Dungeon & Commander (225)
In all his life, he'd never met anyone smarter than his father—not the kind of smarts that came from photographic memory or rote learning, but the razor-sharp intelligence needed to read any situation and make the perfect call. No one could touch Yoo Wan-seop in that.
His father knew everything... and was just pretending otherwise.
Yoo Min-jeong was furious, but she held it in. She was the one who needed something right now.
"Lend me some money."
"How much?"
"Uh... thirty billion."
A decent item cost at least ten billion at minimum. Items truly shone when paired up, so investing around thirty billion would be necessary to see real results.
She planned to pool her savings with it to snag some solid gear.
Yoo Min-jeong bowed her head.
"What for?"
At the question, Yoo Min-jeong snapped her head up and glared at her father. His shoulders were shaking.
"Dad!"
"Aigoo, you'll burst my eardrums."
"You already know. What I want."
"An item? Did I hear that wrong? My own daughter buying an item with money? For a D-rank dungeon? If you're scared, just don't go in. What can you accomplish with that mindset?"
"...Fine."
Tears welled up in her eyes.
She'd mustered the courage to even bring it up.
It wasn't for herself. It was for the team... She wanted to pull her weight as the main dealer.
Yoo Min-jeong turned and stormed out of the training hall.
Crunch crunch.
Choi Muhyun chewed on ice, glaring at the screen.
Jeong Myeong-ho's Water Creation spell had just lashed out from his hand, coiling around the Gelusaurus's neck... and with a sickening crack, snapped its vertebrae like twigs.
The massive silver monster collapsed with a thud, head twisted backward.
The alcohol buzz vanished in an instant.
It was the power of a level 4 tanker.
Jeong Myeong-ho had long surpassed mere tanker status. That kind of combat prowess was what they called a "diltank"—a fusion of tanker defense and dealer offense. Water Creation served as an impenetrable barrier and a lethal weapon.
He recalled today's public test at the Brave Guild Raid Center.
It had nearly erupted into a brawl.
Fights between powerful raiders made the news—buildings crumbling, bridges collapsing. If Jeong Myeong-ho had unleashed Water Creation offensively, plenty of raiders there would've died on the spot.
Choi Muhyun wondered.
Would I have survived?
He couldn't say for sure.
What about Kim Jun?
The answer came easily. Kim Jun had lived through worse.
Choi Muhyun glanced back at the screen.
After barely surviving Devils Day and fleeing to a hermitage in terror, he'd found Kim Jun back at the guildhouse, guarding it while meticulously analyzing seven hundred raid videos and even writing up reports. Kim Jun had once mentioned how that grind had paid off big time.
From then on, whenever he had free time, he'd hole up in the home AV room, watching one raid video a day—sometimes two or three.
The Jeong Myeong-ho in that footage was the real deal. Strong as hell.
He'd scoured for weaknesses, but the overwhelming power just burned itself deeper into his mind.
The Lincoln Team led by Jeong Myeong-ho... was a machine. They crushed monster hordes without a flicker of expression. The beasts, cowed by their momentum, even turned tail and fled.
"What're you doing?"
His father walked in.
"Just watching."
Choi Min-su glanced at the screen.
"That Myeong-ho punk's grown a lot. Used to be a total wimp."
"Really?"
"No one starts out slaughtering monsters like that. Even I got called a 'dumb boar' back in my young, brute tanker days."
'Dumb' and 'single-celled' were the ugly tags that haunted tankers. 'Sly' and 'selfish' dogged dealers, while 'frail' and 'indecisive' stuck to buffers.
But no sane person would call Choi Min-su a dumb tanker. He was revered as a raider who'd redefined the role.
To think even his father had been dubbed a wild boar once.
"Gotta head out for something. Guard the house. Mom's crashing at a friend's, so don't worry."
"Got it."
His father left.
Choi Muhyun replayed the video three times, dissecting it frame by frame, then started his report. Drawing a blank, he pulled up Kim Jun's old one for reference.
"...Whoa."
Admiration burst out.
Hard to believe they'd watched the same footage. How did this guy spot that?
Choi Muhyun had pegged Lincoln Team's seamless teamwork as their strength, like clockwork. Kim Jun called it their weakness.
Organization as a weakness.
Lincoln Team drilled patterns into their bodies through endless reps, forging that cohesion. It worked because their training volume dwarfed normal teams', but it faltered against the unpredictable. To break them, engineer an absurd scenario they'd never anticipate. They might crumble from within.
—Pink Team Leader Kim Jun.
Below that, scenarios Kim Jun had cooked up.
Choi Muhyun's jaw dropped.
It was just a plan on paper, but Kim Jun's thinking had a mad edge to it.
"...Hide on a monster's back, sneak in, and ambush? What kind of lunatic pulls that off?"
Kim Jun... was exactly that kind of lunatic.
Which meant Kim Jun could smash Lincoln Team.
He ignored norms. If it won, any tactic was fair game—and he had the drive to make it work.
Choi Muhyun flipped to the back for Jeong Myeong-ho's vulnerabilities.
Captain Jeong Myeong-ho's Weak Points.
Poke his pride lightly, he gets heated. Escalate to rage, cracks appear. To widen them, praise Yoon Chang-hwan.
Pink Team members reading this: Devise three specific tactics against Jeong Myeong-ho each and submit to team leader.
"Yoon Chang-hwan?"
He'd heard the name but drew a blank. Quick phone search.
Brave Guild raider. Another expedition captain like Jeong Myeong-ho.
Rivals, probably. Praising Yoon would flip Jeong's lid.
Choi Muhyun stared at the submission directive. Sneaky genius.
The team leader could mandate videos and reports for all. Instead, Kim Jun tucked it into his own report, targeting only those invested enough to read it.
Skip the video, skip the report—no directive seen. No tactics brainstormed, no discussions with Kim Jun, no growth in enemy analysis.
'Smart play. Only teaches those who seek it.'
His phone buzzed.
Caller ID blocked.
"Hello?"
The modulated voice sounded mechanical.
Hairs stood on end.
Choi Muhyun shot to his feet and bolted to the master bedroom. Empty. Then he remembered—Mom was at a friend's.
The grave tone reeked of danger.
"I... I just want to know Mom's safe."
Choi Muhyun spoke as politely as possible. It felt like the key to her safe return.
His mother's voice!
Choi Muhyun clenched his fists.
He did as told. A safe was there, one he'd never noticed.
"...I don't know the combination."
A brief silence.
They recited numbers. Spot on—click, the safe popped open.
Jewels and consumables inside, but tucked in the corner: a weathered book. The Pacheon Manual, detailing how to master Pacheon Gong.
"Got it."
The line went dead.
Choi Muhyun's legs buckled.
He grabbed the Pacheon Manual, hopped into the Jeep. Hands shook on the wheel as he drove out.
The kidnapper said no contacts—but he couldn't obey. He dialed his father first.
Just ringing. Probably left the phone in the locker room for closed-door training.
He punched in another number.
Kim Jun picked up after a few rings.
"Muhyun, Mom's... kidnapp... ed."
Hearing Kim Jun's unflappable tone calmed him bit by bit.
"To... City Hall. Heading there now."
"Not picking up. Probably in seclusion training."
"The Pacheon Manual. Didn't know it was in the master safe. Taking it there now."
Kim Jun's words soothed him.
When Yeon Ga thugs had nearly killed him, Kim Jun had saved his ass.
As the initial shock faded, rage boiled up.
How dare they!
He'd catch them, pulverize them. Make them suffer for life. Grisly ideas surfaced—how to sever Achilles tendons, how to strike the heart for endless agony.
Phone rang.
Kim Jun.
"...What?"
Choi Muhyun yanked the wheel in disbelief. Right turn... and there was Kim Jun in the road's center, doubled over, sweating and panting.
Car halted; Kim Jun vaulted into the passenger seat.
"Huff huff, nearly died."
"What happened?"
Choi Muhyun floored it.
"Car wouldn't start suddenly. Looks tampered with."
"So you ran here?"
"Yeah, ran. From up there."
Kim Jun nodded at the rooftop.
Choi Muhyun pictured him bounding building-to-building with Mokhonbo. "Nearly died" meant one gap was too wide—near-plunge.
"Let's go."
Choi Muhyun gunned the engine.
Speed climbed, but he pushed harder.
"Mom won't be at City Hall."
"...Huh?"
"They'll redirect you. Too open, too many buildings—perfect for watching, not holding her."
"Right."
Solid logic.
Kim Jun probed methodically, voice steady, questions sharp. Choi Muhyun answered easily.
From the Q&A, Kim Jun pieced it together fast.
"They want the Pacheon Manual, right?"
"...Yeah."
"Hm."
"Figured it out?"
Choi Muhyun eyed him desperately. Kim Jun might've already pinpointed Mom.
"Not certain yet."
Hope crashed hard.
Kim Jun started calls from the back seat. Alerted Pink Team—Skyla, Yeom Sang-taek—issued orders.
Terror gripped Choi Muhyun.
They said tell no one.
But Kim Jun was team leader—trustworthy, capable. If this backfired on Mom... he'd never forgive himself.
He prayed it wouldn't.
Nearing City Hall, Kim Jun said,
"Drop me ahead. Someone's watching you. Find them, find Mom."
Choi Muhyun pulled curbside. Tires screeched against the divider—a sloppy mistake for him.
Kim Jun hopped out, eyed his friend.
"They won't hurt her till they have the Pacheon Manual. Stay sharp."
"...Got it."
Kim Jun scaled the wall to the roof, leaped to the next building. Mokhonbo's forms flowed seamlessly—a perfect skill.
Deep breaths steadied Choi Muhyun. He drove toward City Hall plaza.
City Hall intersection: deserted.
Plaza: empty.
Kim Jun scanned from between street trees—plaza, City Hall, President Hotel north. No suspects.
Choi Muhyun's Jeep circled, awaiting the call.
Phone vibrated.
Kim Jun kept eyes on the plaza, answered one-handed.
"Don't approach the plaza. Wait at City Hall Station."
Then—a subtle motion caught his eye.
On Deoksugung Daehanmun's tiled roof, someone prone, surveilling the plaza. Face hidden by a plastic mask, eyes tracking the Jeep each pass.
Kim Jun slipped from the trees, crossed the road in one Mokhonbo Tan burst.