The Living Snowfield

[Arc Industry] — Main Control Room.

A space now completely devoid of human presence, filled to bursting with equipment built for the AI alone.

Above the large central screen, a holographic terrain map rose into view: this expedition's target, [G-3 Zone, Floor 21: The Twisted Garden of the Four Seasons].

"This is a place where common sense does not apply. Four seasons. Four attributes churned together into complete chaos — snow that falls but burns you the moment it touches your skin, rain that inflicts frostbite on contact. A place where visual information and actual attributes shift in maddening confusion."

Managing Director Han Tae-seok carried on the briefing in a voice full of self-assurance.

Normally he would have called in a subordinate from the strategic planning team to do this for him, but today was different.

At his side sat Director Dmitry, the real power behind [Cheka International], along with the stern-looking old man he had brought with him. The technical advisor stood with his arms crossed, glaring down at the screen.

"Hmm... a rather treacherous environment. Ideally suited to scrambling human sensory organs, common sense, and every movement built upon them."

Dmitry murmured with evident interest.

"Precisely. Humans are easily deceived by what their eyes show them, even without realizing it. Instinctively, they prepare countermeasures against the cold — and die of heat instead. But—"

At Han Tae-seok's gesture, the interface of the AI Operating System bloomed across the screen in dazzling detail.

Equipment already deployed and entrenched by the on-site exploration team.

Mana scanners and support drones had mapped the terrain inside the dungeon and measured its mana concentrations, while special communication modules and mana amplifiers kept the link alive.

The hunters, standing at the very mouth of the dungeon and peering into its depths, were being fed a tactical map system that painted the hazards in their field of view onto a strategic chart — showing them exactly which dangers to avoid.

"Our AI system is different. It judges not through human senses, but through pure analysis and data. Mana wavelengths, temperature fluctuations, atmospheric composition — thousands of data points analyzed in real time to pierce through to the truth beneath. A stage like this is precisely where our system shines brightest."

"Hmm. We have things like [mana scanners] and [support drones] ourselves. I'd assumed Arc's operating capability went beyond that — something special, with foresight of the future. It seems there's no particularly special observation equipment after all."

Dmitry let out a click of his tongue, but the technical advisor beside him still hadn't lowered his suspicious gaze.

"Ha ha... it's not about superior observation equipment. Even looking at the very same thing, I believe the specialness lies in how it's analyzed. After all, our AI is built on a core developed by none other than the Yuseong Group."

"That AI of yours...? However well it analyzes, there are surely omens that begin with things that can't be seen at all. Besides, this is Arc we're talking about. I hear the recent expeditions have seen one misfortune after another."

Han Tae-seok clicked his tongue inwardly.

That old man is really... determined to nitpick every single detail.

It was true that Arc's recent exploration results had hit rock bottom. Kang Minho's blunders, Park Jin-chul's injuries — the setbacks had piled up one atop another.

But those were, at their root, human variables. Not problems with the system.

And this time, he had prepared a flawless, airtight setup.

"Nothing of the sort will be repeated this time."

Kang Taeyun, the famed solo-ranker hunter hired by the [Cheka] side, along with a cadre of elite mercenaries. And Kang Muhyeok of the Special Response Team, brought in practically on his knees begging the Vice President. On top of all that, Park Jin-chul — his killer instinct honed sharp to redeem his last mistake — had joined as well.

As long as Muhyeok holds the center, there are no variables. I've also hounded Park Jin-chul into prioritizing safety above all else this time.

Flashy spectacle? Nothing of the sort was needed this time.

Just dry, precise execution.

Like a well-oiled machine, without a hitch. All he wanted was an expedition that demonstrated this system's safety and accuracy in operating accordance with its guidance.

Han Tae-seok turned to the technical advisor with a deliberately relaxed smile.

"Watch and see. Data does not lie. That's why we've gone to the trouble of arranging a hands-on test, isn't it? There's no need to rush."

On the screen, the joint party of [Cheka] and [Arc] was advancing toward the dungeon's entrance.

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

[Dokkaebi] Guild Strategic Situation Room.

Because they'd spent the morning fussing over my tour and hospitality at the workshop, Park Sangwoo and the [Dokkaebi] party had set out for the Tower a little later than the parties of their corporate competitors.

They really didn't need to go to all that trouble for me.

I felt grateful for Park Sangwoo's excessive kindness, and yet a wry smile tugged at my lips all the same.

Perhaps it was simply because he was a good man at his core.

On the screen, I watched a five-man elite party led by Park Sangwoo moving swiftly toward the target dungeon.

It wasn't just the dungeons that appeared within the 'Tower' — the Tower itself was one vast dimensional stratum, a dungeon in its own right. Reaching a dungeon on Floor 21 meant climbing twenty-one floors' worth of dungeon to get there.

On the screen: Park Sangwoo, one of [Dokkaebi]'s aces. Kim Hyeona, the belligerent girl I'd met at the workshop. Kang Minsu, the scout ranker said to count among the fastest in the industry. And Lee Jina and Choi Seokhoon, silently shoring up the rear.

Every single member is famous in their own right.

No wonder they were called a first-line party. Most of them were names I'd heard through the grapevine, or else skilled enough to appear regularly in the mass media.

But [Dokkaebi]'s true strength revealed itself in more than just its roster.

"Recalculating the shortest route to the Floor 21 entrance. At the fork ahead, take the side passage at one o'clock — three minutes saved via the cliff climb. Ignore the monster signatures two hundred meters ahead and punch straight through."

At the center of the situation room, a man surrounded by a wall of monitors issued his orders with calm precision.

[Dokkaebi]'s chief operator — Han Taewoo.

...He's genuinely on another level.

Watching from behind with my arms crossed, I marveled inwardly.

An operator's role was never an easy one. It was nothing so ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠simple as being a navigation system that pointed out the way.

The sweeping field-of-view data streaming in through the 'mana scanners' mounted by the exploration team. The information from 'support drones' relaying blind spots no human could reach. And on top of that, quantified real-time measurements — temperature, humidity, mana density, the structural integrity of the terrain itself.

Filtering the noise out of that instant flood of information, judging the optimal course of action for the team in a split second, and slotting the order into their ears — that was the essence of operating.

However good Dokkaebi's equipment may be, he's not simply charting routes from the data that pours in through monitors and instruments.

The 'Tower' — itself one enormous dungeon — was an immensely vast and complicated place, yet he had its laws completely mastered. He wove the pathways through it in full, synchronizing with information that changed in real time to present the road they had to take.

And Han Taewoo was executing that work with consummate skill.

On the field, centered on the [Dokkaebi] exploration team, he overlaid and harmonized the equipment-derived tactical map with the shifting terrain data in real time.

"Okay! Keep pushing forward!"

Above all, what impressed me was their rhythm as a team.

Unlike me, Han Taewoo gave zero briefings on minor hazards or surprise attacks.

He trusts his teammates.

With party members as outstanding as Park Sangwoo and Kim Hyeona, he held the conviction that their own skill was more than enough to handle whatever came — no need for him to warn and point out every little thing.

Thanks to that, Han Taewoo could cut out the unnecessary orders and devote himself entirely to reading the overall board and finding the path up the Tower.

An ideal party.

It was on a level I couldn't even dream of comparing to Field Exploration Team 1 back in my days at [Arc].

It was a different dimension entirely from Park Jin-chul, who bounded around a minefield like a child abandoned at a riverside, incapable of absorbing information even when it was handed to him on a plate.

If I had worked with party members like these — if I hadn't needed to waste breath on pointless briefings — if only I'd been able to entrust on-the-spot improvisation to the people actually standing there...

How far could I have led them with my operating?

A bitter laugh rose in my throat.

I did think Han Taewoo was one of the best operators I'd seen in the industry, myself excluded — and yet the wall between us was one he could never cross, precisely because the field of view itself was different.

Because I couldn't help imagining what kind of expeditions, what kind of achievements I might have built, had I been given teammates like these.

Just like that, so smoothly it seemed there was no room for anyone to interfere, the [Dokkaebi] party arrived without incident at their destination — the entrance to Floor 21.

It was the mouth of the 'Twisted Garden of the Four Seasons,' in gorgeous, grotesque full bloom.

"We've arrived, Operator. What's the call? Scanning first as usual, then a careful entry?"

On the screen, Park Sangwoo stood before the entrance and spoke to Han Taewoo through the special communication module.

Unexpectedly, though, Han Taewoo did not immediately decide on scanning or mapping via support drone —

Normally he would have. But there was a reason he couldn't.

"The other competing parties. They seem to have arrived quite a bit ahead of us."

"Looks like it. Some of them have already recalled their drones and look ready to move out right now."

This expedition was nothing like exploring a 'frozen world' — not a matter of wandering in after a leisurely mining session. Everyone here had come for the 'Elemental Stone' that lay within.

And for one party to obtain it meant everyone else would walk away with nothing.

For frontline exploration teams hunting rare resources, competition was destiny.

"...My apologies to your team, but since we departed late, I'm afraid we may need to accept a degree of risk."

Han Taewoo spoke through tightly pressed lips.

"Ah, come on, don't sweat that. You're our operator. No burdens — just call it."

"We'll continue the scanning and keep the support drones aloft, but there won't be enough time to map fresh data onto the tactical map. Hold out as long as we can in the meantime — and let's run a follow strategy, making sure we don't fall too far behind the parties entering ahead of us."

"Eh, that's nothing. You all heard him, right?"

Park Sangwoo said, glancing around at his teammates.

Things are getting interesting.

It was a rational strategy, too. A dungeon was never a place that welcomed you in with open arms.

Using exploration equipment to identify hazards, variables, and terrain was merely the baseline. But chase safety without limit or end, and the brave fools who charged in without a second thought — eyes wide open, walking straight into the knife — would sometimes walk away with the best results.

Yet he hadn't abandoned safety entirely, either.

"Forward scan and environmental variable check complete. The entry path is secure. No anticipated trap signatures — you should be fine simply following the routes the parties ahead have already traveled."

He was walking the tightrope between safety and alluring rewards with real finesse.

Exemplary operating — aggressive, while still securing a bare minimum of safety.

It was the optimal strategy, flawless even on paper.

The front yard lay open before them, and the mana scanners, the drones' thermal cameras, the vibration sensors — none of them picked up the slightest anomaly.

"Okay, we trust our operator! Let's go, guys — they're moving. Run!"

It was the very instant Park Sangwoo laughed heartily and kicked off the ground.

"Halt."

A low voice burst from my lips — quiet, yet enough to freeze the air of the entire situation room.

"Do not leave the ground."

I hadn't even taken the microphone from Han Taewoo. Just my ordinary speaking voice.

But perhaps it was the flatness in it — the certainty bordering on calm — that made the difference.

Fortunately, Han Taewoo did not ignore me. He repeated my order on reflex.

"ALL UNITS HALT! Hold position!"

On the screen, the [Dokkaebi] party members froze and dropped into low stances.

Han Taewoo had followed along, but he turned to look at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me with bewildered eyes.

"...Is something the matter? Deeper in, maybe — but the immediate vicinity is showing no anomalous readings at all. The mana wavelengths are stable, the latency is negligible. The data is perfect."

He was right. Everything on the monitors, everything the instruments displayed, was signaling safe.

But.

Data doesn't lie — but data is not the whole of the world.

The world seems to bare itself openly, showing you everything at a glance. In truth, countless threads twist and tangle beneath the surface, and all it ever reveals is the tip of the iceberg.

And I knew that — which was why my eyes were seeing something else entirely.

On the screen, within the scrambled four seasons — that paradoxical snowfield where flame-attribute snow fell — thousands upon tens of thousands of red solid lines were rising up from beneath the snow, coiling across the whole of the entrance like the gaping maw of some colossal beast.

It was alive.

At first I thought it was simply flame-attribute snow...

But it wasn't.

"...It's alive."

"What on earth—"

As Han Taewoo's face twisted in incomprehension, I kept going, saying what he could not possibly understand.

"If snow with the attribute of fire is falling — what season would that be?"

"What kind of question—"

"I'd say summer. Nothing else could explain why something that hot would fall from the sky."

The snowfield before the entrance, which had looked so ordinary, was in fact a field of summer.

And the ground beyond was the dominion of summer, the season when living things ran wildest.

"If you enter now, the entire garden will chew you up and swallow you whole."

At my flat declaration, a heavy silence settled over the situation room.

The same moment — [Arc Industry] control room.

"Entry path secured. Fire resistance acquisition complete. No hazardous elements. Safety margin: 99%."

The AI's mechanical voice flowed from the speakers.

Managing Director Han Tae-seok turned to Director Dmitry, glowing with triumph.

"Look at that. Flawless, isn't it? The ability to find the safe path in a situation where the attributes are scrambled and you can't trust your own eyes."

The elite joint party of [Cheka] and [Arc], led by Kang Muhyeok, strode without hesitation across the entrance of the 'Twisted Garden of the Four Seasons' — out onto that snowfield.

"Moving in!"

With that ringing shout, their backs filled the screen.

Never dreaming — not even in their wildest fantasies — that the ground beneath their feet was writhing crimson.