Chapter 774

Back when I was a rookie Hunter, I used to cry sometimes.

No—if I’m being honest, pretty often.

Looking back, I suppose it was all growing pains. But that was how it was back then.

It was only natural. I had barely reached adulthood, and the Hunter Training Center was just that: a training center.

What was my first real fight like?

No matter how hard I try to remember, it’s hazy as fog. Not because the memory has faded with age, but because I half-lost my mind the moment the battle began.

A few fragments remain clear.

The backs of the tanks as they buckled under the sheer number of monsters. The thick stench of blood and the reek of creatures that didn’t belong to this world.

The spear feeling heavier than it ever had before. Sweat pooling in my grip…

That was all. The moment we clashed, everything around me seemed to recede. When I came to, there was blood everywhere.

The Team Leader had been waiting for me to wake up, a cigarette between his lips. The first thing he said was:

“You. Rookie.”

“Y-Yes.”

“You fucking bastard.”

“Excuse me?”

“I almost died saving your ass. Did my wife put you up to it? Tell you to kill me so you two could split the insurance payout?”

“N-No.”

“You fought pretty well for someone who’d lost his mind, but pull that shit again and you’re going to die. Seriously.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“By the way, what’s your name?”

“Jin Taekyung. Jin Taekyung, sir.”

“What year were you born?”

“2020.”

“Fuck. People were still being born in 2020?”

The Team Leader glared at me, puffing hard on his cigarette. Only then did he tell me his name.

“I’m Hong Cheonsu.”

“Oh. Yes, sir.”

“From now on, when we’re off duty, call me… Uncle? No, that’s a bit much. Call me hyung.¹ Cheonsu hyung.”

“Yes, Cheonsu hyung.”

“This kid doesn’t even pretend to refuse. And we’re still inside the Gate, you little shit.”

I didn’t know it then.

I didn’t know that I’d come to stick with that foul-tempered Team Leader like a brother through thick and thin. Or that, only a few years later, he would sacrifice himself for me.

“You did good. Here’s your payout.”

Six 50,000-won bills,² after taxes and the Guild’s fee.

I took my pay for risking my life that day and went back to my goshiwon.³

When I opened the door, the room—less than four pyeong⁴—smelled of mold. A family photograph sat on a table with a chipped corner.

And I cried.

At first, I sobbed quietly. Before long, I had buried my face between my knees and was bawling like a child.

If someone hadn’t opened the locked door, I might have kept the entire goshiwon awake all night.

“Hey, new guy. Sorry for barging in without asking. I’m the manager here, but the complaints kept coming, so I had to use the master key…”

The manager took one look at my tear-streaked face and trailed off. He scratched his greasy hair, then closed the door.

He looked like some middle-aged guy, and I figured he wouldn’t be back.

A little later, he returned with soju⁵ in one hand and a bag of ramen in the other.

“Want a drink? Oh, wait. You’re not a minor… Obviously not. Look at the size of you. Whew.”

Memories from nearly ten years ago.

Time passed, and I changed. My fear of monsters and the loneliness of being away from my family gradually faded.

No. I grew numb to them.

Like a hamster on a wheel, I just kept running.

Even if I wasn’t getting anywhere, running was better than stopping. There were things I could protect only by keeping that wheel turning.

Family. Friends. Comrades.

I couldn’t stop anymore.

At some point, the little wheel in the cage that held me had become the enormous wheel of fate. And the word duty, which I carried in my heart, had grown clearer and heavier.

Maybe that was why.

Why I had been able to revisit that fading memory, if only in a dream.

Why my cheeks were wet when I opened my eyes to someone shaking me awake.

“…kyung. Mr. Jin Taekyung.”

I blinked. My blurred vision finally came into focus.

A familiar face looked down at me with concern. His expression had barely changed, which only made the small trace of emotion stand out more.

“Are you all right?”

I rubbed my wet eyes and answered.

“I don’t know.”

“Did you have a bad dream?”

“I’m not sure.”

I sat up, my voice hoarse. The clock showed that it was just past noon. Through a gap in the curtains, I could see how dark it was outside.

“I don’t know if it was a bad dream or a good one. I really don’t.”

Team Leader Choi watched me in silence before speaking calmly.

“Don’t dwell on it. It was only a dream.”

He was right. A dream was only a dream. Whether today brought good or bad fortune was up to us—and deciding that was my role.

No. It was everyone’s.

“I’m still half-asleep, so let me ask you something. Was last night a dream too?”

“Last night?”

“Yeah. There were a lot of familiar faces. Toward the end, I even saw a British prince dressed as a hotel bellboy.”

Only then did a faint smile touch Team Leader Choi’s lips.

“How strange. I had the same dream.”

“Oh, you did? Personally, I thought it was a pretty good one.”

“So did I.”

That part, of course, hadn’t been a dream.

Our secret conversation had gone on until the small hours of the morning. Worn out by the past few days, I’d fallen asleep as if I’d passed out.

Maybe that was why my mind felt clear and my body felt light.

Almost too light.

There is one small problem, of course.

I focused on the faint pain deep inside me.

Broken Body still hadn’t healed. Its effects weren’t just numbers displayed by the System. Like a parasite clinging to a host, it was eating away at some of my strength.

Can I do it? Even like this?

The question flashed through my mind. I shook my head.

Whether I could do it wasn’t the question.

I had to.

For me, for my people, and for everyone else.

“Are we ready?”

Team Leader Choi answered without hesitation.

“Everything is ready.”

There was certainty in his voice—the kind that came from having done everything he could to prepare.

But I asked again, this time addressing someone else, crouched somewhere out of sight.

“And you?”

Once again, there was no answer.

He must have seen and heard everything, but he chose silence again. As though he were trying to cut away every last shred of affection between us. As though he were a traveler packed and ready to leave.

But… I had no intention of letting him go.

Especially not for a reason as fucked up as this.

“Let’s go.”

I said it evenly and left the room. Team Leader Choi followed at once, and the Hunters of the Peace Guild and Ares Guild filled the corridor behind us, trailing like a dragon’s tail.

It was time to set the enormous wheel in motion.

The sky was gray that day.

Dark clouds had spread across the capital region before dawn, bringing a light drizzle. The air felt chilly against the skin.

But the weather meant nothing to the people.

They expected the clouds to clear and the sun to shine through soon.

No. Certainty might have been a better word.

The historic inaugural ceremony of the new World Hunter Federation.

That was the sunlight they had been waiting for: an alliance of superhumans who would save them from the second Great War, soon to descend on them—or perhaps already begun.

Heroes of the past, present, and future would gather in one place and become Hunters in the truest sense. They would be humanity’s sword and shield, drive away the dark clouds, and protect the world from the monsters surging in like waves.

Today.

Here.

New history begins.

Michael Silbert ran his fingertips across the table.

The enormous round table had three hundred seats. Marks left by sharp weapons covered its surface.

The marks the heroes left behind.

He remembered that day clearly.

When the World Hunter Federation—an alliance unlike any before it—was born, Michael Silbert had been there to share in its glory.

Beside those now long dead, he had shouted with his blood aflame. They had drawn their weapons and pointed them skyward, then driven their swords into the great round table and sworn to become humanity’s sword and shield.

Yes. Right here.

He could never forget it.

Michael Silbert gently stroked the chair he had once occupied. Age had left it rough and creaking, yet even that stirred something in him.

But that was all.

He looked down at the chair that held those memories without sitting in it or leaning against it. His gaze drifted away from it, toward the center of the round table.

The only empty space.

There was no chair or platform there. Ringed by three hundred seats, it almost looked as desolate as an uninhabited island.

But neither Michael nor anyone else had thought so back then.

One man had always filled that space.

Stronger and brighter than anyone else. A hero among heroes, whom even those who envied him could only regard with awe and fear.

Sky.

Michael Silbert raised his head and looked around.

The First National Assembly Hall had since become a World Heritage site. Stained glass installed just after the war, depicting humanity’s victory in the Great Cataclysm, glittered on every side.

Humans and monsters locked in fierce battle. Blood flowing in rivers. Corpses piled everywhere…

His gaze passed over the old heroes immortalized there by their dazzling feats, most of them now dead. Then it settled on the highest point in that glorious record.

Two figures set into the ceiling.

Well. You’re still looking down at me from up there.

Michael Silbert gave a quiet laugh.

The savior who had driven his sword into the heart of Asmodeus—the Demon King who had cast humanity into a pit of fire—looked down at him.

As though warning Michael not to forget him.

As though he might descend at any moment and mete out divine punishment.

But…

Not anymore, Sky.

Michael Silbert smiled softly.

In his youth, he had been neither particularly strong nor particularly weak beside the other heroes. Now he had returned, his strength beyond anyone’s denial.

And what about you?

Cheon Taemin—the man Michael had revered and feared, the man who had forced him to lie low for fear of attracting his notice—was gone.

All he could do now was remain as a record in this place and watch Michael, who would soon ascend the throne.

“I’ll take the place where you once stood.”

The words came out full of elation.

Grrrnnng.

The tightly shut door opened. Light spilled through the gap, along with a voice.

“What a load of bullshit. What a load of bullshit.”