I'm Not a Hunter, Though (4)
“Is this the license?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I touch it?”
“Go ahead.”
I smiled, watching Mina fiddle with the card in wide-eyed wonder.
Folks from outside Seoul rarely see cards like that. Not many places even accept them.
Seoul's civilization is one step away from straight-up sci-fi, but everywhere else? Late 20th century at best.
It's wildly unbalanced, sure, but after World War III swept the globe and forty years passed, having this much left is a miracle. Could've been worse—stuck in some stone-age hellhole swinging axes at skulls.
Shudder. At least modern civ's hanging on here. Primitive era? Nothing. And the language barrier would be a nightmare.
I shook off the grim thoughts and stepped into the hotel.
“Ah, there you are. How'd the exam go?”
I flashed the license instead of answering. He checked it over, then looked at me with genuine admiration.
“That guy praised you to high heaven, so I wondered... but you passed without a hitch.”
“Easier than busting out of that hellhole. Though some weirdo picked a fight...”
“Weirdo?”
“Faded blond dye job, sleazy-looking bastard harassing Mina.”
“Sounds like trouble. That's Rattlesnake from the Viper gang.”
“Rattlesnake? Cute name for such a creep.”
“Five years as a hunter. Vipers are all nasty-tempered hotheads who stir up shit. He's on the watchlist—especially with women. Steer clear.”
More trouble than I thought. If I run into him in the forest next time... might have to bury him quietly.
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Can't have guests dying to scum like that—it'd be bad for business. Time to gear up properly. Follow me.”
Mina and I trailed him quietly to the end of the first-floor west corridor. He stopped at a gray steel door—unlike the wooden ones elsewhere.
“Plenty of hunters stay at my hotel. And plenty never come back for their stuff. This is where we stash their leftovers.”
“Don't return them to families?”
“Hunters who share personal details? Rare breed.”
A bitter smile crossed his face. Probably thinking of all the guests who'd died on the job.
We stood in silent tribute, waiting for him to speak.
Three minutes later, he did.
“Sorry. Old memories.”
“No worries. We all bury our pasts, right?”
“Heh, true enough.”
He pulled a keyring from his pocket, unlocked the door with a rusty creeeak, and revealed a spacious warehouse—probably a converted guest room. Mina and I followed him inside.
“Hunter gear's in the back. Rarely touched—decent hunters carry everything they need.”
Makes sense. In this near-apocalyptic world, anyone affording this place was top-tier.
“Used to be a hunter hotspot... hard to believe it's been years.”
He rummaged shelves, pulling out a massive rucksack, camping gear.
...Straight out of a military depot, by the looks.
Spotting a canteen that screamed Normandy flashbacks, I figured old hunters had army PTSD too.
Overkill, but free is free.
“Old military surplus. Already decades old back then. Heard pre-war Korea had a powerhouse army—why the junk gear? Frontline troops need reliable stuff to survive.”
...Yeah, world's always shitty.
Didn't realize pre-possession Korea was the same without ability users. Pitiful—fighting WWIII with that crap.
“Take what you need. You know how to pitch a tent?”
“Done it a few times.”
“You've been through a lot, eh...”
Couldn't say army days, so I grinned vaguely.
“Forget the painful past here. That's why folks come—new start in the swamp.”
“If only.”
No tragic backstory by local standards anyway. I packed the gear into the rucksack, tying it tight. Mina watched curiously from beside me.
“Mister, you've done this before? Looks pro.”
“...Packed something similar once.”
“You've got stories too, huh...”
Her eyes sparkled with curiosity.
“Can't hog the lobby forever. Anything else worth grabbing?”
“Lemme see...”
I scanned the room. Mostly junk, spare door handles—but some gems. I grabbed a translucent box of iron balls.
“What's inside?”
“Steel marbles, as you see. Belonged to a metal-manipulator. Betrayed by a teammate on a job.”
Betrayal. In this lawless ruin, can I avoid a knife in the back?
Mina won't, at least...
“I'll take it.”
“Use it well. Owner'd be glad.”
I stowed the box.
Two days later.
I donned tough clothes bought with job earnings, shouldered the rucksack. First scouting run.
“Mister, be safe.”
“Will do. Help at the hotel later... watch for creeps.”
Like Rattlesnake.
“It's fine. They don't come here...”
Alligator Gang protection keeps Vipers out. I smiled at Mina and opened the door.
“I'm off.”
“Come back safe, Mister.”
With her send-off, I stepped out. Hunters lined the street. I joined the rear, heading to the Gray Forest.
“Park Isak confirmed. Safe scouting.”
I nodded curtly at the perfunctory greeting and pressed on.
Just past the entrance, groups scattered every which way. Solo hunters rare, huh.
I veered to a quiet corner, unrolled a crude map bought with wages, recalled original knowledge.
Gray Forest: vast concrete jungle spanning Hanam-Gwangju ruins, packed with pre-WWIII tech relics and junk. Processed loot fuels the city—Swamp Zone and it are inseparable.
Hero story meant protagonist's visit was brief, villain-chasing. For me? Long-term cash farm.
Not planning to stay forever. Too deadly for longevity.
Grind hard, bail far from plot, live normal.
First stop: Namsan Fortress.
Old defensive line, now a military ruin. Basement hides treasure uncovered only when protagonist arrives.
Mine it, sell it—hotel bills and quality gear covered.
“Let's go.”
Heart pounding, I set off for Namsan Fortress.