In truth, when it comes to human physical ability, once you reach a certain threshold there isn’t much of a gap.

Even in the Olympic 100-meter dash, the difference between gold and silver can be less than 0.1 seconds.

Combat power required of a Hunter works the same way.

Sometimes a person may display a strikingly exceptional talent in one area, but in the end their ability converges back to the natural limits of being human.

So once an individual has passed the school’s required tests and received a combat-apt certification, each Hunter’s combat ability is regarded as essentially equal.

The reason Chinese Hunters are evaluated as weaker is because China handed out Hunter qualifications without any meaningful filter.

But those who survived repeated battles, tempered by real combat, weren’t so different from us.

So then, what makes an outstanding Hunter?

There are many factors, but I personally believe it’s the ability to adapt flexibly to whatever situation arises.

Those who can’t do that—when they face an unforeseen circumstance—end up all dead, or maimed so badly they never return to the field.

Wuuuung—wuuuung—

The Dungeon-type is calling its kin.

It looks like Oh Hee-tae has no intel on Dungeon-types.

“What the hell is that sound? Huh? Nobody knows?”

He could’ve found out, had he bothered to gather the information.

But clearly he didn’t.

Just looking at the flashy decal stickers plastered on their rifles tells the story well enough.

They’d been basking in the privileges handed out by Jeon Si-hoon, drunk on newfound power and swaggering around.

Si-hoon’s clique was never full of diligent kids.

They were the ones pushed out of the mainstream for one reason or another, then clustered together.

Groups like that are usually full of gripes and laziness, prone to shirking responsibility.

“Sang-hyun said a monster was moving this way?”

“What?”

“N-no, I’ve heard it! Heard talk about a monster that calls others, from those Old School guys!”

The situation only worsens by the second.

While the Dungeon-type is summoning allies in real time, Oh Hee-tae and his followers flail about, not knowing what to do.

I stood quietly in the corner, watching him.

Soon he noticed me again, glaring wide-eyed.

“What did you do?! What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing.”

I let a faint smile touch my lips.

“Remember? I’m just a powerless nobody.”

Bloodshot veins rose in Oh Hee-tae’s eyes. He had no rebuttal.

“You set something up, didn’t you? Huh?”

“Didn’t you run a clearing operation?”

I fixed him with a steady gaze.

“Clearing doesn’t just mean sweeping minions and dismantling structures. Doesn’t it also mean checking for hostile humans or traps left behind?”

It was a textbook point.

Yes, the largest share of pre-hunt prep is killing off minions and cutting down the labyrinth they’ve built—but equal care must be taken for potential terrorist threats from humans.

“...”

Oh Hee-tae shut his mouth.

Because he knew it.

That all of it was his responsibility.

On the battlefield, every mishap falls on the leader’s head.

Thud!

A reminder from our waiting “guests.”

The two dormant Dancer-types further inside.

One was already stirring, while minions skittered across the floor toward us.

Ratatatatat!

Gunfire erupted from Hee-tae’s guards behind us.

“What are you doing!” Oh Hee-tae screamed.

“They’re coming this way!”

“It’s not us!” the guards snapped back.

The confusion wasn’t theirs alone.

His earpiece was spitting chaotic chatter nonstop.

“Damn it!”

He ripped the earbud out.

He wanted to hurl it, clearly, but those earphones were expensive even before the war—nowadays they traded higher than gold by weight.

Grinding his teeth, he shoved them into his pocket.

Then he looked at me again.

“What the hell’s happening? You know, don’t you?”

It’s common: those drunk on their own pride, when cornered, turn to the very person they ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) scorned.

“Dungeon-type.”

I pointed to the ground.

“Dungeon-type?”

“It creates a literal dungeon underground, lures people in, and summons nearby monsters.”

Just then, someone burst in through the warehouse door.

“Ex—Ex—!”

A bespectacled woman, thinly dressed. Likely one of the drone-monitoring staff who stayed in the vehicles.

“Executioner-type!”

Hee-tae clicked his tongue.

Executioners aren’t easy foes, even for Awakened.

Though they can’t deploy reflection fields, they compensate with bolstered defense and shotgun-like projectile attacks—enough to push even trained Awakened teams into hard fights.

“Two of them! From different directions! Coming down the road!”

Hee-tae’s face went pale.

Even an arrogant brat couldn’t fail to grasp how dire this was.

He turned back to me.

“...What do we do?”

And there it was—the true face of this so-called knight.

Neither a real Hunter nor even a proper adult.

Just another “adult-child” among countless others.

I gave a slight nod.

“We need to take out the one below. Unless you’d prefer to fight every monster within ten kilometers.”

“The D-dungeon-type? You got a ref?”

“I took one down in China.”

A lie.

But it landed because, despite looking down on me, some part of him did trust me.

“Lead the way.”

And so a new mission began.

For all his bluster, he was still a Knight.

When one of the Dancer-types lurched closer—

Boom!

He invoked his power, sketching dozens of white lines in the air, which flared into lattices of ashen flame.

Caught in that blazing net, the Dancer burned, lost balance, and soon dissolved into motes of light.

That alone pushed my survival odds up.

Two Dancers are trouble. One I can handle in close combat—risky, but not impossible.

“At this point, we need the basement entrance.”

I knew where it was, of course, but feigned ignorance.

The thirsty man digs the well.

“Too many minions inside!”

“What about the other Dancer? Shouldn’t we clear it preemptively?”

When his underlings—until just now smirking—began to whine,

“Move! Move your asses! Now!”

Hee-tae’s eyes bulged, his voice cracking with fury.

At once, the “smiling friends” remembered they were mere lackeys, and slunk off grim-faced to search the darkness.

“Here!”

Soon they found the basement door.

The Dungeon-type’s hum still reverberated, summoning monsters, but the other Dancer hadn’t moved yet.

“What next?”

“I’ll take point.”

Shrrk—

I drew my axes again.

The Knight and his henchmen followed.

Not ideal, but expected.

As we walked through the ashen-gray tunnel, Hee-tae asked nervously,

“What is this place?”

“The monster itself. Its body’s at the far end.”

“R-really?”

He glanced at the walls—muted gray flesh fused with human concrete.

Thoom!

He cast shockwaves ahead, sketching bright lines.

His clenched fist birthed searing rifts of fire, weaving a net in the air.

But it didn’t touch the core waiting in the depths.

“I’ve got the measure of it. I’ll finish it.”

He tried to take the lead.

I blocked him.

His eyes—sharp enough to cow kids his age—meant nothing here.

I shook my head and showed why.

Drew in every nerve, bracing for invisible blades—

Shhht!

Klang!

My old companions, the twin axes, answered.

A transparent blade had been aimed at my heart—but halted against steel, quivering.

“...Whoa!”

The young ones behind me gasped.

“Wh-what is it? A minion?”

“No. That’s its trap.”

Then I noticed—the camera was still rolling.

Brought along to capture my disgrace, but instead recording my skill.

Hee-tae saw my look, and snapped at the cameraman.

“Turn it off.”

We pushed on in silence, death at our heels.

Blades kept slicing out—

Shhh! Klang!

Annoying, but manageable.

This was no harder than breaking capsules had been.

Capsules forced hesitation even when you knew where the strike would come; this monster’s blows were honest, nothing hidden.

Fast as bullets? Then maybe not—but this was merely quick.

Generous mercy, courtesy of the Rift.

From behind came more awed murmurs.

They were realizing what Old School Hunters truly were.

Before the Awakened appeared, we had been the elite. National heroes, even. A degree, a bit of training, and you climbed into the ranks the upper class respected.

Even someone like Lee Sang-hoon had shared my classroom, and Kim Da-ram—another orphan like me—had married into a promising medical family.

Whatever our fall since, we had once been the most watched, most celebrated of our generation.

We had been the best.

And these brats?

Nothing.

Just lottery winners, anointed by the Rift, thinking that gave them dominion over others.

Scoffing at their elders, trying to tear down the world adults built.

...

The tunnel stretched on, perhaps halfway now.

I raised my hand.

Hee-tae, wracked by envy, spite, and unease, finally snapped, voice sharp,

“What is it?”

“I threw out my back.”

“Your back?”

“A herniated disc. Comes with age.”

Supporting my waist with one hand, I looked back at the kids.

“Someone else mind clearing a bit further? Just a little.”

They hesitated.

I let my eyes sweep across them—and dropped my prepared line.

“After all, Old School Hunters did it.”

Hee-tae’s brow twitched.

He sneered, then barked at one lackey.

“Jung-tae. Think you can handle it?”

Birds of a feather.

Bullies attract bullies.

The thug looked confused, then smirked, drawing a machete.

“Sure. If even a washed-up Old Schooler can.”

Swaggering, he strutted forward.

He even managed to parry one blade, trying to show off.

But fear and regret were written plain on his face.

Some men are like that—pride rules their souls.

He covered it with a scoff and pressed on.

No second miracle came.

A cluster of transparent blades skewered him.

“Jung-tae!”

And luck, perversely, favored me.

Seeing one die, the rest—guards and cameraman—bolted.

At first it looked like a proper retreat.

But from near the entrance rose a scream.

“Aaaahhh!”

Dungeon traps regenerate over time.

That was the core of my plan.

The monster itself shields me.

Ironic, but what choice do I have?

If someone bares their fangs to kill me, why should I meekly comply?

I’ll use whatever I can. Even monsters.

Now only two remained: the cameraman and Oh Hee-tae.

The cameraman had a pistol, but little experience.

So really, only Hee-tae.

Of course, above us still waited thirty more—but they weren’t my concern.

“This is it.”

“Huh?”

The boy still hadn’t realized his fate.

“I think this is where it ends.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean we’re all dead here.”

Finally, something dawned on him.

His face blanked with shock, then twisted in rage.

“You rotten has-been! You lured us here, didn’t you?! You woke that thing up, didn’t you?!”

I said nothing.

Voices leave records.

But meaning can be conveyed without words.

With a thin smile, for example.

Shrrk—

He drew his rapier—the épée.

And, predictably, signaled the cameraman.

The boy switched the camera on, light casting us in a spotlight.

Hee-tae posed, his stance lofty.

“I am a Knight.”

His gleaming point leveled at me.

“Face me fairly, Professor.”

It was almost noble—if not for the absurdity of staging this farce now.

I chuckled.

“You know Jang Ki-young?”

“Who the hell is that?”

Thoom!

Shockwaves rattled from above.

The other Dancer was waking. Soon both would join the party.

Ratatatat! Bang! Bang!

Gunfire, mingled with dying screams, filled the air.

I gestured to Hee-tae.

“My mentor.”

“Mentor?”

“Yeah. Old-fashioned, selfish—like you. But at least his heart to defend humanity from monsters was true.”

I leveled my gaze.

“So what are you? What are you people?”

“What the hell are you saying?!”

“I’m asking if you’ve ever once thought of protecting people with that precious power of yours.”

“Fuck you!!”

Hee-tae screamed.

“Eat shit!”

He lunged, thrusting fast and sharp.

Not bad.

But—

Klang!

The match was over in an instant.

Crack!

My axe split the Knight’s skull.

His weapon was superior, but the gulf in experience was wider.

And his oversized pectorals only slowed him further.

Eyes wide, the Knight rushed headlong into cardiac arrest.

“Hee-tae!”

The cameraman fumbled for his pistol.

His hands shook so badly his aim wandered.

Laying the corpse down, I said calmly,

“A fair duel, wasn’t it? And besides—”

I turned.

Shhh! Klang!

Parrying another blade, I looked at the trembling boy.

“You’re all going to die anyway.”

He froze, then bolted.

I hoped luck favored him.

Beside the Knight’s body, I closed my eyes.

I had no intention of destroying the monster’s core.

Not yet.

Ratatatat! Bang! Bang! Bang!

The fight above wasn’t over.

Until then—

Shhh! Klang!

I would remain here, among the corpses and blades, until the world fell silent.

And think, in the meantime, of what to do next.

Ratatatatatat! Bang! Bang! Bang!

The party had only just begun.

I tapped out a short Morse signal for the Defender siblings.