his resolve to keep Kwon Haeju alive, knowing he needed to get close enough to stay by his side during the period when Haeju was fated to die.