Chapter 379
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 379
Chapter Title: I Can't Believe It?
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“Cough!”
He spat out a mouthful of blood.
Grinding his teeth, he forced himself to his feet.
Or at least, he tried.
But against his own will, his knees refused to leave the ground.
It wasn't just the injuries.
The overwhelming sense of defeat from being crushed without even putting up a proper fight.
And the terrifying pressure still bearing down on his shoulders kept him pinned in place.
“What... how the hell did you do that?”
He couldn't believe it.
If he'd lost in a fair one-on-one duel, he could've accepted it, even if grudgingly.
The problem was that this fight had been five against two.
And he had been one of those five.
“What kind of trick did you pull to beat us without even using Constellation Descent?!”
Labyrinth demanded, his voice laced with accusation.
He was, after all, the fourth-ranked wraith in the Liberation Brigade—a grand duke-level player who could hold his own against even a Monarch.
With Constellation Descent, he could've beaten a Monarch as long as certain conditions were met.
Yet even combining forces with four other wraiths who'd also activated Constellation Descent, they'd been utterly routed by a single opponent.
It felt like a nightmare.
“I didn't pull any special tricks...”
But the one responsible—the man who'd crossed his arms and delivered the defeat—responded calmly.
And said,
“I was just stronger.”
“You...!”
They were simply weak, he'd said.
The nonchalant remark struck like a merciless blow, and Labyrinth finally dragged himself to his feet, lunging at them again in rage.
Thud!
“Guh!”
“And show some respect.”
But his counterattack ended before it began.
Before Labyrinth could even rise fully, his opponent had closed in and slammed a kick into his gut.
Not stopping there, a heavy boot came down, grinding his head into the floor.
“I'm... rank two...”
Whether from humiliation or pain,
the voice that reached Labyrinth's ears as he writhed like a bug was low and sunken.
“I've got a higher rank than you, and I've proven I have the power to back it up...”
A rookie who'd just joined the brigade couldn't possibly deserve rank two—that was his protest.
He'd even dragged in the other wraiths for a "test" that turned into a lynching attempt.
Yet here he was, beaten to a pulp and barely conscious, stared down with cold eyes.
“But you still think I'm an easy mark...?”
Crunch.
The foot pressed harder.
His skull creaked.
And just before the pressure crushed Labyrinth's skull entirely,
“That's enough.”
Thud!
Labyrinth vanished.
The boot slammed into the now-empty floor.
Then, folding the fingers adorned with rings, he poured a golden potion over the spot where Labyrinth's head had been.
Liberation Brigade's former rank two wraith.
Now demoted to rank three, Mezion spoke.
“We have a hierarchy based on rank, but we're fundamentally equal comrades. So keep it in line.”
“...The other comrades don't seem to think that way.”
“I'll take responsibility and discipline them.”
If the other wraiths tried to pull another stunt like that, he'd handle the punishment himself.
Mezion stated it plainly, and after a moment of silence, it was accepted.
Any other wraith, maybe not.
But Mezion, a fellow level 100 absolute being, was a pain even for him to deal with.
Not that it meant he couldn't kill him.
“I'll assume everyone's accepted the new comrade taking rank two.”
“Urgh...”
Not even Labyrinth could do more than groan in fury.
No one raised an objection.
The power they'd just witnessed was on a different level—more than worthy of rank two in the Liberation Brigade.
Confirming the other wraiths' agreement, Mezion continued softly.
“Now, we need to assign your codename.”
“Do we really need that crap...?”
“Using real names is too risky.”
All the Liberation Brigade wraiths knew his identity now—what point was there in childish codenames?
Mezion didn't waver at the half-hearted protest.
“Then for now, we'll call you Wanderer. That's what they called you in Africa...”
“...Wanderer. Not a bad temporary codename.”
He nodded in approval.
Then continued softly.
“Anyway, the welcome for Wanderer seems over. Let's get to the main point.”
Gathering all the wraiths except the top rank wasn't just to introduce Wanderer.
Normally, sure.
But with the Seven Dragon Society hunting the Liberation Brigade in full swing,
pulling wraiths from their missions across branches was a huge risk.
Yet he'd taken that risk, and Mezion explained why.
“Preparations are complete to claim the fifth Seven Arc.”
In that instant,
the air shifted.
The injured wraiths stopped groaning, even Labyrinth quit glaring at Wanderer—every wraith lit up with excitement.
“Finally...!”
“Who's handling the retrieval?”
“What's the plan?”
The wraiths erupted.
They'd only secured two Seven Arcs so far.
The third, the Heartblack Violin, slipped away and cost them three wraiths.
The fourth, Plato's Sculpting Knife, they'd barely snatched—only to lose it again.
Now, the fifth was within reach.
How could their eyes not burn?
Especially with the sixth and seventh's locations unknown, or impossible to grab even if known.
“Calm down. Preparations are done. All that's left is executing the plan together.”
“Can you guarantee no failure this time?”
“Of course. This plan comes from the Great Star's prophecy.”
'How many times has that prophecy been wrong already!'
Labyrinth seethed inwardly.
But he couldn't voice it.
The Great Star's prophecy was absolute in the Liberation Brigade. Even a high-rank wraith like him couldn't defy it.
The next moment,
the air froze solid.
“I can't believe that...”
“...What did you just say, Wanderer?”
Ignoring the wraiths' shocked stares,
Wanderer repeated himself without a care.
“The Great Star's prophecy or whatever—it's been wrong so many times already. I don't want to stake my life on it.”
“Are you daring to defy the Great Star's prophecy?”
Mezion's voice turned icy.
As the brigade's number two, he'd quietly led without ever showing personal feelings.
This sharp tone was utterly unlike him.
“I don't trust it much, but I'm not planning to outright defy the prophecy...”
He was still a newbie.
No intention of bucking the organization's policy right away.
Wanderer spoke far more mildly than expected.
Except he added one line.
“But I won't follow it either.”
“What does that mean?”
“I'll act on my own. You do whatever you want...”
“...”
“What's the difference from defying it?!”
“Plenty of differences...”
“Like what?!”
The sheer absurdity made Labyrinth blurt it out,
speaking for the silent Mezion.
Then he froze.
“For example, no matter how idiotic it is, I won't kill you...”
If he'd meant to defy it, he'd have already disposed of incompetents like Labyrinth.
As Wanderer stared him down coldly, Labyrinth swallowed hard.
Mezion spoke again.
“I can't accept that. This plan was built around your participation.”
With the Seven Dragon Society on their tail, securing the fifth Seven Arc was do-or-die for the brigade.
He'd gathered everyone to eliminate any chance of failure.
He couldn't let their top asset, Wanderer, sit it out.
But Wanderer didn't care.
He just met Mezion's gaze with cold eyes.
“I didn't ask permission. I notified you...”
“...”
“Don't forget—I have the right to act independently...”
Mezion furrowed his brow.
He had no counter.
To recruit a Monarch like Wanderer, the brigade had made huge concessions—including independent operation rights.
And other gifts, too.
“Don't you know who that power came from?!”
“...I'm grateful for the gifts, but that's separate from this.”
Arrogant or just off his rocker?
Mezion glared at Wanderer, who toyed with the blood-red gem in his hand without budging, then asked quietly.
“So you're going rogue after all?”
“I hate relying on shaky prophecies without insurance.”
“...”
“But grant me a few small favors, and I'll lend a hand...”
The Liberation Brigade's new rank two,
Wanderer eyed the frowning wraiths and let out a sinister chuckle.
“Catching a fresh Sword Master takes a lot of prep...”
A mid-tier level 40s player.
Until a few months ago, Baek Woo had been a happy shut-in gamer.
Now, he'd grown accustomed to daily battles.
“The government must guarantee our right to survival!”
“Guarantee it! Guarantee it!”
Warriors armed not with swords but placards, not helmets but hair ties, not shouts of battle but chants.
The life of a fervent protester.
“How can a single meal cost over 50,000 won?!”
“How can it?! How can it?!”
And Baek Woo wasn't alone.
From ruined restaurant owners to young distribution workers, street vendors' aunties.
Tens of thousands gathered before the Blue House, shoulder-to-shoulder with Baek Woo, protesting.
And they were the tame ones.
From the National Assembly to university streets, plazas—anywhere crowds could form, massive throngs were rioting.
Food and supply shortages.
Skyrocketing prices.
A half-paralyzed financial system.
Power plants barely running at minimum.
All these disasters had pushed the crumbling economy over the edge, and people finally snapped.
Their fury targeted those responsible for running the country.
“President Han Jeong-guk, step down and take responsibility now!”
“Step down! Step down!”
Those like Baek Woo, just yelling in front of the Blue House, were mild by comparison.
Others burned effigies.
Threw filth at politicians.
Protests grew more violent by the day.
Even players assaulting lawmakers had happened, forcing the president and key figures into hiding.
That bred more distrust, making protests deadlier...
The vicious cycle pushed the nation to the brink of riots.
Or coups, considering military supplies' declining quality and quantity.
The first to hang would be generals who'd siphoned stockpiles to feed themselves.
What came after?
Not Baek Woo's concern.
His focus: fixing his broken household budget, dwindling bank balance, daily hardships.
Yelling like this would force politicians to fix it eventually.
Like how they'd stopped the Greater East Asia Empire.
Ended the world war.
Built this nation into a global superpower.
As Baek Woo shouted with the crowd, buoyed by vague hope,
Vroom.
'Ah, food truck's here.'
He spotted the massive truck from behind and stopped chanting.
No hunger strike here—gotta eat during protests.
Early on, protesting was tough.
Food prices were insane; even with money, options were scarce.
Now, food trucks provided free meals at every mealtime.
'Partnering with Leviathan for free handouts amid this mess—Infinity Guild's something else.'
Baek Woo was impressed.
While individuals and firms hoarded food, and the government monopolized domestic produce,
giving it away free was huge.
'As expected from Seven Dragon Group and the top guilds... Wait, now seven guilds?'
Forest collapsed after Monster Monarch Gula's death.
Makers declined post-Magic Monarch Karl, eventually ousted.
Utopia splintered after Summoner Monarch Branga vanished.
While other top ten guilds fell, Infinity held firm—Baek Woo felt proud.
And tsked his tongue.
'Even a single guild and corp steps up like this, but what the hell's our government doing...'
His passion flared thanks to their competence, but then he frowned.
'Why only one truck?'
With crowd sizes, ten-plus trucks usually came.
Just one today felt off, stirring unease.
'...Did they cut back on free food?'
Daily millions of portions free? Even top guilds and Seven Dragon Group couldn't sustain that forever.
Baek Woo rushed to the truck.
One meal was worth its weight in gold now—free food was survival.
But street smarts kicked in.
The initial rush spread, drawing thousands to swarm the truck.
“Hey, who're you shoving?!”
“Who shoved who? Can't you see I was here first? No cutting, old man!”
Lucky positioning let Baek Woo arrive first and fight to hold his spot.
He waited anxiously for distribution to start.
But when the truck opened,
and he reached for his share,
Baek Woo could only gape.
“...Wait. What?”
“The free event ended yesterday, sir.”
Blinking at the smiling maid-outfitted server,
Baek Woo grasped it and exploded.
“No way—who decided to start charging for our free food?! Don't you people have a conscience?!”