Chapter 74

Chapter 74
## Chapter 74

I like to think I have a solid grasp on the mechanics of the human soul.

Experience has taught me one unbreakable rule: never place your expectations on others. It is a truth forged through years of living and the weight of my past.

Regardless of how many lives I manage to pull from the brink, it changes nothing. The grieving relatives and companions of those I couldn’t reach will still point their fingers at me, indifferent to the reality of the situation.

“The death toll reached 132.”

One hundred and thirty-two souls. It is only logical that a portion of the survivors would cast me as the villain. To be fair, I did personally end the lives of those who were technically still breathing.

That is the nature of humanity. Even when a situation is beyond hope and restoration is impossible, there will always be those who direct their fury at the person who delivered the final, merciful blow to a living being.

Was there truly no alternative?

Did Yoo Chan-seok pull the trigger with too much haste?

Surprisingly, the digital landscape was devoid of any malice or skepticism directed toward me. While such a clean record couldn’t possibly represent every individual’s private thoughts, the total lack of even a whisper of condemnation was eerie.

Under normal circumstances, there are always those driven by spite to dismantle anyone standing in the spotlight. Yet, in this moment, there wasn’t a trace of it. Not even a shadow.

This kind of silence doesn’t happen by accident. It is an impossibility. I arrived at a single, logical deduction.

The narrative is being managed by a higher power for future leverage—most likely the authorities.

They are likely muzzling the grieving families for the moment while methodically compiling a dossier. These testimonies and pieces of evidence are being archived for later use.

They will champion me as a savior and a paragon for as long as I serve their interests. Then, when my utility expires, they will unleash that reservoir of resentment and “verified” data to dismantle me.

It’s a gambit I’ve employed myself many times. This is exactly why I am currently making the rounds to offer apologies; I am pulling the rug out from under their scheme before it can even be laid.

“Visiting every family individually is going to be a lengthy process. While I’m occupied with that, Han Sang-ah and Jeong Oh-hoon, ensure you don’t slack on your training.”

After giving the order, I grabbed my outer layer and climbed into the vehicle. I let out a tired breath as I skimmed through the digital headlines on my device.

[External Threats Beyond the Erosion Zone. Blue House States: ‘National Solidarity is Paramount’]

[Blood in the Streets of Seoul: The Government’s Strategy for the Future]

[A Shaken Public, A Shift in State Policy.]

[The Last Bastion No Longer Untouchable? Navigating the Crisis Through Preparation and Unity.]

The bulk of the reporting centered on the chaos in the heart of the city, using my name as a recurring footnote to maintain interest.

The subtext was transparent: the people of Korea should prepare for a tax hike, while the interruptions to power and water would persist.

Any grievances regarding these hardships? They were dismissed with the rhetoric of: “The nation is under siege—is this really the time for petty complaints?”

If we don’t stand together, we fall together! The appeal to the collective spirit. It wasn’t a bad tactical move.

In truth, it wasn’t my concern. The administration wanted more resources and control over the populace. As long as they maintained the facade, they didn’t care about the ethics of their methods.

The irritation stemmed from them using my reputation as the sales pitch. I wasn’t about to be their puppet. This is the world I have to inhabit for the foreseeable future.

I made it a point to face all 132 families. As expected, some were reasonable and showed gratitude for the gesture.

“Get the hell out of here!”

Others met me with vitriol and physical aggression. I stood there and accepted the insults and the blows without retaliation.

They wept, they lunged, and they screamed—treating me as the physical manifestation of their loss and hopelessness.

“Are you doing alright? To be honest, I don’t believe Hunter Yoo Chan-seok should have to endure such treatment.”

A member of the press who had been trailing me asked this later on.

There was no reason to be upset. My apologies weren’t born from a desperate need for absolution. This was a calculated move to prevent these victims from being weaponized against me in the future.

The gratitude of the kind didn’t stir my heart, and the venom of the angry didn’t wound it.

“I’m fine,” I replied.

I offered the reporter a smile. He likely wouldn’t be so objective if the roles were reversed.

Would he be so quick to defend my actions if I had been the one to end the life of his spouse, his child, or his parents?

Not a chance. Whether this man respected me or loathed me was inconsequential. My objective wasn’t to save the few standing before me—it was to drag this entire world back to a state of normalcy.

And I had no intention of being the sacrificial lamb on Earth’s altar. That was the motivation behind this grueling apology tour.

“I’ll likely be tied up with this for a few more days. I appreciate your assistance.”

Returning to the Korea Hunter Association headquarters in Seoul, I bid the reporter farewell and exited the car.

“Well, given my standing, acting with a bit of madness is practically expected.”

I looked at my own reflection.

I took a brief look at the headquarters before making my way to the training facility where Han Sang-ah and Jeong Oh-hoon were waiting.

“Wow, you really put him through the wringer.”

Jeong Oh-hoon’s face was a map of bruises, a testament to Han Sang-ah’s brutal “guidance.”

“It’s difficult to replicate your movements. He kept failing to adjust,” she remarked.

Jeong Oh-hoon let out a muffled oath in response to her critique.

“You didn’t walk away unscathed either, though,” I noted.

“True.”

Han Sang-ah is a close-quarters specialist, while Jeong Oh-hoon operates best from a distance. The fact that he managed to land strikes on her was a positive sign.

“Regardless of the bruises, I feel incredibly agile,” Han Sang-ah said, stretching her limbs while ignoring the collapsed Jeong Oh-hoon. He glared at her before letting out a heavy, defeated sigh.

“My luck has truly run dry. Sorry, kid—maybe in another life. Your old man is probably going to meet his end right here.”

I clicked my tongue and struck the floor with the base of my spear. The vibration surged through the ground, forcing Jeong Oh-hoon to bolt upright in shock.

He looked at me as if I had performed a miracle.

“What was that? How did you pull that off?”

“Don’t worry about the details. Anyone can learn a few tricks with enough dedication. It’s nothing special.”

Like the condiment packet included with a meal.

“Jeong Oh-hoon, you can’t replicate that, can you?”

Han Sang-ah looked slightly intrigued. I shifted my gaze to her.

“Of course—while you two were busy, you think I was just sitting around doing nothing?”

Hardly. I had integrated a significant number of spirit pills and spent my time in rigorous refinement.

“So, what happens if we face that entity again—the one that emerged during the fight with So Hwi?”

Jeong Oh-hoon asked the question. That shambling horror that birthed insects. Valera, if I recalled correctly. I let out a soft sigh.

“Jeong, our path forward is going to be incredibly difficult.”

I am growing more powerful every moment, even while stationary, by filtering the ambient mana through my pathways. But this vessel still feels uncoordinated—nowhere near the level I require.

If I faced it today, I would perish. It only failed because it manifested through So Hwi’s form with a ticking clock—that was my only saving grace. It was a victory, but one won by a hair’s breadth.

“So, a Grade 1 Erosion Core could actually kill us if we slip up.”

I looked at Han Sang-ah with a grim expression.

“Without a doubt.”

Believing in your own immortality is a comfort that leads straight to the grave.

“We are all just fragile shells of meat and bone that can be snuffed out at any moment.”

If survival is the goal, discard false optimism and fight tooth and nail for every scrap of strength.

“Jeong, this might be unpleasant, but I need your cooperation with something.”

“Unpleasant? What does that mean?”

Some things are better felt than explained.

“If you’re truly against it, we can stop.”

I suspected he had the capacity. My intuition regarding the boundaries of power I’ve touched is rarely wrong. But I needed a confirmation.

“Is it lethal? I still have bills to pay.”

“It isn’t lethal. Just… uncomfortable.”

Jeong Oh-hoon gave a nod.

“Fine. How bad can ‘uncomfortable’ really be?”

I doubted he would hold that opinion for long. Regardless, since he consented, I would utilize his help.

The Paradox Flame began to dance at the tip of my weapon.

“Hold on, is that what you need me for?”

“There won’t be any lasting harm.”

We were set to enter the Grade 1 Erosion Core in Jaun Valley shortly. I had no desire to leave him incapacitated.

“Stay still. I’ll keep it controlled.”

“I know the script for this. ‘Stop, I don’t want this, please have mercy.'”

“Shouldn’t ‘don’t’ be the keyword there?”

The world knows those pleas are useless. Do predators actually stop because of a few words?

Probably the same fool who thought teaching children such phrases was effective.

Despite his verbal agreement, Jeong Oh-hoon didn’t actually cooperate. I had to physically ground him with a few precise movements before applying the Paradox Flame to his form.

“Gahhhh?!”

He let out a sharp cry before his expression went completely blank.

“What… what just happened? No, what did you… do to me?”

I watched him in silence for a moment before dousing the Paradox Flame. Han Sang-ah, observing with keen interest, spoke up.

“What exactly did you incinerate?”

Having fought alongside me, she had a general grasp of the flame’s properties.

“A thought.”

Han Sang-ah let out a low whistle.

“I assumed it would be his logic or something similar.”

“If I did that, he would be a vegetable permanently.”

Thoughts are merely the output of logic. If the source—the logic—remains intact, the thoughts can be rebuilt, much like the body produces more blood if the marrow is healthy.

“Are you capable of burning away logic itself?”

I shook my head. Perhaps I could once, but not in my current state. The core concepts that define a person—like logic or emotion—are incredibly resilient against incineration.

“Phew, maintaining control is still a struggle.”

I wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead and finished extinguishing the flames on him. The high threshold required for ignition makes it a demanding task.

Furthermore, the fact that he was still coherent proved that I couldn’t yet fully erase the cognitive processes of a human-level entity.

“What’s the risk if you lose your grip on it?”

“The dark fire would consume everything without restriction. Fire behaves like fire—it spreads. If it went far enough, the very concept of ‘thought’ could vanish from the world.”

That’s what people call a living hell, isn’t it? The Paradox Flame is my weapon, but it requires absolute precision.

There’s no point in saving the world if I accidentally incinerate the fundamental concepts that hold it together.