The Variable

Sunan International Airport, Pyongyang.

Wi Cheonghan, stepping down from the private flight from China onto the tarmac beneath an ash-gray sky, sniffed and curled his lip in disdain.

Not long ago, a Gate Break had erupted near the Dandong border region where he had been stationed, and thanks to the Zhuge Family's formations, it had been repelled without significant damage.

Cowardly old men. Kicking away a honey pot this enormous out of fear of a few dumb beasts.

Wi Cheonghan was sneering inwardly at Namgoong Hwi and the executives of the Moorim Branch Association who had passed North Korea's offer along to him. Since he prided himself on being the most brilliant mind among them, he understood perfectly well why the others had dumped this job on him.

After all, he had seen the footage of a man rampaging alone against hundreds of orcs in South Korea.

That single clip explained everything—it was obvious why those spineless old men of the Moorim Branch Association were keeping their distance.

But Wi Cheonghan was different from them.

War and hunting were not waged with brute strength alone, whatever one might say about mere combat.

By the same logic, so it had been with the Great Murim War.

The Three Pillars—the orthodox sects.

The three great pillars that had once formed the murim were utterly crushed by a single organization, the Blood Sect, precisely because they lacked the intellect to wield those three pillars in harmony.

The Zhuge Family had devised strategy after strategy, and the blockheads of the orthodox alliance had dismissed every single one of them.

Just as the unorthodox alliance had charged in mindlessly like moths to a flame, so too had the demonic cult and the orthodox sects hurl themselves at the Blood Sect without a shred of strategy.

The absence of strategy.

That, in Wi Cheonghan's view, was the reason the Great Murim War was lost.

In any case, hunting a beast that is nothing but mindlessly strong is hardly difficult.

Among the great sects and clans, the Zhuge Family was often said to lag in the quality of its martial arts—but what it possessed was a power no other clan had.

Formations.

The Zhuge Family were the descendants of Zhuge Liang, revered as the Divine Strategist and creator of the Eightfold Gate Formation. What that lineage had built was precisely this—mastery of formations.

He had been nothing more than a lowly disciple at the tail end of the Formation Hall, yes, but surely a man who had inherited the Zhuge Family's legacy of formations could not fail to hunt one powerful but brainless boar?

In Wi Cheonghan's own estimation, the only reason he had remained a bottom-rung disciple at all was that he did not carry the Zhuge surname.

"Let's go. It is time we showed these frogs in a well what the dignity and cunning of a great nation truly look like."

Wi Cheonghan said this with a look of deep satisfaction as he surveyed the Chinese Awakened who had followed him here.

And so, entering the airport's VIP lounge, Wi Cheonghan found himself face to face with guests who had arrived before him.

Japan?

Wi Cheonghan narrowed his eyes at the group gathered at one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠side of the lounge.

Black uniforms woven with modern ballistic fibers—the distinctive attire of Japan's state-affiliated Awakened. And they, in turn, were glaring at Wi Cheonghan and the Chinese hunters just the same.

"Chinks."

That was the moment thick veins bulged on Wi Cheonghan's forehead.

One of the Japanese Awakened, seeing the Chinese hunters, had spat the slur with a smirk.

"Do you wish to die?"

At his words, several of the Japanese Awakened rested their hands on their weapon grips. No doubt they hadn't understood a word of it, but from the atmosphere alone they could tell it was nothing friendly.

"Please, calm yourselves. You have all come here because of the S-Rank Gate."

The North Korean delegation, naturally, scrambled to restrain Wi Cheonghan with flustered expressions, and the Japanese side was no different.

Wi Cheonghan shot a cold glance at the Japanese officials, then turned sharply on his heel.

Right. That dimwit from South Korea is no match for me. The true threat we must guard against is them.

That was when Wi Cheonghan's mind began to churn at speed.

Ruthless discipline and teamwork unseen in any nation of the twenty-first century.

And layered on top of that, Japan's Awakened were armed with their trademark grotesque shamanic arts and swordsmanship—even Wi Cheonghan did not regard them as easy opponents.

"Lead the way. We will be entering that Gate first."

The temporary command post set up near the Pyongyang S-Rank Gate.

North Korea's leadership greeted the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠two bands of uninvited guests with forced smiles as they filed into the command post. On one side, the Chinese Awakened, dressed as though they had stepped straight out of a historical period drama; on the other, the Japanese Awakened in their black uniforms.

"You have traveled far and endured much, honored guests. We find ourselves in dire straits at present, so forgive the humble reception."

Thus spoke the three-star general presiding over the gathering, addressing the representatives of both parties. Ordinarily, he would not have needed to bow his head so servilely.

Different nations had different power, yes—but he was, for all intents and purposes, the head of a sovereign state called North Korea.

But circumstances being what they were, he had no choice but to swallow his pride and bow before them.

"Spare us the pleasantries—we'll take our reception in magic stones from inside the Gate. So only the two of us are participating?"

At the Japanese representative's question, the North Korean leadership exchanged strained smiles.

Inside, their blood was boiling—but they were the ones who needed the favor.

"Presumably South Korea's delegation will arrive soon as well."

"Hm. Surely we needn't wait on them?"

The North Korean general slowly nodded at the Japanese side's insolence.

And in the very instant his head dipped and rose, the Chinese hunters charged toward the Gate.

"Those sneaking bastards."

The Japanese Awakened cursed as they watched the Chinese hunters dash ahead—then, as if on cue, kicked up clouds of dust and stormed after them toward the Gate.

In an instant, the grounds of the temporary command post stood empty.

The faces of North Korea's leadership, watching those arrogant, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠high-handed figures depart, flushed crimson with humiliation.

"Those—those animals! They come tramping into another nation's front yard and scramble around like dogs after magic stones!"

The general clamped a cigarette between his trembling lips.

Dire as their country's situation was, they were still, in name, the leadership of a nation.

Yet the wolves that had come calling treated them with less regard than a road sign on the street.

"Compose yourself, Comrade General. Those greedy pigs will tear each other bloody inside that Gate regardless, that much is certain."

"That's right. Chink or Jap, let them gnaw on each other and be done with it. With luck, we might even reap the fisherman's harvest..."

The leadership soothed their wounded pride and forced themselves down the path of happy delusions.

It was a small mercy that no officials from the South were present at this gathering. However servile they might appear before the Chinese and Japanese hunters, they had no intention of showing such a face in front of South Koreans as well.

But even that petty moral victory did not last long.

"So when in the hell are those South Korean bastards supposed to show up? Still not a word?"

The moment the general asked, irritable—

KWA-BOOM!

With a colossal roar that shook heaven and earth, the solid concrete ground in front of the command post caved in, and a storm of dust and earth engulfed the post's barracks.

"Uwaaaaah!"

"E-enemy attack! We're under attack!"

Jolted by the tremendous shockwave, the North Korean leadership shrieked and ran about in disarray.

But just as the acrid dust began to settle, a figure could be seen strolling lazily through it, parting the haze as he emerged.

"Cult Leader! We have arrived!"

The first to reveal himself was a hulking, muscle-bound man in a skin-tight T-shirt.

And dangling from the muscular man's back, slung like a sack of luggage, was an unconscious young man.

"Th—that, that South Korean monster?"

The dust-caked general recognized the man's face and could not suppress his horror.

It had been one thing on a screen, but face to face, his knees threatened to buckle on their own.

Yet what froze the general's heart solid was not the muscular man, but someone else entirely.

"I have a question."

"WHO'S THERE!"

At the voice behind him, the North Korean general whipped around, shouting before he could stop himself.

A young man stood at his back—he had no idea when the man had arrived.

The instant their eyes met, the general swallowed involuntarily.

Compared to this man, the Chinese hunters and the Japanese hunters alike were nothing at all—or so the thought struck him.

"S-speak your command, then."

Like a frog frozen before a serpent, the North Korean general answered the man's question without even meaning to.

A luxury penthouse overlooking all of Manhattan, New York.

The colossal screen filling one wall was awash with breaking news about a single man.

Click.

Brian Shin pressed the remote and turned off the television, swirling the wineglass in his hand as a smile of mockery played at the corner of his lips.

American hero. Savior of Titan Guild.

The world was singing his praises—but of course, it was nothing more than a carefully staged play.

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Tutorial Termination had raised the difficulty, sure, but for a guild of Titan's caliber to be driven to the brink of annihilation by the breakout of a mere A-Rank Gate was, on its face, absurd.

Which was to say—Titan Guild's sudden bout of manufactured 'crisis,' and the savior act he'd pulled by appearing at that dramatic moment, had all unfolded exactly within Brian Shin's script.

Fools.

Brian Shin.

America called him a super rookie and a savior, but his true identity was something else entirely.

The head of Babel, a secret organization operating in the shadows of the world—the man known as Black Sheep.

And a Regressor who had lived through this world countless times, monopolizing the knowledge of the future.

His reason for choosing America across his many lives, playing the hero each time he surfaced, was simple.

Most of his previous attempts had ended in failure, but the process had not been without its gains.

In the vast majority of world lines, the final bulwark of humanity had been the Western world, with its overwhelming capital and military might.

I've secured the safest position. Now I simply follow the plan.

That said, Brian had not abandoned the rest of the world entirely.

Babel was already extending its tendrils into the major guilds across the globe, one way or another.

Britain, France, China, Japan—most of the world's nations were, for all practical purposes, chess pieces within his grasp.

The problem is that monster in Korea.

Brian frowned as he recalled the unusual footage he'd watched recently.

Repeated regressions always flushed out unexpected variables, but the powerhouse who had appeared in Korea this time was a face he had never once seen—as though the man had simply dropped out of the sky.

Still, he'd judged it nothing more than a mildly irritating variable—hardly enough to knock the great current off course.

That was the moment a message materialized in the empty air of the penthouse.

"What is it, Ghost?"

"North Korea? Who do we have nearby who can retrieve it right now?"

In that instant, Brian's deadpan expression began to twist.

One thing was certain: if the holder of a title died, the mutant would reappear.

But repeated experiments had confirmed that no matter how precisely the conditions were replicated, the mutant's respawn location would shift.

And the problem was that Kamikakushi's spatial-movement ability was indispensable to Babel.

So when the report came that this very Kamikakushi had appeared right beside the variable that concerned him most, it was only natural that Brian's face contorted.

...This is not a problem to wave off. That variable is bending the entire current.

It felt as though, on a chessboard he had believed to be under perfect control, a piece he had never seen before in his life had appeared and begun flipping the board.