The Wanted Fugitive

Ting—

As Woobin walked along behind Min Juhee, he studied the upgraded skill card.

An S-rank skill card had achieved evolution into L-rank. No additional materials had been required, and not a single rune had been consumed. The only conditions were a skill card pushed to MAX and Min Juhee's ability.

'So there's something beyond L-rank, too?'

A craving boiled up inside him to head straight into the workshop, push Ultra Vibration to +10, and put that woman's trait to use one more time. That was how tremendous the synergy was between Min Juhee's trait and the Chronos's Secret Workshop Woobin possessed.

'Keeping one person around wouldn't be so bad.'

He had no intention of making comrades, but with benefits this substantial, the equation changed. Besides, he needed someone to handle the odds and ends anyway — the meals, the equipment upkeep, the dirty work afterward.

"We're almost there."

Just as Woobin was weighing what to do with Min Juhee, she announced their arrival.

'This is going to be a hassle.'

Woobin frowned at the thought of meeting the new heroes. The day ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he'd first been transferred to Elid had been a hell all its own.

A councilman who had insisted he alone was right and shoved through one absurd proposal after another. A police officer who had crushed people under brute force. A female university student who had tried to gaslight him while exploiting those strongmen. Merely recalling them was vile enough to turn his stomach.

The three over there ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would likely be little different. People turning selfish the moment extreme circumstances struck was, in a way, only natural.

"We're here!"

Min Juhee called out and darted through the underbrush, and they reached the spot.

"Huh?!"

Horror bled into Min Juhee's expression.

"Save me. Please, somebody save me."

A naked woman knelt on the ground, sobbing.

"Hah! Hah!"

Men with their feet and legs bound rolled across the dirt like beasts, eyes blindfolded. Three men occupied the place: one redoing his pants with a satisfied look, a middle-aged man beating a new hero restrained on the ground, and a young man seated at the center, silently watching the two of them.

"The hell? There were two more bastards?"

Catching the presence of newcomers, the man fixing his pants looked over at Min Juhee.

"What... what is all this..."

Min Juhee stumbled backward, flustered by a scene she couldn't begin to comprehend. Before the fear could even bloom—

a massive shadow slid over her without a sound.

"Scared me half to death. Couldn't even finish enjoying myself. Well, perfect timing."

At some point, the man who'd been redoing his pants was standing right in front of Min Juhee's face. An enormous grip reached for her small shoulder.

"Huh?!"

Min Juhee froze on the spot. Terror had locked her body — and the man's hand had simply been too fast. She ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was certain she would be seized by that grip and crushed.

But no pain ever came.

Ting—

Crack— patter-patter— All that struck her was a spray of warm, damp liquid drumming against her face.

Splurch—

The man's upper body burst apart, and his strengthless lower half slapped hollowly against the ground.

Min Juhee crumpled to the ground with a blank stare. Perhaps because she'd already vomited once, even the sea of blood stirred no nausea. Everything felt like a dream — utterly unreal.

"Can you not pull yourself together?"

"Yes? Ah—yes!"

Stung by Woobin's prodding, Min Juhee seemed to come back to herself and hastily put distance between them. Once he confirmed she'd moved away, Woobin fixed his gaze straight ahead.

'This is dangerous.'

The two men were staring him down with wary eyes. The one who'd just burst apart appeared to be around Lee Museong's level.

Ting—

Whether measured by the karma value granted as a reward or the amount of runes, the take was little different from killing Lee Museong. But the rewards themselves had improved to a startling degree.

"Fuck, is that even possible? Gidu died to a single punch?"

The man who'd been beating the new hero staggered back, visibly rattled. A lion emblem engraved on his white armor caught the eye.

'A Liger set, is it?'

Gear a player needed to be level 100 to even get his hands on. The aura he gave off was anything but ordinary either — measured as conservatively as possible, he was still a player hovering around level 100. Their levels were similar, but their equipment belonged to entirely different leagues. A formidable opponent — without Fist Strike, Woobin couldn't have guaranteed the outcome.

But the real problem wasn't that man.

·······

A boyish face in his early twenties. The one sitting wordlessly at the center, staring straight at Woobin.

'The leader, is it?'

As a rule, heroes with bounties on their heads did not form parties. The penalty locked down the party system, and with bounty rewards on the line, any of them might plant a knife in another's back at any moment. And yet this man moved with a pack at his side? That left exactly one possibility: a single overwhelming existence holding the many down through sheer force.

As if to prove it, the aura the man exuded was considerable — above all, the armor he wore.

'The Dark Fairy set.'

There had once been a dungeon that only one hundred people in the world could hunt. That armor was a rare drop from it — so unique that Woobin had seen the real thing exactly once, worn by the Sword Saint, a ranker. So how was this man wearing it? Had the supply been released over those five years, or had he earned the strength to claim it himself? Either way, one thing was certain: he was stronger than the Woobin of the past.

"Minjun-nim, what do we do?"

The flustered man asked his leader. The leader rose to his feet with an expressionless face, and a low voice rolled out across the clearing.

"You're embarrassing me. Quit making a scene."

At those words, his subordinate flinched hard and clamped his mouth shut.

"I go to all that trouble educating them, and now you're killing people and making a goddamn mess of it."

A sword revealed itself in the leader's grip. Woobin had no words for it — his expression turned grave. A greatsword with crimson energy slithering across its blade, and embedded in the center of the hilt, an eyeball that swiveled grotesquely in every direction.

'The Demonic Sword: Gigantes.'

The legendary demonic sword that had belonged to the Sword Saint, ranked fifty-first. This was not an item that could be waved away as released stock. Which meant—

'He killed the Sword Saint and ended up on the wanted list.'

With that, everything fell roughly into place — the Dark Fairy set he possessed, the fact that he owned the demonic sword, all of it. Which meant this man was the Sword Saint's equal, or beyond.

Thump— thump—

His heart was surging. He had learned the full strength of an opponent he'd only vaguely judged to be strong. Could he actually beat a man who rivaled the rank fifty-one of the past?

'Impossible.'

The Woobin of the past would have declared it with certainty. Back then he'd been unranked riffraff, so weak at PVP that he'd dropped the occasional duel even at level 150.

Thump— thump—

But now was different. One strike — that was all it would take. If he could so much as tap the armor the man wore — no, even just graze the blade the man swung — he had a chance. The question was how he was going to withstand the man's attacks.

Woobin checked the unallocated stat points he'd been hoarding all this time. If he poured everything into Vitality, his odds of dying in a single hit would shrink.

'All in.'

Once a stat climbed past 50, the efficiency of raising it with runes plummeted — but now was no time to be weighing efficiency.

"Don't even think about dying an easy death."

It was the very moment Woobin, every nerve strung taut, was about to distribute his stats.

Whoosh— The man swung his colossal greatsword.

Fwoosh— darkness that seemed to choke the breath flooded the surroundings, and with a chime, a message surfaced.

The effects of magi deranged the senses and warped the emotions — a suppression skill that, in the end, paralyzed even the body. Ordinarily, a despair so thick he could barely tell front from back would have crushed down over him.

But nothing whatsoever changed in Woobin's body.

Ting—

If anything, his wildly pounding heartbeat settled into a calm so deep it nearly sank away altogether.

'Perfect, actually.'

Because a masterstroke tailor-made for this exact situation had just come to mind.

Thud— Woobin abandoned the stat distribution and dropped to his knees without a moment's hesitation.

"Hahh... hahh..."

He gulped down ragged breaths, his face twisted into a grimace. He already knew — ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he'd been on the receiving end once before — exactly how a predator toyed with prey that had lost its will to fight.

And sure enough—

"You crippled piece of shit. Let's see how long this one holds out."

With a sneer, the man began closing in on Woobin. Woobin couldn't tell what he intended, but the man drew a dagger from his inventory.

"First, one of those eyeballs."

The dagger shot straight for Woobin's eye. The man didn't harbor a shred of doubt — he trusted the Demonic Sword's effects that completely.

'Farewell, then.'

Woobin did not miss that sliver of an instant. Crunch— his fist curled lightly shut, and whoosh— a single, economical line of motion split the air.