The Onahole Dilemma and Goblin's Tomb
Combining my physical abilities, Unique Authority, and survival skills from the dungeon, I concluded that my combat power had more than doubled compared to before. Most importantly, I was no longer bound by the limitations of being a hunter.
The status of my Unique Authority was a bit concerning, but I'd escaped the cursed mana aptitude, and my physical prowess alone now allowed me to challenge higher-grade dungeons. The Unique Authority could prove useful in combat depending on how I wielded it, opening up endless possibilities. Ah, but honestly... how the hell was I supposed to make use of something like Onahole Master? Sigh... I'd figure that out step by step. So far, I'd listed the positives; now it was time to consider the negatives.
Awakening the Unique Authority was a good thing. But one of its functions had serious potential to cause problems.
Transforms the designated target into an onahole. The onahole retains the properties of the designated target. Can only target inanimate objects or beings whose will has been broken. When transforming a being whose will has been broken, you can imbue the onahole with the target's ego.
The description of Onahole Transformation stated it could target beings whose will had been broken. Depending on how it was used, this could be a tool for crime. For example, what if I kidnapped and tortured someone until their resistance crumbled, then used Onahole Transformation to turn them into an onahole? Destroying the onahole afterward would be perfect evidence disposal. And the phrase about imbuing a broken-willed target's ego into the onahole? That was even more dangerous.
Interfering with another's body or mind using abilities was strictly forbidden by law, and Onahole Transformation violated every single one of those rules. On top of that:
All of the onahole is yours. No one can interfere with this ownership. You will never lose ownership of an onahole once acquired. You can duplicate and possess one of the onahole's skills or unique abilities.
The onahole is under your dominion. The onahole cannot harm you. The onahole obeys your commands.
Both functions boiled down to owning and dominating the transformed target—essentially claiming everything they had. If the New Daehan Republic's government found out I had this ability, would they just let me be? Unlikely. The government was never lenient with criminals, and they took a hard line with anyone who might become one. Especially if the ability itself screamed "crime potential," it didn't matter if I was a saint or a sinner—I'd be in deep shit regardless.
Run away? If you want to experience being hunted by the New Daehan Republic military's 10,000 ability users, be my guest. In a society where superhumans breathed down your neck, they were ruthless on this front. Truth be told, whether the punishments were harsh or the treatment brutal, it all came down to not getting caught. But in the New Daehan Republic, that was damn near impossible.
Military awakeners underwent mandatory ability inspections every six months, civilians every year. It was a system to ferret out late-bloomers who didn't even know they'd awakened, snag criminals, and keep tabs on those whose powers could be abused for crime—all to maintain public safety. Overseas, it got slammed as human rights abuse and privacy violations. But the people actually living under it accepted it like getting a resident ID—no real backlash when the law passed. I'd nodded along in school, feeling the security benefits firsthand. Now, it was biting me in the ass.
Of course, two weeks ago, Ji-yoon noona had inspected me at the military hospital, so I had about a year before the next one. But that was just a temporary reprieve. Plus, if I kept hunter-ing, I'd need to tackle higher dungeons. My military record let me rank up to 8th grade without a physical—just submit my ability certification. But for 7th grade with no prior experience? Mandatory physical exam during promotion review.
What a clusterfuck.
"Should I ask Ji-yoon noona for a favor?"
I toyed with Ji-yoon noona's business card from my wallet. She had the authority to issue certifications.
"...Nah, that's not it."
She was one of the military's ideologically vetted loyalists. She'd refuse me privately and officially, and she'd be disappointed in me. The thought of letting down someone who'd believed in me hit harder than any rejection. I didn't want to betray her trust.
Bottom line: I had to hide the Unique Authority's existence within the timeframe. Two ideas came to mind right away—bribe the inspector doing the physical, or fool their ability somehow. The first needed enough cash to make it worth their risk. The second required a skill, unique ability, or special item to deceive them. I didn't need to have it myself; recruiting someone who did would work. Hell, maybe some criminal broker specialized in this.
Mandatory renewal was a year out. Extending it could buy three more months—max 15 months. I had to find a solution in that window.
"Guess the answer's the dungeon after all."
Dungeons were where I'd scrape cash, snag skills, build connections. And maybe this tangled mess of a Unique Authority could be the key to untangling it. That fleeting thought sparked something. I spent the rest of the day fleshing out a detailed plan, forgetting my fatigue in the excitement.
"Done!"
The plan, hammered out over a full day, looked perfect. Step one: Hit the dungeon.
It was early morning, nearing dawn. I stepped out fully geared. This was the entrance to the dungeon management office for the 10th-grade dungeon, Goblin's Tomb.
Fresh-faced rookies who'd just finished basic awakener training chirped around the entrance. Goblin's Tomb, a 10th-grade instance dungeon, was their first taste of real combat. Clear the boss, and it didn't vanish—separate instances per party made it a hunter farming favorite. The tech behind parties not bumping into each other? Complicated theory for grad students; don't sweat it.
Why drag myself to this training-wheel instance at the crack of dawn? It was step one of the plan.
But annoying types had been buzzing around, hitting me up.
"Uh, if you're solo, wanna join our party? Your gear screams ex-military, and we're short a frontliner."
"Nah, I'm good. Waiting on my group."
"Ah... got it. Sorry to bother you."
I brushed off the guy's invite, pretending to wait. No group coming, of course—just polite rejection. He got the hint and slunk away. My personally bought military gear drew offers like flies, but I wasn't joining any of these parties. All underleveled.
The one who just pitched? Sounded like a ranged DPS fest from his chatter. Short on frontliners? Unless the whole party had monster-dodging mobility, you couldn't have too many up front. More vanguards meant stability. Bet they had zero actual tanks. Their leader, crossbow in hand? Ranged noob calling shots. Leaders are usually vanguards; zero chance they had any.
His age screamed "opted for 10-year hunter duty over military service." No real combat exp? Instant out.