You Have Talent

"Hoh. So you mean to challenge me, do you?"

"Not like I can't."

"Oh, you most certainly can not!"

Inside a deserted, pitch-dark subway station.

The dungeon was already cleared. The smart move would have been to get out before other hunters showed up — but instead, my summons had decided to start a civil war.

A sphere of flame bloomed above Yeonbi's palm. The True Ancestor answered by drawing a blood spear from the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠crimson welling at her wrist. The air between them went heavy and still.

At this rate, they were genuinely about to throw down.

"All right, all right — everyone just calm down."

"Yeo was merely standing still."

"Show proper respect to our Summoner!"

"Okay, I get it — now put the fireball and the spear away."

A falling-out between my summons was the last thing I needed. If they started picking fights mid-Tower run, there was no telling what kind of disaster would follow. More immediately, a brawl in here would collapse the entire subway station into a smoking crater.

"Araxtasia. Yeonbi is important to me, so I'd appreciate it if you refrained from speaking to her that way."

"…As you command."

"Ahem. Well. There's no need to make such a fuss over it."

I'd taken Yeonbi's side for now. Araxtasia had clearly started it, and there was no point pretending otherwise. Besides, I'd known Yeonbi the longest — my leanings were already decided.

"And the marks on my neck are just from giving her a little blood. Don't read into it."

"…Blood?"

"He bestowed it upon me. Truly, it was sweet."

"Hold your tongue."

They were still sniping at each other, but the worst of it seemed to have blown over. I had a Tower run tomorrow — time to head back to the hotel. Walking around with these two in tow meant stares and cameras, so taxis and buses were out of the question.

"Either of you know how to teleport?"

"Of course it is possible."

"Then I'll leave it to you."

No reason to linger. She cast the travel art at once. Violet flames wrapped around the three of us; my body lifted weightlessly into the air, and in a blink the scenery had changed.

"Kyaa?! H-Hot! Why is the fire only catching on me?!"

"Mere imagination, bloodsucker."

"You damn fox—!"

"Sigh."

Friendship was still a long way off.

"Hmm… Oksun's resummon cooldown shrank a bit."

Back at the hotel, I poured myself a long-overdue drink and settled in to review my summons and skills. Whether from rising skill proficiency or something else, Oksun's cooldown had dropped — but Yeonbi's hadn't budged at all. Being a five-star summon, she probably needed far more mastery before anything would change.

Araxtasia's status window, on the other hand, was quite the read.

The moment I opened her status window, her life unspooled through my mind like a reel of film. Tens of thousands of vampire soldiers sweeping across the continent — only to be turned back by a single knight blessed by the Sun God, forced to retreat to their own lands.

Watching that apocalyptic spectacle, the first thought that hit me was…

Yeah, no — Yeonbi still looks way stronger.

She wasn't quite as overwhelming as I'd expected. Don't get me wrong — the True Ancestor was absurdly powerful. Three thousand Oksuns could throw themselves at her and not leave a scratch. But set against the sheer presence I'd seen in Yeonbi's status window, she came up just a little short.

The Araxtasia I'd observed felt… specialized for farming weaker prey, somehow. One thing was clear: even among five-stars, the gap in raw power could be considerable.

If they'd actually fought earlier, the True Ancestor would've died.

Had the brawl in the subway station gone through, the match might have ended faster than expected — and I would have lost a freshly pulled five-star summon.

"Good thing I broke it up."

A fight that never happened was a fight I could be grateful for. I should probably start treating Yeonbi even better from now on.

Come to think of it, I still hadn't checked the dungeon clear rewards.

I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠opened the status window and claimed them at once.

"Claim dungeon clear rewards."

Dungeon rewards scaled with contribution. Higher contribution meant better loot; lower meant scraps. So what did a hunter who solo-cleared an S-rank-monster dungeon at one hundred percent contribution walk away with?

What did I walk away with? Absolute jackpot material.

A bread-and-butter diamond payout, an S-grade item, and a Platinum-grade skill. Not a single dud in the lot.

"Whoa. First S-grade item I've ever gotten."

Heart pounding, I pulled up the item description.

"Jackpot!!"

A gorgeous pendant set with a blue sapphire. Its effect was a perfect match for me — better than anything else I could have asked for. Luck. The one thing my skills needed more than anything else in the world. This was practically a guaranteed five-star ticket. Hell, maybe I could even pull a six-star summon — the kind I'd only ever heard rumors about.

"Ahhh, life is easy!"

This single reward alone had more than paid for the entire dungeon. To other hunters, "luck" just meant critting a little more often. Not me.

Riding the high, I opened the random Platinum-grade skill I'd just acquired.

My new Platinum-grade skill was a weapon art. I propped my chin on my hand as I read through the florid flavor text.

"Hss… kinda mid."

Poison Dragon's Fangs — a dual-dagger technique named for the twin fangs of a venomous dragon. On paper it sounded broken, but a few things rubbed me the wrong way.

"Dual blades, assassin, lethal poison. Just a greatest-hits compilation of every cliché in the book."

Classic wuxia rules: no matter how deadly the poison, someone with All-Poison Immunity tanks it, and the assassin dies a miserable death. Dual blades got the short end of the stick in basically every genre, not just martial arts novels. And given that my class was Summoner, a dagger art felt… optional at best. On top of that, it required two weapons, so the gear cost was double.

"Still better than nothing, I guess."

Having at least one self-defense option wasn't a bad thing. Up until now, aside from Thunder Dragon Torrent — which was basically a glorified flashbang — I'd been nothing more than a slightly stronger civilian.

I decided to call it a night and save my energy for tomorrow's fifth-floor run.

Oh right — wonder how the dungeon clear got reported.

Sprawled on the bed, winding down, I found myself curious about the aftermath at the subway station. I grabbed my phone and opened a random news site — and the headline plastered across the front page made my eyes go wide.

…Right. Cleared dungeons stamped the clearer's username all over the record. Somehow I'd only managed to draw even more eyes.

And this First Under Heaven guy — he was always stuck at second place behind me. Was the gap between us really that big?

Out of curiosity, I pulled up the Extreme Tower clear ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠footage the Chinese government had uploaded of him.

"KRAAAAHH!!"

"Capability conquers the strong! Strength alone cannot defeat me!"

"Huh. He fights pretty well."

The First Under Heaven I watched on screen was genuinely skilled. Solid combat instincts, fearless aggression — the whole package. His clear times ran long, sure, but maintaining that level of focus across those extended fights was impressive in its own right.

The public, however, seemed to feel differently.

The Awakener Gallery — a System-run community exclusive to the awakened, better known as Awakener Gallery. In there, First Under Heaven was basically a walking punchline. A third-rate nobody who could kill himself trying and still never touch the number-one spot.

"…He doesn't really deserve that kind of treatment."

Maybe it was the beer talking. Or maybe watching someone grind that hard just looked cool. Either way, seeing him turned into a laughingstock left a sour taste, and on impulse I wrote up a defense post and hit submit.

"Ah, damn. Might've overdone it."

It came out a little cringey, but I left it up. If he saw it and felt even a little better, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that was enough for me.

I tossed my phone aside and sank into sleep.

I pushed the faintly blinking status window out of sight.

"What the fuck is this."

I woke the next morning to a hangover and the distinct sense that something had gone catastrophically wrong.

No. Something had gone enormously wrong.