After the Ice Dragon Mode Detonation

The spot where Skazaha in Ice Dragon Mode had detonated. Beyond the hazy cold mist, a single, brilliantly glowing blue orb came into view.

There it is, right on cue.

He picked it up and examined it closely. Inside the orb, there was an eerie trace resembling the slit pupil of a reptile.

The Ice Dragon's Eye.

One of the rewards for subjugating Skazaha—what gamers called the "second-place prize." And there was only one way to obtain it.

Force Skazaha into Ice Dragon Mode and take it down afterward.

I had to get this one.

Truth be told, the absolute best reward was the top prize: the Ice Dragon's Heart. The one he'd used to create Eternal Winter. But that was a lottery with drop odds lower than 0.0001%.

This wasn't a game. This was reality.

A reality where one nation's survival—and his own life—hung in the balance. In a situation like this, banking on minuscule probabilities was out of the question.

The Ice Dragon's Eye, on the other hand, was different. Force Skazaha into phase two—Ice Dragon Mode—trigger its rampage, then kill it, and you'd get a 100% guaranteed drop.

That was exactly why he'd taken the risk and dragged the fight all the way to phase two.

In a raid where failure wasn't an option, you had to control the variables. Relying on luck was gambling, not strategy.

He'd wanted a guaranteed reward, and just as he'd planned, the item was now in his hands.

This was the key item for his next operation.

But the defeated man's eyes couldn't see that glimmer of hope.

"...Apostle, is there even any point in holding it back?"

Jin Cheon-jin's gaze wasn't on his hand—it was fixed on empty air.

A red, blinking countdown. That number was crushing Jin Cheon-jin.

"Just... three days."

Deep despair seeped from his voice.

He understood the man's despair. This time, thanks to his intervention, they'd pulled off a miraculous "zero casualties." But normally, three days wasn't enough to treat the wounded or rebuild collapsed defenses.

The man was intuiting it. The meaning of this drastically shortened prep time.

Even if they held this one, the next might be down to a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠single day. He'd read the Tower's inevitable doom scenario: it would keep hammering them until they withered away.

In truth, the Tower plans to kill everyone if you don't climb it.

"It's over now. Everything... "

Jin Cheon-jin bowed his head.

The man's shoulders suddenly seemed so small.

Jin Cheon-jin. This middle-aged man hanging his head before him was the king of the "first-generation hunters" who had held the line before Han Seol-ah—the living legend who'd endured three years of hell with his bare fists, reviving Korea from the brink of 99% extinction amid the Towers' emergence and chaos.

That Jin Cheon-jin had broken.

...What a cruel world.

But.

"It's not over."

"...What?"

To Jin Cheon-jin—and to Min Ji-hee listening via mic—he decided to plant some certainty.

"There's a way."

"...!"

Jin Cheon-jin's eyes widened like they might tear.

"You—and your people—begged me. To save Korea."

"...Yes."

"I declared it. Your quest is accepted."

He continued firmly.

"The quest isn't complete yet."

"... "

"Killing Skazaha? That was just the first objective. The true purpose of the quest..."

He pointed at the red warning message Jin Cheon-jin had been staring at.

"...is to shatter that irrational cycle of doom."

"Is that... really possible?"

"Yeah."

As golden specks of light began gathering around him, he pressed on.

"Once I accept a quest, I clear it. No matter what."

"A-Apostle! What does that mean? Please, tell us more...!"

Jin Cheon-jin reached out desperately, trying to ask something else, but he gave no answer.

He waited for the golden light to fully absorb into his body... then strolled casually out of the clearing, vanishing from Jin Cheon-jin's sight.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

The moment he was out of view, he bolted toward home.

Ugh! Sync's shutting down!

"Just hold out till I get home!"

Please!

* * *

The instant he arrived home, synchronization ended.

"... "

Tense, he braced for the backlash...

"Phew."

Fortunately, the worst didn't happen.

Absorbing the light particles prevents the backlash.

He confirmed it once more.

"Alright, then."

He checked the monitor running Lost Honor.

The quest window showed meaningful changes.

The Possession Ticket was something he'd already tasted to the bone when awakening Han Seol-ah to EX-rank—insanely overpowered stuff.

But the other reward, Hall of Constellations - 'Achievements'... He figured it was some massive ability tied to unlocking new classes, but he couldn't be sure until he checked it out.

Click.

Click.

Just in case, he clicked the mouse a few times, but no extra explanation popped up.

Yeah, figures.

Beneath it, the golden-glowing Yes button blinked like it was urging him to hurry.

Clicking that would claim the rewards right away.

So naturally, he hit No.

"Haven't cleared the hidden quest yet, dummy."

Taking rewards now would be convenient, sure.

But he knew: only after finishing that one thing would the system unpack its real treasure chest.

Now wasn't the time to set down his spoon.

He slumped over his chair.

"Ugh, I'm dying... "

His mind felt like mush.

The light particles apparently couldn't heal his internal injuries.

He was confirming that right now, loud and clear.

"Nngh."

It hurt.

For a second, he considered flicking on synchronization to heal up... but no.

Even through the pain, cold logic won out. Doing that would kill him.

His condition was like a cracked bowl. Turn on sync in this state, and he'd end up like Han Seol-ah when her magic practice blew up in her face.

Pushed too hard this time...

He knew it was unavoidable.

But pushing too hard was still pushing too hard.

Normally, with synchronization, it handled all the math. Just will the spell, and sync distributed the mana, crunched the complex magic arrays, and output it perfectly.

Like an autonomous driving system handling the wheel safely and smoothly.

But this time was different.

Sync ran on autopilot up to activating Absolute Zero.

After that? Pouring mana-fuel into that engine was all on him.

Mocking his max of 50,000 MP, he'd dumped an absurd 300,000 MP worth of power—entirely his decision.

He'd turned off autopilot and floored it himself.

Handling that insane computation without sync's help, he'd legit thought he was gonna die.

But thanks to it, he learned something: output beyond sync's limits was possible.

Controllable by his hands alone.

He dove into bed.

Swallowed a painkiller pilfered from Cheol-su's place, and passed out.

* * *

The next day.

He woke and headed straight to the makeshift ops camp at the precinct.

Still couldn't turn on sync. Being mobile enough to walk was a win.

Before arriving, he checked a mirror and adjusted his mask.

From here on, his job was simple.

Nail the full op briefing!

The climax of his plan was, of course, taking down Skazaha.

Something only he could do—which was why he'd handled it personally.

But he'd foreseen no energy left for cleanup after... so he'd designed the rest at a difficulty Han Seol-ah could manage.

Easy? Hell no.

Tough as nails.

Fail, and Han Seol-ah dies—Korea falls.

Ugh, hurts.

His reflection screamed "patient on death's door."

The mask's high performance was poison right now.

Mind control. Hoo.

I'm the Apostle... the Apostle.

Opponent: Min Ji-hee.

Show pain honestly in front of her, and she'd whip up a report like "100 Flaws and Truths of the Apostle."

He had to sell it: Han Seol-ah steps up, not him.

Without her sniffing out that the Apostle took a big hit!

Gotta hold the mental reins tight.

The Apostle's transcendent authority couldn't crumble yet.

"Good."

Let's go.

* * *

Min Ji-hee was smart. Scary smart.

So she knew from the start: best to play dumb about the "minor mysteries" surrounding the Apostle.

But she never truly forgot them.

For example.

Why did the Apostle live there?

She had Incheon's full map in her head.

His gait. His speed. Direction in, direction out.

Do the math, and you pinpoint where he lived.

...Happiness House B-Wing. The rundown villa of B-rank hunter Kim Cheol-su.

She remembered every hunter in Happiness House B-Wing.

And none matched—or even resembled—the Apostle's profile.

Thus...

The Apostle was someone from Happiness House B-Wing in disguise.

That someone was...

Stop there.

Min Ji-hee cut the thought short.

Knowing the Apostle's identity—did it help stop Korea's fall?

Maybe.

But the Apostle was a transcendent proxy, strong enough to dust a city.

That apparent sloppiness—was it real? Or a deliberate smokescreen?

She leaned toward the latter.

What if she peeled back that veil...?

Just imagining it chilled her blood.

So she buried the nagging questions whenever they surfaced, pretending ignorance.

That was enough.

And with her head cleared, time with the Apostle was... enjoyable.

Conversing with someone rational was more fun than expected.

"... "

But...

"Uh, Apostle."

"Is that so... "

"...?"

Why, from earlier...

"So that's how it is... "

...has he been repeating himself?

"Apostle...? Do you have something to say to me...?"

"That's... no. Never mind. You don't need to know."

"Pardon?"

"... "

"... "

No way.

He read my doubts?

* * *

Dealing with smart people is exhausting.

You can't calculate how to outmaneuver them.

And Min Ji-hee? Infamously brilliant among hunters.

Even harder.

...So his method was simple.

Leverage the "Apostle" mystique!

He stared at Min Ji-hee, muttering cryptic nonsense.

Like so, not knowing, huh, so that's it, you don't need to know—deep-sounding vagueness.

Add a spoonful of silence, done.

Min Ji-hee, sensing major bait, pondered furiously.

Finally, she blurted it out.

"...Apostle, I swear, you're the only one who knows—or suspects—that fact... no, only me."

"... "

That fact?

Chills ran down his spine.

What the hell is it?

"I swear it. I won't breathe a word."

"...Is that so."

He side-eyed Jin Cheon-jin and Han Seol-ah.

Jin Cheon-jin had long zoned out, knowing it wasn't for him.

Han Seol-ah was lost and flustered.

You two don't get it either. What this means.

Hell, he didn't either!

He gazed down at Min Ji-hee heavily and intoned,

"So that's it... "

"Yes. I swear on my name."

"In that case... "

"...I'll harbor no more doubts. No, I'll forget it entirely."

Min Ji-hee's cool facade crumbled.

She looked like a kid caught red-handed by a scary teacher.

...Whoa.

This was more than he'd hoped!

"Let's end this talk."

"...Thank you for your mercy."

Min Ji-hee bowed, sweating bullets, then quietly stepped back.

...

"... "

The room turned frosty.

Even his own neck prickled.

What was churning in that brain of hers right now...?

...Whatever. Don't pry into what you don't know.

Won the mind game. Good enough. Cheers.

"Time to explain the op."

He pulled out the Ice Dragon's Eye from his bag.

"This item's called the Ice Dragon's Eye. Reward for taking down Skazaha."

All three pairs ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of eyes locked onto the iridescent blue orb.

"Usually a material for gear crafting. But if a frost class uses it as a mana catalyst..."

He grinned at Han Seol-ah.

"I'll spell it simple. It's a mana nuke."

"A-a nuke?!"

Han Seol-ah's eyes went wide.

"Han Seol-ah. This is your mission too."

He glanced at Min Ji-hee.

Thanks to the mind flex landing perfectly, she raised no questions.

Nice.

"When the boss Break starts, there'll be a spawn point for the boss, right?"

"Yes. There is."

Jin Cheon-jin answered.

"Take this there. No need for exact coordinates."

"Got it."

Han Seol-ah replied with resolute determination this time.

"Then detonate it."

"... "

No one replied.