Chapter 5

Chapter 5
Chapter: 005

Chapter Title: Freelancer’s Path

—

Yoon Sung-hyun halted for a moment at my remark, gave his hair a thoughtful scratch, and began to explain.

“Since you aren’t an academy alum, I’ll give you the shorthand. Hunters within a corporate structure generally fall into three tiers: Junior, Senior, and Partner.”

Freshly signed hunters start their journey as Juniors, eventually promoting to the Senior rank once they’ve cut their teeth on the field.

Functionally, Juniors and Seniors are on the same level; both work in units commanded by Partner Hunters and draw a regular paycheck.

These two ranks receive a set yearly salary from the firm, supplemented by various performance-based bonuses outlined in their individual agreements.

“Partner Hunters are different; they don’t draw a salary but hold equity in the firm and claim a portion of the company’s total earnings.”

Partners are the ones who actively hunt for contracts from state agencies or private firms to venture into Erosion Zones and neutralize Erosion Cores. They either spearhead their own squads of Juniors and Seniors or assign them to handle these objectives.

Listening to this, I let out a soft exclamation of realization.

“It’s structured almost exactly like a law firm…”

“Spot on. I’ve heard the pioneer who started the first hunter corporation used legal firms as his blueprint. It isn’t a perfect mirror, but the logic holds.”

If you think about it, attorneys taking on legal suits and hunters accepting monster commissions are cut from the same cloth.

By that logic, a hunter who isn’t signed to a corporation is essentially a solo practitioner.

After weighing the options, I made my choice.

“I appreciate the proposal. However, I’m going to need some time to process everything before I commit to a decision.”

Yoon Sung-hyun gave a relaxed, low laugh.

“Did you suspect I was going to force a pen into your hand right this second?”

He then firmly gripped both of my shoulders, locking his gaze onto mine.

“Just make sure you weigh your options with extreme care.”

It was hard to tell if he was trying to entice me or threaten me. Given the sudden shift in the room’s tension, the best I could manage was a polite smile.

“I certainly will.”

I found this atmosphere stifling. There was absolutely no chance I was signing with Taebaek.

Once Yoon Sung-hyun made his exit, I reached out to Lee Se-eun to find out what Zanabi had to offer.

— I’m currently at Oduak on the association building’s second floor. Sending you the coordinates now.

The line went dead immediately after the message. I made a beeline for the location she specified.

Oduak wasn’t some rustic shack; it was a global café franchise. Word was they operated around 280 outlets across the globe. I recalled their flagship being situated in Ikseon-dong.

As I neared the doorway, an employee stepped out to intercept me.

“Greetings. My apologies, but Oduak is reserved for members and up to three of their guests.”

“Lee Se-eun instructed me to meet her here.”

The mention of her name made the employee’s posture shift instantly. After a quick digital verification, they gave a respectful nod.

“Everything is in order. Please follow me to her table.”

Trailing behind them, I eventually found Lee Se-eun focused on draining an iced chocolate through her straw.

“Have a seat.”

“Exactly as you predicted, one of them showed up.”

“Yoon Sung-hyun from Taebaek. Typical. When Taebaek marks a target, the other firms usually stay clear.”

“But I assume Zanabi operates differently?”

Based on my research, they were the only ones who could truly go toe-to-toe with Taebaek in terms of prestige and power. Lee Se-eun blinked in surprise, then let out a sharp laugh.

“I have zero interest in recruiting you to the firm.”

“Excuse me?”

I was thrown. Wasn’t her entire purpose here to find talent for her organization? Had I completely misread the situation?

“What do you think about bypassing the companies entirely? Going out as a freelance operator.”

“That’s a curveball, but I’m listening. Tell me more.”

Lee Se-eun cracked her knuckles, her eyes narrowing as she looked at me.

“Taebaek offered you a Junior slot, didn’t they?”

“They did. They described it as being similar to a law firm setup.”

She nodded, clearing her throat before continuing.

“You don’t actually have to climb the Junior and Senior corporate ladder to reach the status of a Partner Hunter.”

I paused to process that, and then the realization hit me. “I see.”

“You get it. You build your own reputation and a mountain of independent results.”

This prompted her to dig into her pocket again, fishing out a piece of candy to offer me. What was her deal? Was she trying to take me out via blood sugar spikes?

Since it was a gesture of goodwill, I accepted it.

“Juniors and Seniors are essentially office workers with swords. At those levels, you’re always a cog in a Partner Hunter’s machine, following orders with very little personal freedom.”

“That is a significant drawback.”

She flashed a playful, slightly devious grin.

“Which is why I’m giving you this tip: stay away from the big firms for now. Handle commissions on your own.”

I looked at her, clearly conflicted. I could sense her sincerity, yet the logistics didn’t add up.

Working solo without the backing of a major house?

“Where exactly is a solo act supposed to find work?”

The hurdle was credibility. Without a professional network or a history of success, a rookie like me would find it nearly impossible to secure high-value contracts.

She gestured to herself with a confident thumb.

“I’ll be your bridge, no commission fee required. If you successfully clear a few jobs with my backing, the offers will start coming to you directly.”

“Why put in this much effort for me?”

She didn’t hesitate.

“Down the road, when your achievements and fame make you a prime candidate for a Partner-level recruitment… I want you to remember that Zanabi was there for you.”

“You’re playing the long game. Putting me in your debt early.”

She used her straw to stir the remains of her drink.

“The world requires elite hunters. I don’t believe every single one of them needs to wear a Zanabi badge. Whether it’s now or in the future, if you aren’t interested, I won’t pressure you.”

“Are you some kind of secret philanthropist?”

She sounded like someone obsessed with charity. She gave a dry, cold chuckle.

“Hunters provide more value to society on the front lines than they ever could at a soup kitchen. I do my fair share of sponsoring, but I’m a busy woman. I have plenty of capital, but no spare time.”

That was a hard point to argue against.

“I appreciate the guidance. To be honest, I was already leaning toward a solo path anyway—it fits my personality better.”

I had spent forty-five years as a corporate drone answering to supervisors. Returning to that kind of life felt like a step backward.

“Excellent. Stay put for a moment.”

She placed a quick call and began extracting various files from her bag. Five minutes later, she pushed a set of documents across the table.

“What am I looking at?”

“A contract from Incheon City. It concerns Gyodongdo Island—an Erosion Zone that stabilized two years ago after a failed attempt to neutralize the center.”

“You want me to take out the Erosion Core?”

She looked at me with a soft, almost patronizing expression, as if I were a child showing off.

“Neutralize the core… you certainly have the spirit. The primary core at Gyodongdo—the Alpha—remains unranked.”

Erosion Cores are classified into four tiers: 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and unranked.

The first core to appear in a specific territory is given the ‘Alpha’ designation.

“Since these cores grow in power the longer they exist, the Alpha of any given region is invariably the most lethal threat.”

I nodded in agreement. That followed a logical progression. I turned my attention back to the paperwork.

The city of Incheon was looking for scouts to patrol the area and eliminate any secondary cores that might have surfaced. While I scanned the details, Lee Se-eun chimed in.

“The zone was swept three months ago, so any new cores that popped up should still be unranked.”

The mission required a total of 72 hunters. The compensation was 5 million upfront with a 15 million bonus upon completion. The assignment was a one-week patrol of Gyodongdo.

The start date was one month from today.

Earning 20 million for a week of labor was a solid deal—enough to resolve my immediate financial stress.

“Though, looking at the potential danger, the compensation feels a bit lean.”

“It’s a government contract. Beyond the cash, you’re building a relationship with Incheon City Hall.”

It turned out that many lower-ranked hunters took these jobs specifically for the political leverage.

“One month away.”

That gave me plenty of prep time. She finished her chocolate and stood up.

“And don’t forget—in the freelance world, there are plenty of individuals who completely outshine corporate hunters.”

She explained that certain contracts required a single, elite tank rather than a battalion of average soldiers.

“If a firm finds a task they can’t handle internally, they hire outside specialists.”

So even solo hunters had to play well with others occasionally.

“The way you’re treated changes, though.”

She pulled on her overcoat.

“Amass power, amass fame. Reach the point where having you on a team is considered a privilege or even a marketing win. Do that, and the discrimination disappears.”

“Thank you again for everything.”

I had one month before I became a full-time hunter.

“One more thing—the association building has private training facilities, doesn’t it?”

“They’re all fully booked. Were you looking for one?”

I shook my head.

“I don’t want to bump someone else out of their slot.”

“It’s my personal allocation from the association. I’m heading back to Cheorwon, so the room is just sitting there empty.”

The association gave her the room as a formality for her status; she never actually touched it.

“In that case, I’ll take you up on that.”

She tapped away at her smartphone, transferring the access credentials to me via the app.

With that, our meeting concluded.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

After parting ways with Yoo Chan-seok, the first individual Lee Se-eun contacted was Kang Hoon, the leader of Zanabi’s 1st Team—the firm’s founder and a fellow Partner Hunter.

Kang Hoon was a man currently bound by a state contract, tasked with holding the line against the tide of monsters pouring from the Erosion Zone north of Paju and hunting down their cores.

— Did you find anyone worth noting?

“Beyond just ‘worth noting’—I found Yoo Chan-seok.”

As she drove back toward her assigned zone, she gave Kang Hoon a full debrief.

— He lasted over four hours? That’s significant.

“Significant doesn’t do it justice. You’d have to actually trade blows with him to grasp his ceiling.”

Lee Se-eun was still processing the lingering shock of their encounter.

A single step of his covered more ground than ten frantic sprints. One of his spear strikes was more efficient than ten standard lunges.

There was no wasted energy, no mindless clashing of blades. And then, there was that black flame.

She still hadn’t been able to fully decipher its properties or what it was capable of doing.

— He’s that impressive? Keep in mind you were suppressing your own strength.

“Boss, I’ve been doing this for ten years. Ten years of surviving the worst hellholes on the planet.”

Even if their raw power levels were synchronized, their sheer combat intuition should have been leagues apart.

“I should have been able to play with him like a toy. Lasting four hours against me? That’s unheard of.”

If she were to face that academy girl Kang Hoon had labeled as a top prospect under the same equalized conditions, she would have ended the fight in less than sixty seconds.

— What happens if he eventually reaches your tier?

“It might sound like an exaggeration, but… if Yoo Chan-seok ever reaches my level of power, he might be capable of taking even you down, Boss.”