Chapter 27

“Well, that’s because of the years we’ve spent working together,” Hae-gun said smoothly. “Once you work with me for five years, Eui-rim-ssi, I’ll grant you permission to call me Guild Master again.”

Isn’t that completely backward? Shouldn’t forms of address become more casual the longer people know each other?

Still, if that was his logic, Eui-rim had no counterargument. What could anyone say when the man insisted so stubbornly?

Nodding with as much indifference as he could muster, Eui-rim turned back toward the window. A quiet chuckle drifted from the driver’s seat, but Eui-rim feigned complete ignorance.

The sedan pulled to a smooth stop in a quiet, upscale neighborhood similar to the one where Shim Woo-joo resided.

“Oh! Cheongho Guild Master! Welcome!”

The moment they stepped through the entrance, a young server hurried over, beaming in delighted recognition.

How did he recognize him when he’s wearing a mask? Is he such a frequent regular that staff recognize his silhouette instantly?

The server immediately notified the owner before ushering them to a private dining room. A glance at the reservation ledger by the entrance suggested a strictly booking-only establishment, but judging by the staff’s deferential treatment, Seo Hae-gun was clearly an exception.

“Do you have any dietary restrictions or allergies?” Hae-gun asked once they sat down.

“No, I eat practically everything.”

“Then let’s order the chef’s seasonal course. Most of it should suit your palate.”

Clearly a frequent patron, Hae-gun ordered with practiced ease. Eui-rim sat across the table, waiting in silence until the server departed. The private room was spacious by ordinary standards, yet with Seo Hae-gun’s towering physical presence occupying the space, even the wide room felt intimate.

“Things deviated slightly from our original plan, but it worked out well in the end,” Hae-gun said once the door clicked shut. “At least we confirmed that potions are effective for your recovery.” Setting his mask on the table, he poured warm barley tea into Eui-rim’s cup, steam rising between them. “Cheongho will supply all necessary potions.”

“Are you truly intending to take me into dungeons?” Eui-rim asked.

The clauses from Lee Seonha’s draft email flashed through his mind, causing his expression to tighten. The contract had explicitly stipulated that he would ‘participate in dungeon raids as an assistant for the Tower of Time.’ It had even included a provision that ‘the assistant may enter other dungeons alongside the Guild Master to enhance abilities and provide tactical support’—the exact stipulation that had made him hesitate to sign.

Naturally, the document was also packed with protective stipulations. It guaranteed that the Guild Master would prioritize his personal safety above all else, and the hazard compensation offered was several times his entire annual civil service salary.

Yet the gates managed by Cheongho Guild were semi-A-rank at minimum. Compared to his civil service days, when he had only ever supported B-rank dungeons or lower, these were lethal zones on an entirely different scale of difficulty.

“Why? Are you that afraid?” Hae-gun asked.

“Yes,” Eui-rim answered, pride giving way to raw honesty.

At the immediate, unhesitating admission, Hae-gun’s eyes crinkled with a gentle smile over the rim of his tea cup. “It’s not as though you lack field dispatch experience. Just think of it as an extension of your previous support duties.”

“How could I possibly view it as a mere extension?” Eui-rim countered. “Everyone knows Cheongho runs semi-A-rank raids as casually as daily meals.”

Eui-rim had already experienced the full weight of his own insignificance on the trail of Mount Gamak. In all honesty, he wanted to avoid any further situations that threatened his life or forced him into sheer helplessness.

Seo Hae-gun tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the polished wood of the table, studying Eui-rim before asking, “How many skills did you say you currently have?”

“Two.”

“No,” Hae-gun clarified. “Including the ones flagged with errors.”

“In that case… please give me a moment,” Eui-rim replied.

Because the skill names still refused to stick in his memory, he had to check his status window. Eui-rim pulled up the status interface and read down the lines peppered with question marks and error tags.

“Five,” Eui-rim answered.

“Including the mental barrier skill?” Hae-gun asked.

“Yes,” Eui-rim confirmed.

“A mental skill at S-rank, and a time-stop skill at B-rank, was it?” Hae-gun reviewed thoughtfully.

“That is correct,” Eui-rim replied.

They were undeniably extravagant skills for a body as frail as his. Of course, it was thanks to those very abilities that he was now sitting across from Seo Hae-gun sharing a meal, so rather than a steep price, it felt akin to winning the lottery.

Even so, for a price, the transformation is far too lavish… Don’t tell me there are additional penalties I don’t know about.

“And yet your base rank is still D-rank?” Hae-gun pressed.

Just as a sudden chill of unease prickled his neck, the question snapped him back. Eui-rim quickly collected himself. “Yes. For reference, my Stamina stat is only three. Compared to you, Seo Hae-gun-ssi, my constitution is practically tissue paper.”

“For such a low stat, you endured remarkably well,” Hae-gun noted dryly. “Walking away with only a few bruises and all.”

Baffled by the bizarre comment, Eui-rim blinked, prompting Seo Hae-gun to tip his chin toward Eui-rim’s solar plexus. Seeing the faint smirk playing on the hunter’s lips, Hae-gun clearly harbored not an ounce of remorse for having struck him.

Thick-skinned bastard. Even if I was practically an uninvited trespasser, shouldn’t he at least pretend to look sorry? Doesn’t he feel any shame with his title as an elite former athlete?

Right on cue, the arrival of their meal paused the conversation. Perhaps because Seo Hae-gun had removed his mask, the server delivering the dishes turned deathly pale in an instant.

Watching Seo Hae-gun hastily pull the mask back over his face, Eui-rim exhaled quietly. So having the mask off really makes that much of a difference. It never unsettled me, but seeing such an extreme reaction from an ordinary person is astonishing.

The table was swiftly laden with dishes. Befitting a high-end Korean restaurant, the delicacies arranged on ceramic platters were vibrant and impeccably plated. Eui-rim waited in polite silence until the service concluded. Only after the server shut the door did Seo Hae-gun remove his mask once more, resuming where they had left off.

“I’m sorry, but this is one point I cannot concede,” Hae-gun said, leaning forward. “I’ll ensure your safety to the utmost of my ability, so come into the dungeons with me. Before we tackle the Tower of Time, we need to clear other gates to raise your skill proficiency.”

“I apologize as well, but I honestly don’t believe I’ll be of any use in combat,” Eui-rim countered. “Wouldn’t providing you with intelligence be more than enough?”

“Why do you assume you won’t be helpful?” Hae-gun asked.

Caught off guard by the unexpected question, Eui-rim found himself at a loss for words.

Why do I think I won’t be helpful? Does that really need to be put into words to be understood?

Objectively speaking, Seo Hae-gun was a hunter who required nobody’s assistance during raids. In the previous timeline, he had conquered the Tower of Time without a single supporter by his side; he was stronger, swifter, and possessed greater combat genius than any other S-rank alive. In short, he lacked nothing so desperately that he would ever need help from a nobody like Eui-rim.

Yet Seo Hae-gun seemed to view the matter from an entirely different angle. Setting a delicate piece of eoseon onto Eui-rim’s plate, Hae-gun let out a soft sigh. “Before we sign the contract, allow me to make a confession: there is a critical flaw in my skill.”

“A flaw in your skill, Seo Hae-gun-ssi?” Eui-rim asked, blinking.

“Yes,” Hae-gun admitted. “Delicate control is virtually impossible.”

Eui-rim nearly blurted a retort. What kind of nonsense is that? What on earth is he talking about? Even the most brazen lie couldn’t sound more absurd.

“You don’t believe me, I see,” Hae-gun remarked, catching his expression.

“It makes no sense,” Eui-rim replied frankly. “I know full well what kind of abilities you possess, Seo Hae-gun-ssi.”

“Then why were you so certain I would need a dedicated weapon, Eui-rim-ssi?” Hae-gun countered.

Caught off guard, Eui-rim struggled to find an answer.

That’s because you were full of regret in the previous life. Because having an exclusive weapon makes utilizing skills and unlocking abilities so much smoother…

Ah.

His rapid train of thought screeched to a halt. As Eui-rim caught himself before speaking, the corners of Seo Hae-gun’s lips curled into a knowing smile.

“The drawback of my skill is that its area of effect is far too broad,” Hae-gun explained. “Concentrating firepower onto a single pinpoint target is extremely difficult.”

“…”

“Because of that, close-quarters combat is a nightmare,” Hae-gun continued, “not to mention hunting alongside others is extraordinarily hazardous.”

Hearing Hae-gun’s explanation, Eui-rim recalled a rumor that had circulated during the previous timeline.

Had it been when Seo Hae-gun failed to take first place in the national ranking tournament and withdrew? His skill, unsuited for close-quarters duels, had restricted him, ultimately landing him in third place and fueling endless debate. Even overseas analysts agreed that Hae-gun would have swept the championship effortlessly if not for the tournament regulations strictly prohibiting lethal force.

“Still, it’s not entirely impossible, is it?” Eui-rim ventured.

“True, but the issue is that it requires time to focus,” Hae-gun replied.

“Time?” Eui-rim echoed.

“Before taking a shot, an archer has to steady his sights, right? Think of it like that,” Hae-gun explained.

The concise analogy drew an understanding nod from Eui-rim.

So it’s possible, but it demands time and effort before it can be unleashed.

If that was indeed the case, it was a critical vulnerability in life-or-death encounters where milliseconds decided survival. “That’s why I need you, Eui-rim-ssi,” Hae-gun said.