Mission Accomplished
html, body { margin:0; padding:0; }
Rookie: Baek Jaesung 9
"Mission accomplished."
Do Byeong-seok confirmed the fallen man. No mistaking it from his face, but you could never be too thorough with the cleanup.
He pulled out his smartphone from his pocket and attached a small device—like a blood sampler—to the charging port.
This was a DNA analyzer. An expensive piece of gear costing well over ten million won, it could verify DNA matches on the spot.
Do Byeong-seok plucked a hair follicle from Kang Sik. He cross-checked it against the DNA sample he'd obtained in advance from the 'contract target.'
99.99% match. Contract fulfilled.
"Heh! Wonder what faces the other hunters would make if they knew human lives fetch a higher price than monsters?"
Do Byeong-seok
He was a Demonic—a criminal wielding abilities. The sheer weight of that label hit harder than 'dungeon hunter' in some ways.
Hunters bore obligations equal to their privileges. That's why punishment for Demonics dwarfed that of ordinary criminals.
Even in Korea, where civilian executions had ceased decades ago, Demonics faced the death penalty every so often.
Do Byeong-seok's phone buzzed. He checked the caller ID.
It was the client.
"Yes. Just wrapped up the job."
"It went well, I assume?"
"Of course. Don't worry about the aftermath. I'll make it look like a clear case of poison suicide."
"Excellent. Your reputation as the top in the business holds true."
"Send the rest of the payment now. I'll confirm receipt and handle the cleanup. Oh, and as we discussed before—this stays with me to the grave."
"Naturally. Might call on you again sometime."
"No discount coupons, but give me the work and I'll deliver like always. Talk soon."
Do Byeong-seok smashed the phone the moment the call ended.
Naturally, the burner phone he used for jobs was untraceable. Fake IDs, nominee accounts, burners—the essentials for contract killing in Korea.
He glanced at the man crumpled before him, clucking his tongue and giving the body a nudge with his foot.
"What a shitty fate, huh? Shouldn't have married a woman like that. Bet she'll blow through your dog-earned cash and live it up."
This contract's client was Kang Sik's wife. Do Byeong-seok wasn't surprised by such jobs. Hell, this wasn't even his first.
"Anyway, not like I can judge. I'm in a real bind myself."
Do Byeong-seok scratched his cheek, muttering to himself.
Exactly as he said—he was in deep shit. And the root of it all? The 'Devil's Basement PK Incident' from not long ago.
Do Byeong-seok ran the Exter Clan. On the surface, it looked legit, but it was really a crew of Demonics, including himself.
He'd clawed his way to mid-tier status—52nd in Korea—through every dirty trick in the book. No morals, no rules, just results.
But they got greedy. To recruit a rookie named Go Ji-su, they pulled a PK.
Up to that point, not a huge issue. Exter had PK'd before, always successfully. So Do Byeong-seok and his crew figured this one would be business as usual.
Big mistake. In the dungeon hunter world, anomalies could strike anytime—and Do Byeong-seok forgot that. The PK failed spectacularly.
The backlash hit hard. Of the five members on the op, four died, one got nabbed. Naturally, Exter faced massive scrutiny.
The Hunter Association and government's relentless probe cost Do Byeong-seok a fortune—hiding illicit funds, bribing investigators. Even then, he couldn't cut ties cleanly.
The Association slapped them with a 500 billion won fine. He and the execs got hit with 'negligence' charges: one-year dungeon ban. Clan dissolution, basically.
Hell, if it ended in clean disbandment, he could start over from zero. But Do Byeong-seok's mess ran deeper.
Clans were massive enterprises. The vested interests tangled in them—especially shady ones like Exter—were endless. Disband now, and he'd drown in debt.
He needed cash, fast. But dungeon hunters earned by raiding dungeons, and his ban blocked that.
So he'd fallen back on contract killing—his old side hustle.
In Korea, hits paid fat stacks. Catch the right clients, and it beat dungeon runs. Not scalable like a factory, though—couldn't rebuild a clan on it.
"Oh. Payment's in."
Five billion won hit the burner account instantly. Another clan member would launder it out. That bought some breathing room.
Chump change for reviving a sinking clan, though. Barely covered interest.
Exter was Do Byeong-seok's toy, and he wouldn't let it break. Too precious. But without funds, bankruptcy loomed.
Top reasons clans tanked in Korea: key members dying, weakening combat power. Second: mismanagement.
Exter fell into the latter. Core fighters intact, just broke.
'Karma biting back...'
Exter ballooned by dodging taxes, raking in illicit wealth.
Hunters paid 50% of byproducts to the Association. Do Byeong-seok inked backroom deals with logistics firms, underreported sales, evaded massive taxes. That dirty 40% fueled everything.
With execs sidelined (50%+ of revenue), expenses snowballed. Image tanked, members bailed. Fixing it? Needed mountains of cash.
Do Byeong-seok placed the forged suicide note on the table. Masterful fake—should hold up.
Lonely businessman, separated five years. Suicide? Wouldn't raise eyebrows.
He flicked on the TV in the living room.
"Level House, huh..."
No ordinary dungeon. Do Byeong-seok's lifeline.
Banned from dungeons by the Association? Not entirely—loopholes existed.
Level House allowed even disciplined hunters like him. The Association permitted entry for full clears, even to the revoked. Precedents abounded.
Disciplined hunters flocked there now. Probably the Association's design.
Do Byeong-seok killed the TV and slipped out. No traces on entry, none on exit. Pro among pros.
The lonely businessman's home fell silent once more. Only the clock's tick-tock pierced the quiet.
Our fully prepped party arrived at Level House. We chartered a hunter-exclusive van. Best for raid transit—no parking hassles.
"Zzz... Zzz..."
"Jisu! We're here~!"
Yeonji pinched the dozing Jisu's cheek. Jisu blinked awake, drool trailing from her mouth, wiping it with her arm.
"Yaaawn~! Already? Huh? We're still on the road."
"Gotta walk from here. See that no-entry sign?"
Sujin pointed to a big sign 30 meters ahead. A guy in a fluorescent vest signaled traffic. Non-hunter.
We shouldered packs and disembarked. Time to hoof it.
Finding the dungeon was easy. Guardrail torn on one side. Five minutes off-road, and we hit the crowd: byproduct buyers, their pop-up warehouses.
Level House sat just off the national highway, as rumored. Far from homes, but blocking the road pissed off locals. Detour's a hike, apparently.
The entrance: weathered warehouse door. Master Kim Minyoung said it was an old mill storage.
"Dungeon gate."
Jisu eyed the building. A tense dungeon gate loomed around it.
Hunter Association install—controls access. Staff guarded the front.
Highway proximity meant monster breakout risk. Thankfully, none from Level House yet.
"Disciple!"
Familiar voice. Master Kim Minyoung.
"Master!"
Blue uniform, Association badge around her neck, she approached. Yeonji stiffened slightly, face tense. Rina's hand trembled subtly.
To melee dealer Yeonji or martial house scion Rina, Master was idol-level.
"You managing this place, Master?"
"Yes. Some reports to handle."
Master works too hard.
"Disciple. Be extra cautious in there. Pull out if you're off your game."
She advised with worry etched on her face.
"Of course. No need to fret over me—I've grown a lot."
"I know, but... something feels off. Sigh. Hunters live with death, but you're too valuable to die in a place like this."
"Thanks for the praise."
Brushing off her concern, we headed for the dungeon.
"Yeonji, Rina—why no hello to Master? You were dying to see her."
"Waaah! That's Kim Minyoung Master! Froze up, couldn't speak!"
"Me too, sis!"
Sheesh. Not even inside yet, and they're this wound up?