Eyes of the Awakening Throne
“You’re awake.”
“I’m starving.”
“...That’s the first thing you say when you see me?”
“I’m really hungry.”
“You little punk.”
Jang Man-ho pulled lunch boxes out of the shopping bag. One, two... three in total.
“Director, you’re the best!”
Kim Jun snatched one and popped the lid, digging in immediately.
Only after demolishing the first box did Kim Jun notice Jang Man-ho standing beside him. He hesitated, then mumbled.
“Uh, Director, have some too.”
“That’s the most obvious lie I’ve ever heard. Eat it yourself. I’m not hungry.”
“Got it!”
Kim Jun replied as if he’d been waiting for permission.
Jang Man-ho burst out laughing.
He’s so much like Yun-ho. Loves martial arts, loves food. If Yun-ho were still alive, they would’ve gotten along great.
A wave of melancholy washed over him.
He quickly shifted his thoughts. Jang Man-ho recalled the Po-noe Strike he’d witnessed firsthand from Kim Jun.
No matter how he puzzled it out, he couldn’t even guess the circumstances that allowed Kim Jun to unleash it.
First hypothesis: He’d been training in the Yeon Ga’s Po-noe for years?
But why would someone like that stoop to being a carrier? He knew raiders’ pride all too well—no raider in the world would take such a gamble just for fame.
Should I test the waters?
Jang Man-ho deliberately named the technique aloud, to gauge Kim Jun’s reaction.
“Po-noe.”
Kim Jun looked up at him, mouth stuffed full of food, chewing away.
Inside, he was startled. He hadn’t expected that name from the director’s lips. Had it shown on his face? He hadn’t flinched, at least.
Kim Jun played it cool and asked back.
“What’s that? Something to eat?”
“...You’ve never heard of it?”
“Sounds like some Chinese dish. Am I right?”
“No. It’s the name of the skill you used to take down Jo Nam-sik and Si-u-ba.”
“For real?”
Kim Jun paused his chopsticks. The director suspected him, but wasn’t fully convinced it was a lie. Best to play dumb for now.
“Yeon Ga Cheonroe Jangbeop, seventh form: Po-noe. Plenty of people recognized it besides me. The staff’s been busy copying match footage.”
His chopsticks slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the lunch box.
“Seriously?”
Kim Jun asked cautiously.
“Yeah, everyone’s wondering how you pulled off Po-noe. Honestly, even with a foundation of internal energy, imitating it takes at least five years. Yours blew right past that level. And you’re telling me you didn’t even know it was Po-noe? Funny coincidence, huh? No one’s gonna buy that story.”
“I’m used to people not believing me. By their logic, carriers can’t even take the awakening test. But I believed in myself, put in the work, and got this far thanks to the people who trusted me. They’ll keep side-eyeing me for wielding the Cheonroegeom unscathed or using a skill like Po-noe. Fine by me—I don’t need to waste energy on them. I barely have enough time to chase my goals.”
Kim Jun was resolute.
He had zero intention of letting spectators’ jeers or sneers shake him. While they wasted time, he wanted to push one step closer to his aims.
Jang Man-ho felt thoroughly rebuffed.
It reminded him of his own youth, charging fiercely toward goals without fear. Back then, he brushed off critics, lived for his dreams, and ended each fulfilling day with quiet pride before sleep.
That simple purity he’d long forgotten.
These days, he dithered over options, wasting time on what-ifs.
“Is what you want martial arts training?”
“Yes.”
Kim Jun answered with a perfectly composed face, no hesitation.
Jang Man-ho studied that expression, especially the eyes. All his scheming plans, the frantic efforts to move his comrades’ remains to the national cemetery—suddenly, it felt pointless.
In that moment, Jang Man-ho realized none of it had been for his comrades or their families.
It was all for himself.
To escape the nights of drowning in booze as he turned into a wreck. To bury the gnawing guilt forever...
He’d started it for his own sake, clung to his self-imposed rules for his own sake—and nearly repeated the very sins he’d despised in the privileged elite.
To think I almost ruined a kid like this for such petty reasons.
The families had just been an excuse to hide his selfishness.
Kim Jun before him now... was a perfect mirror. Looking at him laid bare Jang Man-ho’s true self.
“Sorry.”
“For what?”
“...The written exam.”
Kim Jun stared at Jang Man-ho. No hint of blame.
“You know Skyla, right?”
“Of course. She came to the Dungeon Martial Arts School a few times for interviews. Why bring her up?”
“If you’re really sorry, meet with Skyla.”
“...What?”
“I need to finish eating. Can’t be late for the awakening throne test.”
Kim Jun picked up his chopsticks again.
Pondering Kim Jun’s words, Jang Man-ho’s phone rang. He checked the number, face darkening, then pointed outside before stepping into the hallway to answer.
―What the hell did you do?
The martial arts school principal bellowed.
“What do you mean?”
―The Association called. They want you out immediately. What did you do to stir this up? I’m the one stuck in the middle looking bad.
Jang Man-ho had expected it, but not this soon.
“I’ll submit my resignation.”
―That’s not the point right now. Anyway, the mood’s too hot this time. Brace yourself.
The call cut off.
Sighing, Jang Man-ho walked away from the infirmary. His mission was done. He was curious about the awakening throne results, but no need to stick around. Kim Jun would pass it too, no doubt.
The awakening throne was massive and bizarre.
Its seat loomed two meters off the ground, reachable only by steps, with a backrest nearly three meters high.
Kim Jun couldn’t tear his eyes from the enormous chair. Especially the eyeballs etched into its surface... they moved ceaselessly. The descriptions weren’t exaggerated.
Dozens of eyes tracked the examinees entering the room. Fish-like eyes one moment, predatory wolf eyes the next—they roamed freely across the throne’s surface.
The ceiling arched high and round.
It reminded him of the observatory from his childhood. Recline the plush seat, and constellations filled the dome, planets orbiting the sun in breathtaking beauty.
Examinees clustered near the throne. Most seemed to be seeing it in person for the first time, having flunked the practicals before.
Kim Jun walked to the throne’s side.
Blazing fire, icy chill, thick earth scent, fresh forest aroma, unyielding metal aura—all surged intensely, enveloping him at once.
They said it’s made from dozens of cores... it’s true. This is core energy.
Kim Jun took a spot behind the throne, where fewer people gathered. To fully absorb the core power.
The eyes watching him followed. He felt under surveillance.
A red rope fence prevented touching it. Kim Jun stretched his hand beyond, craving a closer feel of the energy.
Up top, the core of a Rifle-saurus—Li-pyum.
Below, Grati-us core—Gravity-um, raw material for anti-gravity engines. Even Nuclataurus’s Nuclium, capable of nuclear blasts.
How the hell did they capture those?
His hand reached about fifty centimeters past the rope.
Whoosh. Flames erupted from the floor, licking his hand. Not hot enough to burn, but a clear warning.
Don’t touch.
Startled, Kim Jun pulled back.
A complex geometric pattern glowed red on the floor, fading slowly.
Sa Yeonggyo, watching, nearly laughed. A clear warning sign stood before the throne: DO NOT TOUCH. Kim Jun had ignored it out of curiosity.
His fashion sense was still... a disaster.
But clothes didn’t matter anymore.
Kim Jun shone like a gem with his unique fighting style alone. Even at a disadvantage, he never backed down. He charged with grit, scrambling for any path to victory.
His DNA was just different from the other examinees.
I get why Uncle Min-su took him on as a client.
Sa Yeonggyo walked over to Kim Jun.
“What? Planning to steal it? Need help?”
Kim Jun grinned.
“How much you think this’d fetch?”
“At least a hundred billion. If you could move it.”
Sa Yeonggyo nodded at the throne. Bound by magic to the room and building, relocating it would require demolishing the structure or hauling the whole thing.
“What a shame. If it fit in my pocket...”
Kim Jun eyed the throne greedily.
“You know who made it?”
“Do Jong-man.”
Kim Jun had learned about the awakening throne while prepping for the test.
Do Jong-man, famed top item maker, was notorious for his prickly personality and eccentricities. He’d once sold a 5-billion-won custom item—crafted for an arrogant rich raider—for just 5 million because he “liked the guy.”
Not even a raider himself, Do Jong-man threw tantrums to enter dungeons. Bribed the Association, promised teams powerful items as gifts.
He vanished in one such dungeon.
His legacy endured in the “Do Jong-man Series,” one of the strongest item sets. Sword, armor, belt, gloves, spear, shoes, ring, necklace, staff—full set unlocked insane effects, but no one had ever collected them all.
A voice rang out then.
“Me!”
Everyone turned.
Kim Jun and Sa Yeonggyo moved to the front. A middle-aged man held a clipboard.
He spoke.
“...I’m Lee Dong-ju, in charge of smooth awakening throne proceedings. Examinees who made it here, follow my instructions, and you’ll reach your moment of glory without issue.”
Wearing pricey Italian bespoke suit and a gleaming gold Rolex, Lee Dong-ju flipped a page.
“First to sit in the awakening throne today... who will it be?”
The examinees didn’t laugh at the expected joke.
They just stared at Lee Dong-ju.
“Haha, this group’s sorely lacking in humor. The world you’ll enter is brutal—laughter’s essential to survive. Pity. Anyway, for real now: Sa Yeonggyo, step forward.”
Sa Yeonggyo approached the throne.
Two robed staffers in star-embroidered hoods concealing their faces assisted.
Sa Yeonggyo climbed the steps and sat. Throne-like, wide enough for four or five.
“Beginning.”
Lee Dong-ju announced.
The throne’s eyes glowed in varied colors. Soon, the whole chair radiated multicolored light.
Shrinking to fit Sa Yeonggyo’s frame, it reclined slowly.
She gazed comfortably at the ceiling.
Examinees looked up too.
Light from the throne enveloped her. Some pierced inward; strands entered her abdomen, exiting her back.
Yet Sa Yeonggyo felt no pain. Her insides warmed pleasantly, lifting her mood.
The light crept upward like ivy on a wall.
Upon touching the ceiling, it burst outward. Galaxies and nebulae from high-powered telescopes filled the dome in dazzling splendor.
“So brilliant. Definitely genius level.”
“I’d say at least 80 points. Might break Lee Hwan’s record.”
“Can she top the all-time high?”
Examinees whispered.
Awakening scores were measured once, for life—haunting raiders forever.
Association President Sa Gyeongbaek held the record at 95.
Lee Hwan: 91.
Yoo Wan-seop, pre-Devils Day arm loss and top raider, scored 46—not genius, but perseverance-built legend.
Prepping for his test, Kim Jun had checked teammates’ scores.
Yoo Min-jeong: 78.
Choi Muhyun: 47.
Yeom Sang-taek: 34.
Skyla’s U.S. awakening score was unavailable.
A staffer handed results to Lee Dong-ju. Eyes widening, he glanced between Sa Yeonggyo and the crowd.
Light faded; throne reset. Sa Yeonggyo descended, standing before him.
“Sa Yeonggyo’s awakening score... 79 points.”
She nodded lightly, unconcerned, but examinees grumbled in disappointment—some had bet over 90.
Next: Kang Hyeonseong.
Brimming with confidence, he scored 52—a genius borderline. Exceeding expectations, he pumped his fist in joy.
Examinees took turns.
None topped 50 after. Mostly 30s or low 40s. No tears or despair—low but passable.
A few late 40s popped up.
Sa Yeonggyo stood by Kim Jun.
“What’ll you get?”
Kim Jun glanced at her, silent. He couldn’t predict.
No floating spoons, no backward clock hands, no animal swarms.
Far from awakening signs, the potential-measuring throne was a wildcard.
Growing stares flicked toward Kim Jun.