Named Freelancers
Named
"Since there are three of you, you can rotate shifts. I'll pay generously on top of the shelter usage fee. Think you can manage that?"
Il-chul's face didn't brighten one bit.
"What, you don't like it?"
"It's not that, sir... it's just..."
"What."
"Dr. Woo's the one who took over that place now, remember?"
"So?"
"If I stand there, I feel like I'm gonna get slashed."
"You won't."
"..."
"It's impossible. Dr. Woo doesn't have the guts for that."
At that, Il-chul dredged up his memories of Dr. Woo.
"I still feel like I'm gonna get slashed, sir..."
"Hmm, has Il-chul not fully finished his treatment yet...?"
"N-no! I'm fine!"
"Would I really send you somewhere to get cut? Sure, it's true Dr. Woo has handled his share of ugly incidents. But that doesn't make him some fool who'd go swinging a blade the moment he got riled up, does it?"
"Well, no, I suppose not..."
"And besides, the Dr. Woo of today isn't the Dr. Woo of the past. He can't just up and draw steel anymore."
"...?"
"Gangs can always swap out their shelter when things go sideways, can't they? Might mean the hassle of relocating their hideout, but that much they can stomach. But what happens if they've got a business registered at the shelter?"
Not many survivors could keep living at the shelter indefinitely. And so the yearning for a hideout of their own was a constant among survivors.
But outside the shelter, no truly perfect hideout existed.
The threat of monsters.
Weather no one could predict.
That was why a hideout mattered so much to them.
Naturally, Dr. Woo's crew had hideouts of their own too.
Shelters whose locations were known only to members of their circle.
Even so, none of them could be called perfect. High-grade refuges like the Trailer Won-goo provided were all but nonexistent in this world.
"I see. So they can't act carelessly."
"Right. Would you move recklessly if it meant your shelter business going up in smoke? You think that'd fly?"
"No, sir."
"But I know you'll still be nervous, so I'll take out an insurance policy for you."
"Insurance, sir?"
"Yep. I'll station a beastman nearby. Then even if Dr. Woo storms out in a blazing rage, he'll turn right around and go back inside. It's not easy to do that in front of a watching beastman. It's only in places where nobody knows you that you can go all out — swinging blades, cracking skulls, whatever. Hard to pull that off somewhere with plenty of eyes."
"Th-then what about at night, sir?"
"You get one at night too, obviously. What, you don't trust me?"
Il-chul's brain whirred into overdrive. Everyone knew the beastmen and Won-goo were on exceptionally close terms.
"Um..."
"Then let's do this. See that place next to the pharmacy over there?"
"Yes, sir."
"If I'm telling the truth, there'll be a beastman standing there the whole time. In shifts. Watch for him, and start your shift. You still can't do it, even like that?"
"That, I can do. I'll do it, sir."
"Good luck. Oh, and just so you know — Dr. Woo is extremely sensitive about talk of his wife's younger sister."
"His wife's sister, sir?"
"Yep."
With that, Won-goo handed Il-chul a single gold coin.
The old Won-goo would have weighed every last penny before parting with it.
But there was no need for that anymore. Money had been flooding in at a sudden pace — and it was only going to pour in faster from here on out.
The Trainer's shop.
Won-goo stood staring at the goblin shaman caged behind the bars. The creature kept muttering to itself, over and over.
"It sure grows fast."
"Director! You're back!"
"Yep. How'd it go?"
"Approval came through. They say this place stays as-is until this whole incident is wrapped up."
"Everyone gather round for a second. Is this little bastard's mumbling actually our language or what?"
They all shook their heads with startled expressions.
"Hyeong-nim. Should I tell it to shut up?"
Lee Hyun-sung stepped forward.
"No. I want to know what language it's spouting. Can any of you understand it?"
"Can't make heads or tails of it, Director. Looks like goblin tongue to me..."
"Then why the hell can I understand every word coming out of this thing?"
"...?"
"...?"
"Director Gong. What portion of it, exactly, are you claiming to understand?"
That was Mu Beob-sa, stiff and philosophical as ever.
"All of it. Every single word, I'm pretty sure."
"Director... perhaps you've been smoking a bit too much of that tobacco Baek Seol gave you..."
"No! You little punk! I haven't even lit one of those!"
Won-goo barked at Jo Mu-sa. And in the middle of shouting, something flickered through his mind.
"Everyone, head to Sanghae's place and stand by. There's someone I need to meet."
He left the Trainer's shop and made his way toward Kane.
The Shelter Director was not someone you could just walk up and meet like this. Plenty of survivors lived and died without ever laying eyes on the man.
"Welcome, Won-goo. Is the work proceeding smoothly?"
"I'm still drawing up the blueprint, so don't worry yourself. I've turned down cases before, sure — but have you ever once seen me botch a case I took on?"
"I know your capabilities well enough, Won-goo."
"I came for an interim report. We're recruiting mostly Named freelancers, and we'll probably need to pay out ten gold coins each."
"Ten each..."
"You think that's a lot?"
"There's no telling how many will show..."
"Director. You set the budget that large because you needed speed, precision, and discretion — wasn't that the whole point?"
"That's right. Discretion matters."
"Try as you might to keep things quiet, B-rank and C-rank types can't be properly controlled. A-ranks are different. They're professionals. And freelancers, well — they're the sort who barely socialize with anyone to begin with."
"Ah... so that's the reasoning."
"I'd say those ten gold coins are a bargain now, wouldn't you?"
Kane gave a slow nod.
"Then proceed as you've outlined."
"By the way, Won-goo — this will be handled cleanly, yes?"
"Operating solo in these parts takes a minimum of thirty coins to even attempt."
"I trust you, Won-goo. Handle it quickly."
"Before that, one question."
"And that would be?"
"I hear beastman tongues are split into quite a few varieties."
"That's true. But the beastmen here all use the common tongue as their base."
"You mean common beast-speech, yes?"
"That's right."
"Then could you teach me a few choice insults in that common tongue? The truly vile kind."
"Why would you want those?"
"Provoke the right man at the right moment and it pays dividends. Besides, I'd be relaying your will in the process, wouldn't I, Director?"
"Relaying my will... Very well. I'll teach you one. In Earth terms, I suppose you'd call it a mother insult?"
"Perfect."
"Wureae addawe!"
It was a language hard enough to even pronounce, but Won-goo grasped its meaning with absolute certainty. Purely, perfectly.
Only then did he understand what was happening to him.
Perfect Communication.
The ability to perfectly grasp the meaning of any language he heard — and to perfectly convey his own intent in return.
And the only beings born with such a power were the Transcendental Species.
Races classified above even the Dominant Species.
In certain cultures, the Transcendental Species were worshipped outright as gods.
Even the highest-ranked species had, in theory, fertile enough ground to ascend toward godhood — but the Transcendental Species were different from the very root.
They were beings born already awakened, with Perfect Communication innate from the moment of their birth.
"Was that sufficient?"
"Yes, that'll do. And there's one more thing I need from you."
"And that would be?"
"I'd like you to station administrators in a specific area."
"Won-goo... you know we're short-staffed as it is."
"I know. But urgent matters come first, no? It's not a big ask. Think of it as an extension of the regular patrol rounds. Youngjae Pharmacy — just put one administrator out in front of it. Around the clock, in shifts."
"That requires a great deal of manpower, Won-goo. At this stage, that kind of deployment really isn't easy."
"Then how about this: hire a few beastmen, dress them in administrator uniforms, and stand them there. That's all I need."
"So they don't actually need to be administrators?"
"No. They just have to look the part. How's that sound?"
"Fine. We'll arrange it. How long will you need them?"
"One month. That should be plenty."
Even after meeting with the Shelter Director, Won-goo sought out several more beastmen to reconfirm his ability.
It was unmistakable.
He had gained Perfect Communication. And the likeliest culprit was the Seal he'd acquired only recently.
"Ha! If I'm a Transcendental Species, information's going to be even harder to dig up, isn't it?"
The universe held countless species. Dominant Species were already few in number — and the Transcendental Species fewer still.
You'd think fewer numbers would make them easier to research. In practice, it was the opposite.
Precisely because they stood so high, information about them simply wasn't in circulation. That was the drawback.
Yet Won-goo saw new hope in it. Acquiring a Dominant Species Seal and a Transcendental Species Seal meant an entirely new road had opened before him.
Either way, I can only awaken faster if I get my hands on information.
Given that Perfect Communication had manifested, there was no question his awakening was in progress.
But how long it would take to awaken abilities naturally was anyone's guess.
Above all, a being of Transcendental Species caliber possessed far more than one or two unique abilities — awakening all of them could take hundreds of years.
Which was exactly why finding information on Seals, and fast, mattered so much.
The Named freelancers began gathering at Sanghae's place.
Attendance alone earned a single gold coin — there wasn't a reason in the world to stay away.
The Named knew one another by sight.
Fame spread fast in their line of work, and along the way you tended to pick up at least a few faces.
But just as Won-goo had predicted, none of them were being warm and chummy.
Freelancer survivors were simply that kind of crowd — a breed from which you couldn't expect much in the way of social graces.
And even those with some measure of social skill often carried a personality that drove any relationship to ruin within days.
Among all the Named, Won-goo was on the sociable end of the spectrum — which said everything about just how shut-in the rest of them were.
The Named survivors sat at their tables, eyes fixed on Won-goo, waiting for him to speak.
Most had come alone; a few sat in pairs or trios. But such cases were rare.
"No need to overthink this. The details are all in the contract. All you need to know is that this is the sweetest job to land in your laps in a long, long while."
His crew members were handing out contracts to the assembled Named.
"The fact that the target is a beastman may give you some pause — but take note of the fact that the difficulty is nothing you can't handle."
A hand went up among the Named.
It was the trio sharing one table — identical triplets, all wearing the same baseball cap.
"Sam-ssang. Got a question?"
"Does this ten gold you speak of mean ten per individual?"
"Per team. Per individual would be plain unfair."
"Understood."
"If you're thinking of bowing out, hand back the contract. Take one gold at the door for your trouble."
The twins — all three of them — exchanged a brief word among themselves, then shook their heads.
"We're good. We've come this far; it'd be a waste not to join in."
"Good instincts. You know a honey-dripping job when you see one."
Won-goo smirked and gestured at the triplets.
"As you can see, even split three ways it's plenty. Ten gold coins — an amount any of you here could earn in short order. But you all know how much sweat goes into earning those ten the hard way. This time, there's an easier road to the same money. So let's all do ourselves a favor and take part."
"Is facing a beastman such an easy thing?"
The voice came from an old woman seated in the front row.
White hair and glasses.
Dressed for a grandmother's hiking trip, yet she was one of the most renowned Named in this whole gathering.
A psychic.
Around these parts, she went by Yeom-gwi.
The name came from the fact that this prickly old woman wielded psychokinesis — telekinesis specialized for killing people — a Gift tailor-made for one-on-one combat.
And she killed without a flicker of hesitation. In every shelter near where she operated, she was an object of pure terror.
"With Grandma here attending, the job just got truly easy, didn't it."
"I haven't agreed to attend yet, Director Gong."
"One gold coin not enough for you, Grandma? I know exactly how greedy you are."
Won-goo and Yeom-gwi locked eyes and grinned at each other.
"You sly little thing. You're just like the husband I used to keep around."
"You and I don't belong in the same generation, Grandma. Go find yourself another elder."
"You brat! Who said anything about pairing up with you?"
"That's my line — don't even dream it. If you're that lonely, I'll introduce you to our suave Mu Beob-sa."
"I've no use for some gaunt, hollow-cheeked rat of a man."
"Everyone's read the contract by now, and you can see for yourselves there's nothing to it. The more of you who join, the sweeter the job gets. So since you're here — do what you're good at, pocket some money, and build a little camaraderie while you're at it."
At the word camaraderie, the survivors turned to glance at one another.
"What kind of camaraderie is there to be had in this business? Real camaraderie means keeping our jobs from stepping on each other's toes. Confirming in the field that each of us has skills too annoying to get tangled up with, and steering clear accordingly. Isn't that camaraderie? Beating the hell out of each other does nothing but fatten up the up-and-comers crawling in from below. No thanks."
Won-goo's persuasion worked. Every Named present signed the contract.
Thirty-four teams in all.