Chapter 7

Chapter 7
## Chapter 7: Shattering Self-Importance

It was a remarkable display of stripping someone of their dignity. I wondered how Han Sang-ah’s superior would handle such a blunt dismissal.

“Uh… alright.”

To my surprise, he folded instantly. Han Sang-ah turned her attention back to me, her expression unreadable.

“It’s clear my senior has a grievance with you, so I’ve decided I want to join your team instead.”

“And your reasoning?”

Kim Min-je spoke up, his tone remarkably composed as he addressed my query.

“You possess greater strength than I do. I want the opportunity to observe your abilities firsthand.”

“You’re laying the flattery on a bit thick,” I countered. “It’s actually a little embarrassing.”

Han Sang-ah didn’t miss a beat.

“Gold reaches its melting point at 1,064 degrees Celsius. If you actually gilded your face, you’d be dead long before the embarrassment set in.”

“Good grief.”

There was no denying it; this woman was eccentric. Still, a team shuffle was in order. Given the choice between a senior hunter who clearly harbored a grudge and Han Sang-ah—who, despite her quirks, seemed mentally sound enough—the choice was easy.

At the very least, she didn’t radiate malice.

“If a transfer is on the table, I’m in favor of it,” I agreed.

Han Sang-ah gave a single, decisive nod.

“I’ll see to the arrangements immediately.”

She stepped away for a brief moment, returning shortly with a look of finality.

“It’s done. I am now a member of Group 8.”

“Wait… weren’t you going to consult me on this?” her senior asked, his voice laced with hesitation.

Han Sang-ah turned to him with cool logic.

“This change involves three people: myself, Yoo Chan-seok, and you, Senior. Two of us are in total agreement. If there is a valid reason to veto this majority consensus, please present it now.”

The democratic requirement had been met.

“…No, there isn’t one.”

“Then we are finished here. Senior, you are reassigned to Group 3.”

The restructuring was handled with surgical precision. Without hesitation, Han Sang-ah took a seat beside me as if she had belonged there all along.

“Tell me, do you have any proficiency with a blade?”

I didn’t offer a verbal reply; instead, I simply rapped my knuckles against the shaft of my spear. Han Sang-ah let out a thoughtful hum, processing the gesture.

“Judging by the resonance against the wood, it’s a high-quality weapon. However, that doesn’t quite answer what I asked.”

I took a slow breath, closing my eyes for a second.

“The spear is my primary discipline.”

“I’m aware. Your duel with Lee Se-eun was quite a spectacle. I found it impossible to look away.”

The conversation felt like it was circling a drain. I opened my mouth to redirect her, but the arrival of a speaker on the auditorium stage cut me off. We were subjected to a formal expression of gratitude and a redundant recap of the mission briefing.

—That concludes the briefing. We hold high hopes for your performance. May you all find success and return safely.

With the formalities concluded, we stood and exited the hall. Each group boarded their designated vessels, setting a direct course for the ominous shores of Gyodongdo Island.

“Quite a view.”

As we approached, a heavy, oppressive sensation settled over me. As the silhouette of the island sharpened on the horizon, the atmosphere among the hunters grew thick with apprehension.

For a few, the tension had clearly curdled into genuine dread. They were likely the ones with less field experience under their belts.

“You seem remarkably unfazed by the sight,” Han Sang-ah remarked.

Fear is a luxury I lost long ago. I’ve walked through the depths of human depravity, survived natural catastrophes, and stared into the abyss of true perdition.

“It’s just a bleak piece of land,” I replied.

Turning this place into a tourist destination would be a monumental task in its current state. That was the extent of my concern.

“Landing in ten minutes.”

The boatman’s shout spurred everyone into a flurry of activity. Men began checking their gear, tightening armor plates, or offering quiet prayers to whatever gods they favored.

Hunters exist in the constant shadow of mortality—either watching their peers fall or delivering death to monsters. I couldn’t find it in me to mock their superstitions if it gave them the steady hand they needed.

“We’ve hit the shore.”

Our boots hit the sand at the southern edge of Gyodongdo. Nearby, a derelict pension stood like a tombstone, its rotted doors groaning as the wind whistled through the gaps.

“What’s the hold-up? If you’re here to work, get off the boat.”

I directed the command at the rest of my group and vaulted over the side. The other hunters, who had been paralyzed by the grim scenery, jolted into motion and followed my lead.

The moment the last of us stepped off, the boat turned and sped back toward the mainland without a second thought.

I checked my phone: 12:17 PM. Then, I turned to the hunter standing nearest to me.

“You there. What’s your specialty?”

The man blinked, shaking off his daze. “Ah… pyromancy. Fire.”

“What is your most reliable technique, and how long does it take you to manifest it at peak capacity?”

“Well… Fireball. It takes about 30 seconds to cast, I think?”

I fought back a grimace. *About* 30 seconds? It’s a binary state—either you have the timing down or you don’t. I wondered if he expected the monsters to wait for his “rough estimate.”

Han Sang-ah began to speak. “As for me—”

“I already have your numbers,” I interrupted. “Talisman inscription: 0.57 seconds. Preparation phase: 7.7 seconds. Deployment and strike: 0.13 seconds.”

Han Sang-ah stared at me, her eyes wide with genuine shock.

“How could you possibly… was there a stopwatch I missed? Even I wasn’t aware of those specific metrics.”

“Even if I explained the method, it isn’t something you could easily mimic.”

The mana present in the atmosphere vibrates with a rhythmic consistency that differs from the mana harnessed within a human body. By tracking those vibrations, one can maintain a sense of time more accurate than any mechanical clock.

However, once a person begins to cultivate their own internal mana pool, the ambient vibrations usually become too faint for them to sense.

Han Sang-ah remained quiet, absorbing the information.

“If there are no further interruptions, I’ll finish the plan.”

“Understood. Go ahead.”

Having assessed the capabilities of the others through a few more pointed questions, I laid out our objective.

“We have two specific sectors to survey over the next seven days.”

We had a week’s worth of rations and gear. The priority was establishing a base of operations.

“We’ll set up camp at Hwaga Temple and use it as our central hub.”

One of the hunters in the group scowled at me.

“And why exactly are we following your lead?”

“A standard civilian can reach the peak of Hwaga Mountain in roughly 30 minutes using the established path.”

For people with our physical enhancements, that 30-minute climb would take mere seconds.

“The peak is only 259.6 meters high, but the vantage point from Hwaga Temple provides a clear view of Eumneung-ri. From the very top, the entire Gyodong-myeon area is visible.”

I didn’t give him room to argue.

“There’s a chance the structure is compromised or sits near an Erosion Core, but if it’s clear, the temple buildings provide much better shelter than the open ground.”

It wasn’t a massive complex, but it was more than enough for a group of seven.

The man fell silent, his eyes searching for a rebuttal. I knew what he was thinking: *Why listen to a greenhorn on his first contract?* But my logic left him little room to maneuver.

“There are plenty of abandoned buildings right here. Why trek all that way? We’d just be risking an ambush by climbing a mountain for no reason.”

I looked at him. Was he worried about dying on a hillside like some common beast?

“There are seven of us. The hostiles aren’t moving in thousands.”

You don’t get ‘surrounded’ on a mountain that easily. If he wanted to refuse, he needed a better excuse than fear of the terrain.

“Regardless, I’m not interested in taking orders from an amateur who’s never seen the field.”

Experience. He was really trying to play the seniority card with me.

I simply shrugged. If he wanted to stay behind, that was his prerogative. I wasn’t about to waste energy dragging dead weight up a hill.

“What about the rest of you?”

Four of them moved to stand with the man who had challenged me. Only Han Sang-ah and the fire-user I’d spoken to earlier stayed by my side.

“If you run into trouble, use the comms to reach out.”

“And what about you three?”

I turned to the pyromancer.

“Can you maintain your flame as a light source?”

“Yes, easily.”

That was sufficient. I handed over the signaling flares and the launcher we’d taken from the boat to the other group.

“Take these. Though I doubt you’ll have much use for them if you’re staying put.”

Our squad had been whittled down to three. I searched my memory for the pyromancer’s name.

Right. Kim Min-je.

“Hunter Kim Min-je, I have to ask—why are you sticking with us?”

He took a moment to consider his answer.

“This is your first official deployment, isn’t it? I was concerned about leaving two novices to fend for themselves.”

He clearly believed his experience was necessary to keep us alive. A noble sentiment, if a bit misplaced.

“I appreciate the thought,” I said.

Han Sang-ah echoed the sentiment. Their internal mana signatures were roughly on the same level.

I couldn’t speak to the refinement of their techniques yet, but Han Sang-ah likely held the advantage in a real fight.

We gathered our kits and began the trek toward Hwaga Temple, puting the initial scouting on hold.

During the ascent, we stumbled upon a small encampment of creatures.

A pack of bat-headed goblins were huddled around a small fire, their crude bows and jagged spears propped up against nearby rocks.

“Small numbers.”

Twenty-two of them. I counted them again to be sure: exactly twenty-two. I looked at Kim Min-je.

“Take the opening shot.”

Kim Min-je took a steadying breath and raised his hand. I watched as he pulled mana from his core, focusing the heat into a growing sphere in front of his palm.

*I suspected his ’30-second’ estimate was an exaggeration, but…*

The energy density was impressive. Based on the mana fluctuations and the potential kinetic force of the spell, I adjusted our tactics on the fly.

“Change of plans. Our priority is to screen for Hunter Kim Min-je.”

“Why the shift?” Han Sang-ah asked.

“Given the enemy numbers, his area-of-effect damage is our most efficient tool for clearing the field.”

Engaging that many in melee would be a needless drain on our stamina.

“Ready,” Kim Min-je announced.

The sphere of fire streaked toward the unsuspecting goblins. Total casting time: 23.1 seconds.

My intuition was right; he was faster than he thought. The fireball impacted the center of the camp with a deafening roar. Six were vaporized instantly; three more were crippled by the blast.

“Start on the next one, Hunter Kim Min-je. We’ll keep them off you. Give us a sign before you release it.”

Based on his remaining mana, he had enough for several more of that magnitude. I gave Han Sang-ah a quick pat on the shoulder.

“I’m moving in. You hold the line.”

“I thought you said we were buying time?”

“We are. But I’m not doing it by standing still next to you.”

If the goblins managed to swarm Kim Min-je, the plan would fall apart. Buying time meant keeping them at a distance where he could fire safely.

“You stay here to act as his final shield. I’m going to dive into the center and keep them occupied.”

I didn’t wait for a rebuttal. I charged, spear leveled, straight into the chaotic swarm of goblins. They were still reeling from the explosion, frantically reaching for their gear.

“Kieeeek!”

The creatures that managed to grab their spears and bows let out high-pitched, piercing shrieks as they saw me approaching.

“Is that meant to be a greeting? Fine. Kieeeek right back at you.”

My goal wasn’t necessarily to rack up the kills myself. I just needed to tether them to my position so Kim Min-je could finish the job from the perimeter.

Kim Min-je provides the heavy ordnance, I provide the distraction, and Han Sang-ah provides the protection.

A division of labor only works if everyone fulfills their specific role. I have always preferred the path of maximum efficiency in combat.

A team shouldn’t function like a poorly managed group project where one person carries the entire load. That’s just a recipe for failure.

The timing was right. Kim Min-je was about to release his second shot.

“Clear out!” I shouted.

I had already anticipated the moment, leaping backward to create space just as the second explosion rocked the clearing.

As the flames subsided, the surviving bat-headed goblins were desperate. They ignored me entirely, trying to scramble past toward Kim Min-je.

“Not so fast.”

I wasn’t about to let that happen. I swung my spear in wide, punishing arcs like a staff, cutting off their lines of advance. A few managed to slip through the chaos.

But Han Sang-ah was waiting. She dispatched the stragglers with clinical efficiency before they could even get close to our caster.