Chapter 15

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Translator: MadScientist

Chapter: 15

Chapter Title: Qualifications of a King and the Hero's Return

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When the Mitu Guild Leader opened his eyes, he was hit with a suffocating sensation that made it impossible to breathe.

The air was scorching hot, as if the oxygen itself had burned away, and his lungs burned with agony.

Before him loomed a colossal body as massive as a mountain range, blotting out the entire sky.

Krrroooar...

A living catastrophe—an ancient dragon, breathing and alive.

Each golden scale was the size of a house, and with a mere exhale, the earth screamed and cracked open.

An instinctive, primal terror raced up his spine—the biological dread of an apex predator that even an S-grade hunter could feel deep in his bones.

"Grk... This damn...!"

The dragon's amber eyes fixed on him, and that gaze alone cracked his S-grade aura barrier.

He didn't back down. He drew his sword and unleashed his strongest skill.

"Do you know who I am? I'm Korea's number one rank! You think some lizard like you...!"

A slashing strike that rent space itself surged toward the dragon's neck.

Clang!

"What...?"

An unbelievable sight. The strike, which could cleave space, bounced off the scales like a toothpick, without so much as a scratch.

The dragon swatted lazily with its front paw, like shooing an annoying fly.

It wasn't an attack—it was a natural disaster. An overwhelming storm of mass that couldn't be dodged or blocked.

Kwududuk! Pow!

"Gahk?!"

The Mitu Guild Leader's defensive skills, item effects, and aura were torn apart like paper in an instant. His upper body exploded like a tomato in a gruesome spectacle, and he didn't even have time to feel the pain.

"Hahk!"

He opened his eyes at the starting point again.

His body was intact, but the sensation of his entire form being crushed was vividly etched into his mind, dominating him with phantom pain.

"Again! I'll do it again!"

He didn't give up, but the trial was merciless.

Kwaaaa!

The dragon spewed its breath—not mere fire, but a beam of annihilation that broke all matter down to atomic levels.

The Mitu Guild Leader vaporized without even a scream.

A single tail swipe pulverized every bone in his body. A flap of its wings hurled him into a storm that tore his limbs apart.

No less than fifty times.

After fifty gruesome deaths, the Mitu Guild Leader fell into despair.

All attacks were meaningless. Its magic resistance was practically infinite, and its physical defense impenetrable from the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠front.

"How... how are you supposed to hunt this thing? It's impossible! This can't be!"

On the sixtieth death, tears of blood streamed down as he stared at his sword.

His S-grade pride had long been trampled. All that remained was a raw survival instinct.

'Give up on surviving.'

'If you can't block or dodge it anyway... go inside it.'

Sixty-seventh attempt.

The dragon opened its maw to unleash its breath again. Instead of dodging, the Mitu Guild Leader leaped straight into that maw of doom.

Tsss!

"Gaaaaah!"

Even grazing the breath's heat melted his top-tier armor and charred his skin. Muscles cooked and bones exposed in agony that clouded his mind, but he couldn't stop.

He spotted it—the dragon's sole weakness: the reverse scale hidden under its chin.

Clutching his sword with burned arms, he poured all his aura, life force, and soul into the blade's tip.

"Dieeeee!"

Squish!

The sword pierced the reverse scale and drove into its heart.

Kuoooooo!

A heaven-shaking roar, and the massive catastrophe collapsed. Covered in dragon blood, the Mitu Guild Leader gasped for air.

"Haa... haa... I did it!"

He overcame the physical trial through sheer grit. But before he could relax, space warped, and the true hell began.

A barren wasteland.

The Mitu Guild Leader looked down at his feet and gasped. It wasn't dirt.

Mountains formed from hundreds of millions of broken arrows and worn bows.

And atop a distant hill stood a familiar silhouette.

Headquarters Chief Irmi. In her hands was the Ultimate Success Bow that Do-ha had made for her.

The illusion said nothing, merely drawing the bowstring with an expressionless face.

Piiing!

Before the sound of slicing wind reached him, an arrow pierced his shoulder.

"Argh!"

It wasn't mere physical pain. The moment the arrow hit, unfamiliar memories flooded his mind forcibly.

A cold training ground. The back of a woman shooting arrows until her fingers split open to the bone. Blood soaking through bandages no matter how many layers, accompanied by pained groans.

"Th-this...?"

These were Irmi's memories of suffering for ten years.

Mocked by S-grades for being mere A-grade, she had bled alone to build her strength.

The illusion didn't stop. Arrows rained down like a storm.

Kwakwakwa! Boom!

The Mitu Guild Leader deployed his S-grade defensive skill, but arrows infused with Gale Aura shredded the barrier like paper.

Each arrow that struck brought a new hallucination crashing over him.

A lavish banquet hall. Himself laughing amid popping champagne, while Irmi, an A-grade hunter, bit her lip in the rain outside, watching.

'Failed the S-grade promotion exam, sobbing quietly in a bathroom stall.'

The illusion silently questioned him.

'While you were laughing, I was spilling blood like this. What were you doing?'

"Shut up! Get out of my head!"

The Mitu Guild Leader swung his sword wildly. Guilt and shame drove him mad.

But the arrows relentlessly pierced his blind spots, denying him any approach.

One hundred twenty deaths. One hundred twenty memory injections.

His mind shattered completely.

He realized how arrogant he'd become, drunk on being number one, while others bled tears to climb—and he merely defended his ranking.

"Uwaaaaa!"

He stopped dodging or blocking the arrows.

He crawled forward on his belly, refusing to kneel.

Shoulders pierced, thighs riddled, belly shot through—he became a porcupine, but he didn't stop.

'I'm sorry... While I stood still, you were running this desperately.'

Bearing the weight of Irmi's ten years with his body, he finally reached the hilltop.

And he thrust his sword into the ground at the illusion's feet.

It wasn't an attack—it was the belated atonement the trial demanded.

Perfect darkness, without a single point of light.

Absolute solitude where nothing could be seen or heard.

'Where are you?'

Then, thousands of gazes pierced the darkness.

No forms, only sticky, repulsive whispers circling his ears.

"No talent."

"Stuck at A-grade forever."

"Half-baked genius."

"No point in trying. Give up—you can't do it."

The mockery and scorn Sylphsong had endured her whole life.

Those curse-laden voices took form, slicing into his flesh.

Shlick.

"Ugh!"

An invisible blade severed his arm, but he barely registered it.

This was the terror of a talent wall no effort could overcome.

Trapped in darkness, the Mitu Guild Leader felt suffocated.

Others soared on wings while he alone was mired in mud—the raw inferiority and despair Sylphsong felt every night gnawed at his mind.

Two hundred thirty deaths.

He was going mad in the darkness. No matter how he swung his sword, nothing connected.

'Give up. You're ordinary too.'

'S-grade? Don't make me laugh. You just got lucky.'

Sylphsong's illusion targeted his deepest wounds: ten years of stagnation, an aging body, fear of rising juniors.

A "give up" button blinked temptingly before him.

But at the threshold of the 280th death, he gripped his sword tight.

'Yeah, I'm ordinary.'

He had to admit it.

He wasn't special; the number one title was an illusion. That's why he had to struggle harder—like Sylphsong's ten years thrashing in the dark.

He closed his eyes.

He refused to see or hear. He synchronized all his senses with Sylphsong's desperate longing.

'I want to live. I want to grow stronger!'

A faint thread-like flow stirred in the darkness.

"There you are!"

Clang!

For the first time, his sword connected.

The darkness lifted, revealing Sylphsong's illusion. Her face was streaked with tears, but her lips smiled.

With his last strength, he slashed the illusion.

It wasn't killing a foe—it was severing the trauma of talent that bound her and him.

"Hahk!!!!"

The Mitu Guild Leader awoke screaming.

Collapsed on the lobby floor, his body was drenched in sweat, tears, and snot. Exhausted, he couldn't even twitch a finger.

The screen displayed the final result.

This wasn't mere combat.

It was a grueling pilgrimage—experiencing someone else's life, someone else's hell, 324 times over.

Ding!

Brilliant golden particles gathered in the air.

This wasn't a gift from Do-ha. It was the system acknowledging the weight of his blood and sweat.

Clang.

A single golden sword dropped before him.

"Ahh..."

The Mitu Guild Leader seized the sword with trembling hands and slammed his forehead to the floor. Sobs burst forth.

"I'm sorry... I'm truly sorry..."

Who was that apology for?

Irmi? Sylphsong? Or the past self rotting inside the shell of being number one?

One by one, the Haedam and Genesis Guild Leaders awoke behind him.

All were wrecks, weeping.

But their eyes burned deeper and tougher than before the trial.

They were no longer geezers fussing over gear—they were true warriors who had transcended death and despair.

I watched them and smiled quietly.

'They pass.'

True normalization isn't about boosting specs. It's reigniting the hunter's heart they'd forgotten.

Now, Korea has no fake heroes. Only the real ones ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠remain.