The Price of a Century Ginseng

The reward for taking down the Bulk-Up Goblin was, of course, a bag of magic stones.

I gathered the stones and headed back to my room before long, carelessly tossed the bag into a corner, and dove straight into the gallery.

Clearing a single quest from the Azure Sky Sword Emperor had brought me this much ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠growth.

Which meant I obviously needed to get cracking on the next quest.

So just as I was about to check the Druid's quest—

The Challenger, who'd thrown herself into a battlefield as brutal as the Tower earlier, was back and looking for me.

I'm here?

What exactly does the Challenger take me for?

Some guy permanently stationed in the gallery doing free labor, maybe?

Then again, this punk is a modern-day person just like me, so we get along surprisingly well.

In fact, I suspect her claim of not liking online communities is a lie too.

Being a streamer means living off popularity, after all — she'd practically have to be fluent in every new meme and every piece of internet drama.

The Challenger was taking her frustration out on the innocent Druid, but even so, she couldn't hide her true nature.

"Ghk."

That one did real damage.

True, I was climbing the Tower diligently, but since it wasn't actually earning me any money, I was starting to worry that I needed to look for a part-time job or something.

I mean, I am technically a Hunter, so I figured walking into any old staffing agency would land me a gig worth at least five portions of food.

But then, years later, when I'm famous and someone interviews me—

"I heard Hunter Kim Namwoo made quite the name for himself at a construction site right after his awakening."

"Haha! That's right. Good memories, all of it."

"Hmm, but that's strange."

"Sorry?"

"The date of your awakening report and the dates you worked at the construction site don't match up. How do you explain that?"

"W-well, you see—"

"Were you perhaps concealing the fact that you'd awakened?"

—and boom, suddenly I'm in a congressional hearing. That would be a disaster.

Look, I'm not filing my awakening report because something feels off, but this is genuinely a serious crime.

Awakened beings are superhumans who wield mana, so hiding your awakening gets you treated like a terrorist with a loaded gun stuffed under your coat.

Of course, since voluntary registration comes with a mountain of government benefits, pretty much everyone does it. Everyone except me.

Which means I can't sell magic stones, and I can't do most of the things that require a Hunter's license. But still.

Before I could even sink into thought, the next quest arrived.

A quest to heal her voice.

Difficulty F — meaning it should be laughably easy.

And true enough, in my world, fixing a busted voice is a piece of cake.

Because all you have to do is walk into a pharmacy and buy a healing potion.

Researchers had studied the potions brought back from the Tower and made them usable by ordinary civilians, and they worked remarkably well — I even picked one up whenever I went to a coin-karaoke booth to sing.

But how on earth was I supposed to deliver it?

Just in case, I hurried out to a pharmacy, bought a healing potion, and held it up against my status window, half hoping something would happen.

And like magic, the potion was sucked into the gallery and vanished from my hand.

Typical of the ever-suspicious Challenger — doubt first, ask questions later. But one sip and her reaction would flip instantly.

And sure enough.

And now she's trying to squeeze more potions out of me like some schoolyard bully. Fat chance.

As far as I can tell, our parallel worlds all split from the day the Tower appeared in mine, so everything before that point is identical for all of us.

In other words, the Tower's arrival is the branching point.

This punk may act like a delinquent, but she's just an ordinary nobody who lived through the same school years I did.

Besides, she never told me about the quest, did she?

Uh-oh. The Challenger, in her flustered embarrassment, had just poked something she absolutely should not have poked.

While those two made up, I turned my attention to the newly appeared notification window.

"Nice, the Challenger's cleared too."

All that remained was the Druid.

But it couldn't be harder than the Challenger's — probably another F-rank. I figured I'd just need to buy her some plant fertilizer or something.

Excuse me, what are you talking about, Druid-Druid?

[Price of a 100-Year Wild Ginseng]

Half hoping I was wrong, I searched online for the price of wild ginseng.

"…Over two hundred million won?"

My entire apartment isn't worth two hundred million won. What kind of nonsense is this?

Correct me if I'm wrong, but wild ginseng is just a root that grew on some mountain, isn't it?

It's not like the elixirs Hunters consume that actually boost your mana or extend your lifespan — so why on earth does it cost two hundred million won?

I closed my eyes at the absurd price.

"Should I just give up?"

I had no idea why a two-hundred-million-won quest was only F-rank, but this was a no from me.

The reward skill was supposedly a heightened sense of smell — wasn't that literally just getting a better nose?

Demanding two hundred million won for something like that was outright highway robbery.

Still, I figured I'd try my hand at negotiating with the Druid.

Ah. I see. How enlightening.

I realize this every time, but the Druid's sense of time seemed completely broken.

Even the Challenger seemed to have hit a wall, doing nothing but staring in dumb awe.

Neither of them had realized how expensive it would be, and both reacted with genuine shock.

It really was a ludicrous price, and I was on the verge of calling the whole quest off — when one idea came to mind.

"What a relief."

I let out a genuine sigh of relief.

I'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠almost fumbled away a whole quest.

A quick search told me wild ginseng seeds cost about fifteen thousand won, so I placed an order online right away.

And with that, every quest was complete.

Choi Su-ah was watching the footage the Management Bureau had forcibly pulled, a satisfied smile playing across her lips.

"Next up is the fifth floor, then."

"He'll be fine. That boy isn't going to die."

She had no idea what he'd done to himself, but judging purely by his movements, he already looked like a swordsman who'd trained for a decade and more.

Why worry about someone who was already nearly a finished product?

Admittedly, since the vanguard Hunters had already pushed all the way to the thirtieth floor, something resembling strategy guides did exist.

But they weren't enough.

Everything built up until now was the achievement of a single person, pioneered alone.

How many of them — the King of Rings swaggering around on his high horse, the other Hunters, even herself — would be standing where they stood today if not for that one person?

Nothing was more laughable than the ones who blathered that they'd have grown just the same without him, and it would be an exquisite sight indeed when every last one of them hit a wall on the thirty-second floor and suddenly lost the ability to speak.

The spirits around her asked whether, like the Bureau Chief, she intended to just sit on her hands — but she was different.

She would give him the choice.

A safe climb, or an uncertain one.

Whichever he chose, it would be Kim Namwoo's decision to make — and no one else's.