Chapter 120

Chapter 120
## Chapter 120: The Paradox Flame Enigma

—

The confrontation between Yoo Chan-seok and Seong Si-hoon was being scrutinized by every sensor and diagnostic tool available at the testing site.

The Republic of Korea had undeniably achieved its current status as a global powerhouse through the contributions of hunters, yet that did not imply the state placed blind faith in them. They had spent years gathering exhaustive data on countless superhuman individuals and continued to do so with clinical precision. That massive reservoir of intelligence was now being weaponized to dissect the mechanics of this specific battle.

“What in the name of sanity is this?”

“System errors are cascading across the board. We’ve never encountered a signature like this.”

“You incompetent fool, what do you mean errors?!”

The confusion was unprecedented. It was a documented fact that Yoo Chan-seok did not retain mana within his physical vessel.

“We are currently mapping Yoo Chan-seok’s peak output. The analysis of his physical reinforcement based on that energy is nearing completion.”

The true anomaly, however, was that void-black fire. The Korean authorities possessed a database containing an incredible variety of mana signatures, and every single record was being cross-referenced to identify the nature of those black flames.

This setup was leagues beyond the equipment utilized during his previous bout with Choi Yeoreum. The Darakdae Training Grounds served as a vital national infrastructure, packed with the most sophisticated measuring instruments ever engineered. This wasn’t a mere video recording; it was a total breakdown of reality.

“No hits in the archives. Nothing even remotely similar. We can’t find a single data point that shares a common origin…”

“Stop hunting for precedents and start analyzing the live feed properly!”

The diagnostic process was failing. The flames wielded by Yoo Chan-seok exhibited properties that defied the laws of physics.

In contrast, breaking down Seong Si-hoon’s psychokinesis was relatively straightforward. At that moment, Seong Si-hoon was throwing devastating punches while completely entombed in a massive suit of kinetic armor. Each impact generated by those fists carried the destructive force of a five-story skyscraper collapsing at a speed of 300 km/h.

In reality, Seong Si-hoon was simply suspended at the core of the construct. The limbs of the mechanical titan were extensions of his will, dictated by psychokinesis. This allowed him to project world-shaking force without his own anatomy suffering the recoil.

“The impact sensors aren’t fluctuating. The values remain consistent.”

“But the target is just standing there taking it!”

Yoo Chan-seok was the variable that broke the logic of the room. Based on the calculated force of the strikes, he should have been reduced to a microscopic slurry instantly.

“The equipment is functioning perfectly. No hardware failures detected.”

The sensors confirmed it: every time the armored fist made contact, the horrific kinetic energy was registered. Yoo Chan-seok was indeed absorbing those nightmare-inducing blows with his own body. At least, that is what the screens dictated. Yet, the results were impossible. The reinforced flooring of the lab, which should have buckled under such pressure, remained pristine. Yoo Chan-seok, the man at the center of the storm, appeared entirely unharmed.

“What is actually happening out there?”

An observer tentatively raised a hand.

“If you recall… that armor plate he recovered from Siberia a while back…”

Its structural integrity had been compared to wet silt—a complete joke. They had run every test possible. The conclusion: no technical anomalies. Yet, despite the data saying the metal was sound, the material Yoo Chan-seok provided was so fundamentally compromised it could be pulled apart like soft dough by a child.

It was perfect, yet it was broken.

“What kind of irrational, self-contradicting nonsense am I looking at?”

The commanding officer overseeing the duel between Yoo Chan-seok and Seong Si-hoon whispered to himself, his gaze drifting aimlessly across a wall of monitors.

For Seong Si-hoon, who was trapped in the epicenter of this logical nightmare, the experience was maddening.

“You can’t defend against pure kinetic impact using mana resistance.”

Only the physical shell of Seong Si-hoon’s armor was being spared by the Paradox Flame. He was unable to coat the actual force of his movements—the raw momentum—with mana-based protection.

“You arrogant prick.”

As the giant armor hoisted its limb, the Paradox Flame clinging to the metal flared with renewed hunger. When the fist swung toward Yoo Chan-seok, the fire roared. However, when the strike landed squarely on Yoo Chan-seok’s chest, it left not a single bruise.

“Stay focused. Stay composed.”

Seong Si-hoon hissed the words to anchor his fraying psyche. Every accolade, every title, and every ounce of respect he owned hadn’t been gifted to him. He had earned them through grueling, unending labor. He believed in the merit of his own power. He fought to convince himself, with every fiber of his being, that his history of victory would not end here.

It was then that Yoo Chan-seok’s voice cut through the air.

“It’s a perfect reflection of who you are. Cowering inside a metal coffin, praying that the shell keeps you safe.”

Yoo Chan-seok taunted him, effortlessly absorbing another world-ending blow.

“The second you finished constructing that Taebaek fortress to hide your insecurities, you became a prisoner in it. Like a maggot in a jar. It’s pathetic.”

Yoo Chan-seok lunged, his spear slamming into the breastplate of the armor surrounding Seong Si-hoon. The tip failed to penetrate the thick plating.

“You’re a fraud.”

Yoo Chan-seok swatted away a barrage of metal projectiles launched from the armor’s shoulders as he continued his verbal assault.

“You’re nothing but a coward, terrified that someone might come along and reclaim the wealth you stumbled upon by luck.”

“Shut your damn mouth!”

Naturally, Yoo Chan-seok had no intention of falling silent. Seeing that his barbs had found their mark, he pressed the advantage.

“You have zero self-belief. Do you know why? It’s simple—deep down, you know you only made it this far because the universe rolled the dice in your favor.”

“Don’t make me laugh. If that’s the case, then both of us are just lucky bastards!”

Yoo Chan-seok let out a sharp, mocking laugh at Seong Si-hoon’s retort.

“If some deity approached me in my sixties and offered me a deal: ‘I’ll give you the body of a twenty-year-old right now, but you lose everything you’ve ever built.’ What do you think I’d say?”

*CRACK!* The sound of the spear hitting the armor echoed through the chamber. Friction ignited the air, and the resulting shockwave forced both combatants to skid backward.

“I’d take that deal in a heartbeat. I trust my own ability to get it all back. Swapping a decaying body for youth? That’s a winning bet every time.”

“You’re full of it. It’s easy to talk big about impossible scenarios. It’s just empty noise.”

Yoo Chan-seok flashed a grin. From his perspective, the irony was delicious. He had actually made that exact trade. In fact, he was the one who had proposed it.

The two exchanged a flurry of violent strikes. Suddenly, the ring on Yoo Chan-seok’s finger began to pulse with a chilling blue light. Over the heavy armor, which was currently surging with red energy like a turbulent sea, a layer of white frost began to creep. The mechanical movements of the suit began to stutter and drag.

“You really are miserable.”

In truth, Yoo Chan-seok didn’t harbor any deep-seated hatred for Seong Si-hoon. This entire monologue was a calculated tactic to shatter the man’s focus. The idea that others can replicate your own unique journey is a fallacy easily dismantled by logic. Regardless, Yoo Chan-seok’s biting rhetoric was doing an excellent job of flaying Seong Si-hoon’s ego.

“Terrified of losing your status, terrified of a bigger fish entering the pond. You have no vision, no purpose. You just want to gorge yourself like a prize pig and rot in comfort, hoping the status quo never shifts.”

Yoo Chan-seok spoke with the chilling authority of someone who had read Seong Si-hoon’s diary. Nothing enrages a person more than being accurately summarized by an enemy.

“You bottom-feeder.”

As the insults flew, the violence escalated. The subterranean floors of the Darakdae Training Grounds, built with an astronomical amount of national funding, were being reduced to gravel. To put it mildly, this facility was engineered to survive a tactical nuclear strike—and yet it was failing to contain the fallout of this duel.

“I’m going to tear that tongue out of your head!”

“If you had the talent to do it, you’d have finished this an hour ago.”

As the battle stretched into its third hour, the commander monitoring the feed placed a call through a highly encrypted channel.

“Looking at the current trajectory, Yoo Chan-seok holds the upper hand. Though, the duration of the remaining conflict is unpredictable.”

— *Understood. Continue harvesting every byte of data possible.*

The voice on the other end was calm. If Yoo Chan-seok won, it meant Taebaek would finally fall in line for the Samhuldong purge.

— *If the Headhunter manages to sanitize Samhuldong, it will significantly lower the public’s hysteria regarding Erosion Zones.*

“Indeed.”

The era of controlling the masses through the fear of Erosion Zones was nearing its end. The public would soon demand the restoration of utility services and the abolition of martial law curfews. The government needed to start preparing for a post-fear society.

—

My engagement with Seong Si-hoon had finally settled into the rhythm I dictated. A furious rival is a wasteful rival; they burn through mana like a furnace with the door open. I had successfully turned a sprint into a grueling three-day marathon of attrition.

For seventy-two hours, we had traded blows within the confines of this laboratory. By now, the place was a total wreck.

“Hah… huff…”

*Thud.* A heavy chunk of the psychokinetic armor detached and hit the floor with a metallic ring. Seong Si-hoon’s mana reserves were bottoming out.

“There’s no point in dragging this out, is there, CEO Seong Si-hoon?”

Lethal force wasn’t an option. This was an official spar. If a high-ranking hunter died under these circumstances, the fallout would be catastrophic. The inquests, the blame, the political theater—I didn’t need the headache. Moreover, it would provide the government, who already saw me as a nuisance, the perfect leverage to suppress me. No, thank you.

“I’m not… finished yet!”

“You can keep moving, sure. You just can’t win.”

He wasn’t lying; he still had some fight left in him. But he no longer possessed the explosive power required to overturn the massive deficit I’d built up.

“You have no path to victory, and the world isn’t going to end if you yield, right?”

Losing this fight wouldn’t trigger an apocalypse. The only consequence was that Taebaek would have to play ball during the Samhuldong operation. It was a wager, nothing more—like a friendly game of cards with low stakes.

“Clinging to your ego over something this minor just makes the defeat look more pathetic. Let’s call it a day.”

With a flick of my wrist, I retracted the spear and clipped it to my belt.

“Don’t forget the terms. If you lose once, you can lose twice. I’ll be expecting your confirmation.”

I had said my piece and secured the objective. There was no reason to linger. I scanned the devastation and let out a tired breath.

“Good grief, what a mess. When did this lab become an outdoor theater?”

The ceiling was gone, offering a clear view of the sky. The reconstruction costs and the logistical nightmare of explaining this to the public would be immense. It wasn’t my debt to pay, but I felt a flicker of sympathy for the bureaucrats who would have to file the paperwork.

I pushed off the floor and leaped, soaring toward the surface.

Ever since the subjugation of Jaun Valley, I had spent more time clashing with fellow hunters than with Erosion Cores. But this effectively settled the internal disputes.

“Time to focus on Samhuldong.”

With the government shifting its stance, I wasn’t sure how many hunters would actually volunteer for the front lines. But a three-man team wouldn’t cut it. I would have to make an effort to recruit.