002. [Severance]

Outer God artifacts, as a rule, didn't come with much of an explanation. As if the thing deigned to show you a mere fragment of itself, a single word denoting a 'concept' was the entirety of what an artifact offered.

But in exchange for the tremendous power they granted their wielder, they exacted countless burdens in return. They drowned you in frenzy, shattered your reason, and slowly assimilated you into that very 'concept'.

And yet that artifact was, at this very moment, sitting in my hand.

Well — in truth, even among the Tower's researchers these days, apparently even the word 'Outer God' was handled with a certain trepidation. Which made sense: everything referred to as an Outer God artifact was, without exception, nothing more than conjecture. Only a single word corresponding to its concept ever appeared on display; beyond that, the status window yielded precious little to go on.

'Plus, every user who ever laid hands on one went mad. Without fail.'

That was why mortals could never comprehend them — people collapsed from merely looking at one, from merely drawing near — and so the slang term 'Outer God' had attached itself, and nothing more.

'Still, here's my question: is this thing actually an Outer God artifact at all?'

I sank into a brief deliberation. And no wonder — the other four were currently half out of their minds. Handing them the artifact to gauge a reaction was a non-starter, which meant I had no way of confirming whether this was truly an Outer God artifact either way.

"Hmm..."

Which was why the decision I came to was—

"—Excuse me, sir. Up you get."

I patted the head of the Hypnosis Guy where he lay face-down, rousing him back to consciousness.

"U-uuoooh...?"

The Hypnosis Guy stared up at me, the strength drained from his pupils, drool trailing from the corner of his slack mouth.

As far as I knew, an artifact didn't bind itself to any particular user. Which meant it could be handed off for someone else to wield — and the most suitable candidate for the job, in the present circumstances, was the Hypnosis Guy.

"Would you mind holding this for me a moment?"

"Uh, u, ah..."

First of all, this man was not what anyone would call morally sound. He'd tried to use me as a meat shield, and I had personally watched him pitch a tent below the belt while hypnotizing that young woman.

For a human being of that caliber, being borrowed a little as a test subject fell comfortably within the bounds of moral acceptability, wouldn't you say?

With that thought, I spread open the man's hand and slid the dagger gently into his palm.

"A-a-a-a-uh-ehhh———"

A bizarre noise poured out of him, like a broken machine whose warning siren had jammed and refused to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shut off.

—Tremble, tremble, tremble, tremble———

Tears began to flow, the tears brought on the snot, and then he was busy shaking all over like a man who'd seen a ghost.

"...Oh."

One look at that scene and I felt certain of it: this was, definitively, an Outer God artifact. The [Severance] written alone in the tooltip had been circumstantial evidence — this man's reaction was hard proof.

Now, then. Time to actually put it to use.

"...Hm."

I plucked the dagger out of the steadily deteriorating man's hand and drew it, light as a breath, across the exact center of a stone lying on the floor.

And then—

—Sssk....

It parted. Effortlessly, without the slightest exertion of force, the stone split open as though a laser blade out of a movie were slicing clean through it.

No — in a sense it was better than a laser blade. There wasn't even the sensation of matter searing red-hot as it cut. It was, quite literally, a feeling of the object being severed — divided, simply and totally, to the right and to the left of the line I drew.

Whether it could cut any object in existence this way remained an open question, but going by what I could verify, the thing had to be regarded as remarkably high-performing.

'Hmm... if I lashed this dagger around a long rod and swung the thing, it'd make a pretty decent spear, wouldn't it?'

If that really was a weapon an Outer God had scattered, they might well call it blasphemy — how dare you wield a dagger in such a manner — but what would I know?

I was, after all, the undisputed holder of Mental Immunity. I had no desire to climb the Tower with a short-reach weapon like a dagger, so this was an experiment well worth the attempt.

But the world, it seemed, had no intention of leaving me be.

It was eager to send me on my way.

"Well, let's call it here for now. Those people look about worn out, too."

Out of consideration for the others' thoroughly wrecked condition, I decided to head straight out. Once we were on the outside, they really would owe me their thanks.

—Clap, clap, clap, clap!!!

When I came to, the sight that greeted me was, remarkably, a crowd of people in suits applauding us — well, in fairness, I was the only one of us still in one piece.

"Congratulations on your awakening! So you're the five who newly awakened this time!!"

"Uh, uhh... It seems you had a rather difficult clearing. Only one of you appears to be unscathed."

A fierce surge of superiority welled up inside me at that — but modesty is a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Korean virtue.

"Mm, yes. The others seemed to have had a rough time of it."

I promptly lowered my posture, dispensing an appropriate measure of humility in return for their applause.

'They're already on standby, huh. Well, fair enough — the absolute number of Hunters is fixed for each country. Looks like five people died somewhere.'

Awakenings occurred irregularly, across every conceivable station in life, but the absolute number of awakeners never changed. Presumably five had died — either climbing the Tower, or caught up in some accident out in the world — and so five people had newly awakened in their place.

Which meant this place was, in all likelihood, Gwanghwamun — the plaza where the Tower stood.

Our thoroughly inhospitable Tower would issue you a one-way ticket up, but sending you back home was another matter entirely. That was why we were standing here, face-to-face with the Hunter Association's people.

"First, let me introduce myself — I'm Kim Jihoon, Team Leader of the Initial Awakener Response Team."

"Yes, a pleasure."

"U-um... first, we'll check for injuries."

While I was still sorting out my thoughts, the Association staff were already examining the condition of the other four.

"Uh... it looks like they were hit by a mental-type attack?"

"Yes. Special entities appeared."

"...! Th-then how on earth did you survive in there?!"

I was in the middle of briefly debating whether to conceal my ability—

'The Association can't be fooled anyway. They can read your status window with that magic-engineering device, or whatever it's called.'

—realized it would be pointless, and judged that laying the events out bluntly was the more advantageous play.

"Mental-type attacks pose no threat to me. I awakened an ability called Mental Immunity."

"...! I-Immunity...!!"

At that, they jotted something down by hand, then gave the others a meticulous once-over. They fetched one of the devices, scanned the other four with it, and at last brought it to me, completing their inspection.

"...Hmm. I believe you're mistaken about something. It reads 'Mental Resistance.'"

"...?"

I didn't follow, so I opened my status window on the spot — and found it displaying something quite intriguing.

'...Disguised?'

The reason it displays like that? If I knew the answer to that, I'd be Jesus and Buddha and Allah and an Outer God all at once — how the hell would I know?

Well, regardless — the thought of handing over every last scrap of my information didn't sit well with me, so I decided to hitch a ride on this situation instead.

"...Hmm. Looking at it again, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you're right."

"...Haha."

Honestly, in a country where personal information gets sold off to China as a matter of course — that being modern South Korea's standard of information management — you'd think they could manage to keep at least this much under wraps.

But one thread of their suspicion still remained.

"...That dagger?"

Naturally, it was [Severance], the one I was cradling like a treasure.

"...[Severance]. Don't tell me—"

And the tooltip on this weapon, regrettably, appeared to be beyond disguising.

Which brought me to a brief dilemma: the question was how, exactly, to explain Severance.

As a rule, Outer God artifacts were treated as hazardous materials. Even the United States, lenient as it is about private gun ownership, designates Outer God artifacts alone as controlled items — enough said.

Anyone who used an Outer God artifact for an extended period was, as a matter of course, kept under the Hunter Association's continuous management and surveillance. The moment anything seemed even slightly off, the artifact was confiscated. That was simply what an Outer God artifact was.

And yet — the people who used Outer God artifacts... sure, some of them keeled over dead partway through. But the ones who survived? Didn't they end up clutching a ranker's seat?

Which meant the choice available to me amounted to exactly one.

"Yes, it does appear to be an Outer God artifact — but I can use it perfectly fine."

In the end, after all the circling around, it came down to a frontal breakthrough.

"Y-yes...?!"

"I told you I had Mental Resistance, didn't I? And here I am, holding an Outer God artifact, conversing with you right now without any problem whatsoever. That alone should count as a sufficient answer."

I couldn't hide it anyway — so I'd simply turn it around and use it. Where in the world did an awakener exist who could wield Outer God artifacts without any ill effect whatsoever? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠From the Association's standpoint, there was no chance they'd simply send a case like that home. That was my prediction.

"...First, transport those four according to protocol. And this gentleman — that is, Hunter Jeong Hanshin — take him to the Hunter Association for the time being."

And my prediction fit reality with almost insulting precision.

"H-Hunter Hanshin. This way, please."

"Yes, understood."

I followed the Association employee at a rather self-assured stride.

"Oh — one more thing. Be careful with that ajusshi. He's a hypnosis awakener, and I personally watched him hypnotize that woman and pitch a tent below the belt."

"Uh, uhh... Yes, sir. Understood. Thank you for letting us know."

Of course — while diligently reporting the hazard as well.

Park Dongmin, Manager of the Hunter Association's Unidentified Artifact Department, had a head that genuinely throbbed.

"...An ability like that exists?"

Which was fair enough — a report had just come up the chain that an awakener with an ability bordering on Outer God-exclusive had appeared.

Unidentified artifacts — known colloquially as Outer God artifacts — were deployed only under the state's ironclad control. The people who managed to wield such artifacts with even a modicum of freedom were, in the vast majority of cases, people whose minds were already half-shattered. Crazy bastards and crazy bitches fixated on some incomprehensible thing — those were the ones handling these artifacts.

And the young man called 'Jeong Hanshin' who had awakened this time...

'Mental Resistance, of all things...'

Nothing of the sort had ever been observed before. No abnormality in his behavior; no difficulty holding a conversation. The report did mention that he was a little... to put it crudely, a bit of a flake — but even that made him better off than any other Outer God artifact user on record.

However, the fundamental problem lay elsewhere.

'...Our country doesn't really know all that much about Outer God artifacts.'

That, right there, was the problem.

What kind of country was South Korea, to begin with? If not quite the communist bloc, it was still a nation of remarkably strong control and regulation. Because Outer God artifacts carried such severe side effects, Korea had chosen not to operate them actively, but simply to lock them away or sell them off to other countries.

As a result, the specialized personnel assigned to his department were... considerably lacking.

And then there was one more fact, one that seemed calculated to drive a man insane all on its own.

'...The only Outer God artifact expert we do have is a woman who went mad from using one.'

In this unprecedented situation, he had no choice but to call her in. That single fact was what was making Park Dongmin suffer so acutely.

"...Haa."

But what could he do? A civil servant follows the manual. That was that.

To make efficient use of a man who was, for all practical purposes, exclusive to Outer God artifacts, her advice was indispensable. Seen from another angle, it took a situation like this for the regulations on Outer God artifacts to loosen — and for Park Dongmin's own power to grow. It was an opportunity.

At those words, Park Dongmin's head went dizzy for a moment. What had happened when Lee Miso 'didn't hold back' was still seared into his memory.

His former subordinate, Team Leader Choi Byeongmun, had been reduced — because of her — to a wreck who did nothing but scream about sex, day in and day out.

So Park Dongmin, wanting no repeat of that outcome, fired back a reply with uncharacteristic speed.

And so Park Dongmin summoned... Lee Miso — one of South Korea's Outer God artifact wielders, the foremost authority on the subject, A-Rank Hunter Lee Miso.