Surrender Declaration – Goblin Shit for 1000 Points
After about thirty minutes of unrelenting terror, the developer finally bought the goblin shit he'd first uploaded—for a thousand points. That was his surrender declaration.
"Behave yourself."
I called off the harassment and relisted the item.
89.
"Warehouse 89's good enough."
It was the number for a storage full of gear that fell short of Legendary or Unique. That was the upper limit for the items I "sold" to the developer.
Still, he's got some nerve, so I'll charge double the usual price.
* * *
"A satisfying transaction."
Satisfying for me, anyway. Staring at the massive pile of points, I grinned.
Of course, I hadn't been messing around just to relieve stress. To set up the board I had planned for the future, I needed an astronomical amount of points.
Two birds with one stone.
The surest, fastest source of funds was still raiding this guy's wallet. Petty as it seemed, there was no helping it. You need money to save the world or whatever.
The funny part? The developer didn't seem to know the real specs of the items I sold him. He'd shell out extra for flashy names on total junk, but pass on something truly useful like Fisherman's Harpoon without a second thought. Stuff like One-Hand Shield of the Deep Sunset—trash no one would use—he bought at a premium just for the cool name.
His obsession with nameless items isn't about performance; it's gotta be the badass names, right?
From that, it was clear: the developer was a total noob gamer. Or some concept freak obsessed with aesthetics over stats.
"...Wait a sec."
Was he really a noob? Which was more likely—a developer who's bad at games, or one who's good?
No dedicated auction house manager...
What if he was pretending to be a flashy sucker? What if he perfectly understood the true value and nature of nameless items, but played dumb to lower my guard?
Yeah, he was suspicious as hell, all around.
Doesn't matter either way. If he's a real mark, great. If he's acting, I'll strip off every layer of that mask.
"Lalala."
Time to order pizza and chicken. For daring to waft that smell from outside and torment me. And for making me miserable by avoiding smelly food unless it's a really special occasion!
I'll punish them by eating them!
"Delivery apps all cleared out."
Sorry to Cheol-su next door, slaving away after the summons. I'd even asked them not to disband the mobilization so I could chill.
Actually, not sorry at all. Hardships in your youth build character and muscle. It's all for your own good, so suck it up, Cheol-su.
Deadline was seven days. I'd bought fifteen! Three days till the meeting, so a day's rest was fine!
Need to recover anyway. Plenty of time to chill.
Tteokbokki too?
* * *
Kang Hyo-jun stared at the order form in bewilderment.
"...Chicken, pizza, tteokbokki?"
Had the Alchemist lost his mind?
"He likes this stuff too?"
Wasn't he a calorie stick fanatic? Turns out he could eat "normal" food!
"Guy's got no points left. Already blew through all the manastone cash."
Kang Hyo-jun rubbed his temples. The payout from that initial manastone sale he'd asked to hold?
It hadn't even covered the "six-fingered" price tag!
Even so, due to the market's decree to treat the Alchemist like VIP, he'd been dipping into the Korean branch's emergency funds to supply him.
Min Ji-hee's earrings... that set me back a fortune. Ugh.
The one and only Unique VIP needed it—what could a mere branch head do?
Now the Korean branch was bone-dry on cash. And this? High-end food orders.
"Urgh."
Kang Hyo-jun decided to dip into his own pocket.
I'll bill it all later. Damn it.
Next budget cycle, he'd recoup every penny. Just hold out a bit.
For now... guess it's beggar-tier calorie sticks for me.
His stomach hurt. Ever since taking charge of the Alchemist, he'd developed chronic gastritis.
Just from dealing with him? Partly, but not the core issue.
No one knew yet that the market had connected him directly to the Alchemist out of courtesy... but tails get stepped on.
If rumors spread like "You can meet the Alchemist through Kang Hyo-jun"?
The world's big shots would pressure the Korean branch...
"Hoo."
Just imagining it made his heart race and stomach burn. Stumbling to the basement, Kang Hyo-jun started typing ingredients into the market portal.
Let's see.
His eyes sharpened. Kang Hyo-jun was a gourmet. No random ingredients!
"Chicken: size 11. Freshly slaughtered that day, not frozen. Naturally pastured. Price... doesn't matter."
Tap. Tap.
"Milk: full-fat, 4% or higher, not low-fat. Breading: 3:7 wet-to-dry breadcrumbs. Tteokbokki rice cakes: 7:3 wheat-to-rice ratio, fish cakes with 90%+ fish content."
If a subordinate saw this, they'd faint. The Black Market Korea branch head debating tteokbokki ratios with that grave expression?
But Kang Hyo-jun was dead serious.
To perfectly recreate the menu he ordered, ingredients must be flawless. And since it passes through my hands, no room for error.
"Cheese..."
After that long, long order...
What is the price?
"This is the Alchemist's request, Market. For now, from my own pocket..."
Payment processed.
"...Paid?"
Weird. His eyes widened. For admin credit, it should say "Confirmed." "Paid" meant actual settlement...
The Alchemist had points in his account.
No way?
Lightning flashed in Kang Hyo-jun's mind.
He got points?
The mystery every Black Market employee obsessed over! Periodic charges into the Alchemist's account.
It had happened! He scrambled to gather the top-grade ingredients tumbling from the portal, then dashed to the terminal.
Code name: Alchemist. Transaction history. Sales history...
None
"Huh?"
...None!
"No, wait—that can't be. He sold manastones a few days ago!"
He'd handled the transaction himself. No way he'd forget.
Mistake? Impossible!
Yet the history said "None."
...!
A chilling realization hit Kang Hyo-jun.
It's been erased.
Now it made sense. How the Alchemist raked in massive points with no transaction history.
Someone was wiping it clean.
Who? Only one person could do that.
The Black Market's owner. The Market itself. It was personally scrubbing the records...!
Click.
He slammed the transaction window shut. His heart pounded like it would shatter his ribs.
...I saw nothing.
He vowed to forget. Forget it all...
...But.
How much got charged? He was dying to know. Terrifying, but insanely curious...
Human curiosity beats fear, huh. He squinted and "accidentally" tapped the Alchemist's account.
No viewing privileges
"...Ha. Haha."
Slam.
He closed the terminal. His fingers trembled. Heart racing turned to a numb ache in his chest.
A branch head should have account viewing rights. It was the bare minimum filter to spot randos from whales.
An unviewable account? The Market managed it personally.
I know nothing. Yeah, pretend I know zilch. Forget it all.
Digging deeper was dangerous. He knew it. Shaking it off, he staggered to the kitchen.
"Chicken, pizza, tteokbokki."
Tying on his apron with shaky hands, the terrified, sweating man vanished. Only a craftsman's gaze at the ingredients remained.
With trembling hands, he precisely weighed the flour.
"Dough temp: 4 degrees. Inhibits gluten formation."
Black Market "delivery menus" were admin handmade. Why the branch head sweated over frying chicken and kneading dough? That was why.
"Ultimate quality... perfect execution."
And... it was the Alchemist's order. Extra care today.
* * *
"Delicious."
Mom's touch... no, the handiwork of some top chef, brimming with care.
"Black Market, you're a lifesaver."
Who knew delivery could have this class? Money's the best.
Finally, he downed the last bottle of previously bought "potion" to cap the meal.
"Hmm, let's see."
Stomach happy, but brain couldn't rest. "Rest" didn't mean rolling in bed all day. Not in a national crisis.
After the Frost Dragon, the Tower's final warning bosses: Scathach, Lezonar.
These two. Raid bosses from Lost Honor.
A lineup laser-focused on countering ice hunter Han Seol-ah.
Say they beat Lezonar. Next boss would surely counter too, right?
So he listed them out.
The result?
...Impressive.
Monsters that could solidly counter Han Seol-ah: exactly four.
Scathach—the boss that nearly doomed the nation—was a shocking fourth in strength ranking.
Lezonar third.
...Next up: second, then first. Makes sense.
Up to Lezonar, there were razor-thin strategies. But the top two? Current specs couldn't touch them dead or alive.
Cold assessment. Han Seol-ah was at peak now. Min Ji-hee wasn't combat. Jin Cheon-jin was weak against big mobs for a human.
If he didn't power up, extinction was certain.
Difficulty's insane.
Yeah. Reality's the real deal.
Static—
Then it hit. Noise-mixed voice from next door's TV—Cheol-su's.
Not just that. Front apartment, next-next too—all TVs blared on simultaneously.
"...?"
Ah, ah. Can you hear me, Apostle?
No—out the window, the whole complex's windows flashed, TVs igniting in unison.
Every TV in the complex awake at once.
"What the."
Don't be startled. Broadcasting only on Incheon's dedicated line.
"Aha."
Min Ji-hee's voice. Situation grasped, he let out a hollow chuckle.
Impressive.
No idiot would think they couldn't pinpoint his TV with that tech. They'd widened the net—TVs, radios—to give him ample hiding room.
Declaration: won't cross the line. Tail between legs. Smart woman.
Your Hunter Watch is ready, Apostle. Packaged in the meeting room—pick it up anytime. After that... we'll contact via Hunter Watch.
"Right, no way to reach me."
Desperate to pinpoint him, yet politely "pick it up when convenient." Solid operator.
"Guess I'll take a stroll."
Close by, belly full—perfect.
"Whoa. A stroll? World's changed."
Days I could roam freely again!
* * *
"Oho."
On the meeting room desk: a Hunter Watch in a small box. Sleek white, luxurious but understated.
"Matches Han Seol-ah perfectly."
Click.
Premium white leather band hugged his wrist like it was made for it.
"...Heh."
This the thrill of rich folks' watches? Beep.
Short alarm, then a hologram from the watch.
User 'Apostle', pleased to meet you.
"Cool."
Felt like a special agent from an old flick. But holograms like this standard...?
Shouldn't it just beep and show the screen? Greeting the user first? News to him.
Don't be surprised. This watch is special agent exclusive, with wearer-only hologram projection registered.
Quick on the uptake.
Reading his mood, crawling smartly. Seemed useful.
To restrict use by non-agents, initial registration required once.
Fingerprint prompt appeared.
This feels iffy.
Unawakened, no Korean Hunter DB entry. Fingerprint registration? Sketchy as hell.
"Don't wanna register."
What if hacked? Couldn't install his custom security tools like on his PC.
The watch responded instantly.
Judgment: User reluctant due to biometrics security concerns.
Response: Skipping registration. Switching to 'Voice Authentication' mode.
"Huh? That works?"
Hunter Watch was like a modern ID card. Linked accounts, contacts—more vital than a resident card. Another digital self.
Skipping core registration?
Pop.
Hologram vanished; soft light on the screen. Calm AI voice in his ear.
Of course. This model features 12th-gen AI, Snow White. Resolving agent concerns is my top priority.
Oho.
Agent privileges: highest tier. Full access to anything.
Plus special function: generate 'identity.' Check now?
"Nice."
Jackpot. Perfect for his needs: legal cover identity.
Was gonna request one separately, but it's built-in.
Wanted a watch, got way more. Anticipating unasked needs with competence. Min Ji-hee's talent exceeded expectations. Korea's brain trust indeed.
About to say "check it"—he paused.
"Home first, continue there."
Public spot. Satisfied smile, he tapped the screen lightly.
"Sweet?"
Like scoring a reliable secretary.
"Gotta rush back, test the full specs."
Steps home lighter.
* * *
"Good work."
"..."
Min Ji-hee had collapsed. Pushed too hard for speed.
Classic design to avoid standing out. But premium leather, parts—all top-shelf.
Sourced urgently from A-rank intel "Silent Assassin" Jang Ho-hyeon. His was Black Market custom, peak quality.
Jang got a basic one instead—"simple is best." Gifted him "starting from scratch" vibes.
He cried silently; no one noticed.
Min Ji-hee splashed her dry face. Time crunch—she tuned final Snow White for three keys.
One: Impenetrable firewall, even for state agencies.
Two: Highest privileges—free pass to everything via watch.
Three: What the Apostle needed most, but wouldn't voice.
Identity laundering.
Shadow dweller. To step out, needed perfect mask.
...He'll realize quick what that watch enables.
Sigh.
Hope he sees this as our utmost trust...
She rolled her stiff neck, gazing out. Incheon's night sky unusually bright.
"Hope he likes it."