Special Rank Adventurer (1)
“Heh heh heh. Did you see that guy?”
“Yeah. He was totally deflated as he left. I wanted to get a look at his face, but that damn armor made it impossible.”
The adventurers were chattering noisily in the guild lobby. For them, killing time until a good commission popped up was a boring battle—and Kim Sung-tae’s recent appearance had been prime gossip fodder.
“Heh heh. What if there’s some ridiculously handsome guy hiding under that armor? That’s why the saintess fell for him at first sight. And that armor looked expensive as hell. Stolen, probably?”
“What good’s a pretty face if he’s such a wimp? Never seen a coward like that before.”
“More like an idiot. He must’ve heard the rumors, but didn’t catch a single one of our jabs.”
“Hey, hey. Idiots can’t pull off scams. Maybe he’s just clueless? Guys like that never get hints when you beat around the bush, right?”
“Hahaha!!! Yeah, exactly!!!”
The receptionist frowned at the adventurers’ backbiting. Not all adventurers who lived rough lives were like this, but dirty-mouthed ones like them cropped up now and then. To them, Sung-tae wasn’t remotely intimidating. Just as he’d suspected, they saw him as nothing more than a lowly C-rank con artist.
“That wolf beastkin with him looked pretty strong, though. S-rank, right?”
“Beastkin are such a pitiful race… So easy to fool. Sticking by a scammer like that as his girlfriend? With skills like hers? Tragic.”
“What if she comes for revenge? That con man might beg her to.”
“What are you worried about? S-rank might be rare, but this is Leblanc, remember?”
The man speaking slammed his badge down on the table with a loud thunk. The others chatting with him followed suit. Every badge bore the engraved letter S.
“S-rank is basic here, right? Oh, you’re still A-rank, huh?”
“Tch. I’ll rank up soon.”
“Haha! Hurry up and join us. The air up here tastes different.”
S-rank adventurers were rare and powerful. A newbie who’d only wandered rural towns might idolize them—imagine them as hero-level, reachable only by heaven-sent geniuses. But this was Leblanc, the city of adventurers. Here, S-rank wasn’t omnipotent; it was just a bit uncommon.
“Hey. Look over there. He’s back?”
As they trashed Sung-tae with gleeful abandon, a man entered the guild. None other than Kim Sung-tae himself, in his black armor.
“Oh, you’re back? The legendary trash…”
He’d meant to say “piece of shit,” but the A-rank adventurer couldn’t finish. The overwhelming pressure radiating from Sung-tae crushed his very soul.
“W-what the hell!?”
Skilled adventurers themselves, they sensed his power and drew weapons, going on guard. The haze behind the black armor looked like flames of rage ready to engulf them.
“You wanna go?”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m just here to check for decent commissions.”
“A mere C-rank like you? Nothing here you can take.”
“Eh, there was a mix-up when I got C-rank. Complacency’s a killer, y’know? Village guild folks droning on about rules…”
“Hey, con man. Save your bullshit scams for idiots.”
The S-rank adventurer who spat that saw it: Sung-tae closing the distance in an instant, looming like a mountain. The startled adventurer flailed back, swinging his weapon—but Sung-tae’s hand gripped it solid. Instead, the swing propped up the falling man like a lifeline.
“Watch your step. Wouldn’t want you to fall.”
“!?”
Staring at his seized sword, the adventurer felt massive dissonance and scrambled back. That had been an instinctive strike infused with mana. Even thick steel plate like a gauntlet should’ve been sliced. At worst, the shock would shatter bones or tear skin. But nothing? Either the armor was insanely good, or Sung-tae was a monster unfazed by his mana. (Both, actually—but the adventurer assumed the former.)
“Nice armor for a C-rank like you.”
“Huh? Suddenly jealous of my armor?”
“Where’d you get it? Given your track record… stolen?”
Covetous eyes met Sung-tae’s. Adventurers lusted after gear more than anyone. Better equipment meant higher survival odds and amplified strength.
“Guess we’ll have to investigate. Know what? In Leblanc, S-ranks handle security too.”
Greed for the armor sparked nitpicking. True, S-ranks did security—but only those who took the guild’s periodic commissions, regardless of rank.
His buddies watching the standoff rushed the receptionist, demanding the commission.
“We’ll take security duty right now. All of us.”
“But the numbers…”
“Fine, at least give it to this guy.”
The receptionist eyed the confronting adventurer, who nodded.
“Alright. Time for that inspection. Come quietly, or…”
He channeled mana into his sword; blue flames roared visibly. Not reflexive like before—this was killing intent.
“Or what?”
“Or we drag you. If you die? Not my problem.”
“Oh?”
Sung-tae grinned inside his helm. Them stepping up first? Perfect.
“Fine. Bring it.”
＊＊＊
“No regrets? Come quietly now, and I’ll forgive you.”
The adventurers followed Sung-tae outside, weapons aimed, faces grim. He was leaking power moderately, tensing them up—but they didn’t see it as his true strength, so none fled.
‘What’s with that armor? Fear effect? Insane add-ons.’
‘I want it. Piaz’ll claim it, but if I help… scraps for me.’
Glorious greed in their eyes. Sung-tae’s Black Oriharcon armor was priceless, unobtainable even with money.
‘…’
Sung-tae recalled the bandits from his first foray into human lands. Their leader had the same hungry look. And their end? Crystal clear in his memory.
“Not really in the mood. I earned this fair and square.”
“Where from?”
“Killed the Demon King and took it. You couldn’t get it if you slaved till you dropped dead.”
“Pfft!”
The standoff adventurer spat, bursting into held-back laughter. A C-rank killing the Demon King? Even with a hero, you’d die in the aftermath. And a hero handing over such armor? Zero chance. Heroes weren’t saints—they’d hoard it.
“How the hell do you scam with such nonsense? All bullshit.”
“Believe it or not, your call. But how about a wager?”
“What?”
“Lose to me, you quit adventuring.”
“What?”
Piaz, the lead S-rank, doubted his ears. Quit adventuring? Out of nowhere? He questioned Sung-tae’s sanity.
“Too one-sided for me. I’m innocent, but you’re bullying me into an ‘investigation’—which is just beating me down. Gimme something out of it.”
“Crazy bastard.”
“What? Scared you’ll lose? S-ranks ain’t shit.”
Ignored, Piaz’s vein throbbed. C-ranks were entry-level even for street toughs. This punk mocking industry vets? Time to break him. Forcing a grin, Piaz nodded.
“Fine. You win, we quit.”
“Oho. Real S-rank confidence!”
“That means…”
Blue flames danced wildly on Piaz’s sword.
“I decide!”
Dust exploded where Piaz stood—he vanished. Blinding speed to normals. Roaring blue flames slashed at Sung-tae. Piaz figured mana-charged strikes would cleave even god-tier armor.
‘Sliced giant ogre hide. Even if it doesn’t cut…’
Internal shock would pulverize. Not half-assed—full power would shatter bones and flesh.
‘Won’t kill him. Gotta heal quick after.’
Not conscience—killing in Leblanc would stain his S-rank record.
Worlds apart from C-rank speed and power. Seeing Sung-tae flinch, Piaz smirked inwardly: ‘Too slow for you.’ Pulling back, he aimed for the armpit gap.
‘Pierce a shoulder. End his adventuring dreams.’
“What’re you doing?”
“...?”
Piaz blinked at Sung-tae’s fingers pinching his blade. Not a fist—two fingers clamped it immovable, like in rock. His mana could split boulders, yet… The sword felt crushed under a mountain. Sung-tae loomed gigantic.
“That all?”
“How…”
“Take this!”
A familiar voice—Piaz dropped his sword and leaped back. Flames engulfed the spot, whirling like a storm.
“Armor blocks blades? Try heat! Even if it seals magic, flames consume air—you’ll suffocate!”
“Cocky con! Think we’re done?”
An archer nocked an arrow at Sung-tae’s helm. Released, wind-wrapped, it speared his eye. Wind hit flames—explosion boomed like a bomb.
Piaz winced. “Hey! Careful, everyone!”
Sung-tae dying? Fine. Collateral? They’d pay—and as lead on the commission, he’d foot it all.
“If it can’t take this, we don’t want it anyway.”
“True. Time to incinerate the trash inside.”
Piaz drew his spare sword, intent now on killing. He swung.
“Mana, gather!”
Mana pooled at the tip, launching as a spear into the helm. No mercy now. Kill, claim self-defense—he attacked first. Reputation dip? Fine. That pressure demanded this C-rank die.
‘Dare make me feel fear?’
Instinct screamed: kill now or regret.
“Die!”
Mana spear vanished into the helm. Piaz plunged into the scorching center.
“It’s over!”
Black armor stood charred, motionless. Surely incinerated. Final thrust—
“That all you got?”
“Gaaah!”
Black gauntlet seized Piaz’s wrist. Scorching Black Oriharcon grilled flesh like meat, smoke rising. Agony buckled him—but Sung-tae held firm.
“Pathetic. That obsessed with my armor? Bandits too—adventurers no different.”
“Guh… Aack!”
“Shut up.”
Sung-tae jammed fingers into Piaz’s screaming mouth. Tongue sizzled like meat on a grill.
“Grrgh…”
“At first, just a lesson. Break an arm or leg, done. But you tried to kill me?”
“Piaz!”
Shiiik! Another arrow flew. It vanished into Sung-tae’s helm—
“You assholes too. Planned to punish one, but you gang up.”
“Urk!”
The arrow burst from the archer’s throat. Clutching it, he spewed blood, staggering.
“Aiz! S-stay still! Healing potion, now…”
“Birds of a feather. Touching friendship. Heartwarming.”
“Grrgh…”
Sung-tae flung foaming Piaz aside like trash, teleporting to the potion-puller. Blinding speed—mages, they thought.
“You? The fire mage? Taste your own medicine.”
“Hiiiiaaah!!!”
Sung-tae yanked the fleeing mage into a hug. Armor’s heat charred clothes, blistered skin. Bone-deep agony left him gaping like a fish.
“Ughh…”
“Grrgh…”
“Hic… Haaah!”
“You’re hopeless.”
They writhed, dying, twitching on the ground. Death inevitable soon. But Sung-tae wouldn’t let them go easy.
“I usually hold back, let shit slide. But you ruined my mood. Disillusioned with humans now.”
He’d restrained unless major threats or allies endangered. As confessed to Garba, once killing started, he’d cheapen life like Demon Kings, treating humans like flies. He feared that.
But adventurers? Massive letdown. Hoped for fun-loving explorers—not bandit-like scum. Mockery? Half-kill and done. Disappointment fueled rage; even elf enthusiasm cooled. Raising rank here for them? Screw it.
“Guess I’ll head back. But first…”
In fading consciousness, they saw enraged steps approaching.
“Gonna crack those thick skulls. Not just smash, though.”
“Uuu…”
No one could speak—only pitiful moans.
Sung-tae teased: “Oh, ‘thick skulls’ means heads, got it? Understand?”
Not funny to them. Not one bit.