The Severed Wrist
Back when he lived on Earth, the Hero Kwon Hee-jin had been the son of a prosecutor.
His father was no ordinary prosecutor, either. He had passed the bar examination at a young age, posted stellar marks at the Judicial Research and Training Institute, and proved so exceptionally competent on the job that he was summoned to major investigation task forces one after another from his youth. Eventually, people began hailing him as the undisputed ace of the Special Investigation Department.
To Kwon Hee-jin, his father was an exceedingly convenient and reassuring presence—the sort of parent who could clean up any mess, no matter what disaster his son brought about. And in fact, whenever Hee-jin caused trouble, his father had always stepped in as his personal fixer.
When Hee-jin got into hot water during high school after running scams on secondhand trade websites just to scrounge up pocket money; when he landed in serious jeopardy after sending inappropriate direct messages to female influencers; and even after he reached adulthood, jumped headfirst into the cryptocurrency market, and triggered scandals of varying magnitudes—his father had resolved every single one.
Naturally, he got chewed out every time.
"...Son, I just finished settling your debts. I handled it quietly through a junior colleague I'm close with, so there won't be any talk later."
"Kwon Hee-jin, this is truly the last time. If you get caught again, I swear I won't lift a finger."
"Get your act together. Stop hanging around those scumbags playing with scam coins. And don't you dare even dream of selling your father's name."
Whenever his father showed genuine fury, Hee-jin would bow his head and quietly acquiesce. He knew all too well that he could never afford to lose the protective umbrella that was his father.
Yet that hardly meant he had genuinely reflected on his misdeeds. He knew full well that his father only ever said "this is the last time," and that whenever another crisis struck, he would step in to bail him out yet again.
There's no way Dad would ever abandon me.
Thanks to his father's shielding, Kwon Hee-jin had managed to live outward as an upright, diligent student. While nowhere near the prodigy his father was—now a Chief Prosecutor of the High Public Prosecutor's Office—or his older brother, who was attending medical school, he attended a fairly prestigious university and even maintained a respectable reputation. It was all a facade forcefully manicured by his father.
Then, on a perfectly ordinary day during his reasonably pleasant life, Hee-jin was chosen as the Hero.
He hadn't typed out a furious 5,700-character complaint comment, nor had he been struck by a runaway truck. A goddess simply appeared in his dream and pleaded, Please, save our world. He had merely weighed the pros and cons for a few moments before accepting.
She had promised that if he subjugated the Demon King, he could return to Earth with special privileges, or if he preferred, settle down and live out his days in that other world. What appealed to him most was that a Hero in that world was treated with supreme reverence.
The moment he agreed to go, an inexplicable floating sensation enveloped him.
Whoa, is this really happening? Am I actually going?
Amidst his rising excitement, a faint voice reached his ears.
"...Hee-jin. Wake up for a second."
It was his father's voice. Why on earth would he hear his father while in the middle of being transported to another world?
"Son, please, save your father... You might not see it this way, but I've lived a truly clean life. At my age, I've never once played a round of golf on someone else's dime, and I've barely ever set foot in a hostess bar. But because of you... sigh..."
Hee-jin couldn't fathom what his father was rambling about.
I already shut down that mining farm investment like Dad told me to, didn't I...?
Wait. Fuck. Could it be that consulting fee I took after dropping a few tips to those livestreamers? That didn't seem like a big deal, though. It's not like I ordered them to front-run the market. I just dipped my spoon into the pot.
What could possibly be so uncontrollable that his seemingly omnipotent father—a man on the verge of being appointed Prosecutor General—could not handle it? He knew that scam coins caused legal friction from time to time, but crypto didn't even have an established statutory basis. How bad could it really get?
Since Hee-jin was human, he felt a fleeting prick of guilt, but he was given no time to apologize to his father. The distant weeping faded away, and Hee-jin's consciousness snapped cleanly shut.
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself surrounded by a throng of people gazing upon him with awe and desperate anticipation. Some knelt to offer the highest honors of courtly etiquette, and even the most regal, exalted-looking figure among them maintained a remarkably humble posture.
"...Whoa. It's real."
And so began his life as the 'Hero.'
It took very little time for Kwon Hee-jin to forget his father's weeping. Instead, what caught his attention was a world functioning on a gold standard—a system so quaint it felt like children playing house. The economy was minuscule, the wealthy foolishly hoarded physical gold in vaults, and the concept of fiat credit currency existed only in the most rudimentary stages. That primitive ignorance was the sole reason he could pull off such an audacious scheme once he set his mind to it.
Back then, he had never imagined this.
Never imagined he would be beaten half to death by Eric, his former errand boy. Never imagined he would be brutally lynched by a pack of middle-aged and elderly men.
"It has long been custom to sever the hands of thieves and swindlers. Besides, rendering him combat-ineffective will make the escort much simpler."
"Shouldn't we sever it right above the wrist? Look at the position of the scaphoid bone."
To think he would live to hear such horrific words...
While the Hero blinked in dazed disbelief, struggling to cling to consciousness, a middle-aged knight raised a finely honed blade high above his head. His greasy, glinting eyes and disciplined breathing radiated cold terror.
No.
The word remained trapped in the Hero's throat.
A moment later, the blade plunged down onto his wrist.
After the 'operation' concluded.
"...Too much. This is... too much..."
The Hero mumbled incoherently through his mangled, pulped face. His visage was so utterly ruined that reading his expression was nearly impossible, but anyone could tell he was drowning in pure deprivation and a victim complex. Even now, he sat slumped on the dirt floor, staring dumbly at his severed hand. It had been cleanly lopped off in a single stroke by the eldest knight among us—a senior from the Imperial Guard Knights. His right hand, no less.
"Should I... have cut off the left hand instead?" muttered the veteran knight, watching the utterly shattered Hero.
His face carried no remorse. If anything, he simply seemed uneasy at the thought that he would go down in the annals of history as the man who severed the Hero's hand.
"It makes no difference," I replied. "It's not as if this bastard had any chance of staging a comeback anyway."
Had the Hero shown his face immediately after his fraudulent battle reports were exposed, he never would have fallen to such a pathetic state. Granted, he would have weathered an overwhelming tempest of public fury, but had he fallen to his knees, begged for mercy, and proactively offered compensation, a faint glimmer of recovery might have remained. The instant he missed that final window and went into hiding, his fate had been sealed.
At any rate, it was time to move.
"Let's move out. I apologize for the delay on my account."
We were currently resting in the border village where the Hero's party had holed up. Lingering in the borderlands after fighting an engagement was reckless folly. We were, after all, the same squad that had butchered fifty beastfolk warriors on our march here.
The sole reason we had dragged our feet despite knowing the danger was my doing: I had entered a deep state of mental imagery training to assimilate the breakthrough I achieved while fighting the Hero. It wasn't that I had suddenly unlocked some esoteric cosmic mystery and become one with my blade. Rather, I had spent that time wrestling with the wild, violent surges of aura tearing through my bones and nervous system.
That searing, electric agony heralded only one thing: my physical vessel was being reconstructed into an optimal form for channeling aura. At the same time, it marked my ascent into the next realm as a knight.
In truth, the signs had been there for a while. With the fortune I reaped from hitting the jackpot on the coin mania, I had consumed all manner of legendary elixirs. I had already confirmed a portion of their efficacy when I hunted down the Minotaur single-handedly. Today, clashing against the Hero, those seeds had finally borne fruit.
No matter how urgent crossing out of the borderlands was, I could not afford to delay an opportunity of this magnitude, which was why I had asked the pursuit squad for their indulgence. Fortunately, no one took offense. If anything, many exchanged wry chuckles as their glances bounced between the Hero and me.
"Even a piece of garbage like that can manage a contribution to society, it seems," someone remarked. "Congratulations, Inspector Wellesley."
"I appreciate the sentiment, but adding another Master cannot fill the void left by a Hero," I answered smoothly. "Besides, I cannot yet be considered a complete Master."
"Who said anything about filling a void? Having a genuine Master is far better than keeping a Hero 'like that' around. Still, at your age... Haha, I must admit, I'm envious."
The knights and even the mages were murmuring in admiration. One man even went so far as to fabricate history on the spot: "He's reached it a full year earlier than Commander Wainwright!"
I was grateful for their congratulations, but facts needed to be set straight.
"Commander Wainwright attained this realm at the exact same age as I am now. If you count down to the month, he was likely faster than me."
"Hmm...? But from what I recall..."
"I heard that right after crossing the threshold into Master, the old man completely forgot to report it to high command. Please don't ask me how on earth a human being could forget such a detail; I only stumbled upon the truth by chance."
"Good heavens... I thought that was just a rumor, but he really was that kind of man."
Talking behind the back of the Commander of the Imperial Guard Knights in such a tense situation was hardly decorous, but everyone took quiet amusement in the revelation.
Naturally, I was the one who had crossed the threshold into the Master realm. That my political standing in the Imperial Capital would skyrocket was an absolute certainty. Yet the pursuit squad wore visibly lighter expressions upon witnessing my growth. After beating the Hero within an inch of his life and coming away with nothing more than a severed wrist, a hollow sense of futility had hung heavy over the men. Learning of my breakthrough provided a much-needed silver lining.
"At any rate, we cannot afford further delays. Let's move."
We prepared to drag the Hero's party out of the borderlands. Even amidst all this, the Hero continued to mumble nonsense under his breath. Words like 'aggravated assault' and 'uncivilized savages.' He had no clue how many people had perished—and how many more would take their own lives—because of Kodana. He clearly had no intention of walking on his own two feet.
At this rate, we'll never make any headway.
After a brief pause, I retrieved his severed hand from the dirt and handed it over to the mages. Then, leaning close to the Hero's ear, I whispered:
"I intend to have them cast a preservation spell on your hand. You understand what that implies, don't you?"
"......!"
The Hero froze in shock, then let out a ragged, choking gasp and vigorously nodded. He evidently believed that if he behaved obediently, he might be granted the chance to have his hand reattached. Regrowing an entirely new limb was impossible, but for the high-ranking priests in our company, reattaching a freshly severed hand was well within their capabilities.
"If you understand, then move your legs, Hero."
Clattering and trembling violently, the Hero scrambled to his feet.
Naturally, I had zero intention of having any preservation spell cast on that severed hand. I simply understood that nothing drives a man forward quite like false hope.