The Bullet of Intent
“Did you come to the academy without even knowing what Intent was?”
“That’s not the case.”
“Then it seems you have objections to this examiner’s testing method.”
As he spoke, he suddenly drew his sword. The sharp ring of steel had barely registered before his hand was already wrapped around the hilt. A draw so fast it seemed as if space itself had been sliced apart.
Then, with a perfectly indifferent face, he uttered something extraordinary in the most casual tone imaginable.
“Kill me.”
“Pardon?”
“I’m telling you to unleash the best move you possess. I will personally determine whether it carries Intent.”
“What does that mean?”
“But I already use Intent in my everyday life. If he’s that skilled, shouldn’t he recognize it right away?”
The fact that he told me not to open my eyes—was he an S-Class Hunter after all? All I had to do was hit him with everything I had. As evaluation methods went, it seemed far too simple, almost crude. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. If the examiner possessed the skill to judge someone with a single exchange, there could be no simpler or more efficient approach.
If my attack pleased him, he would apparently hand over the pass necklace he carried.
“Would it be all right if I need a little time to prepare?”
“It makes no difference. Focus solely on readying your finest strike.”
What a blunt personality. The examiner stood perfectly still, sword in hand. Even though I was muttering to myself, he showed no reaction.
He really is seeing straight through me.
This was what an S-Class Hunter felt like. A presence that could unsettle someone with nothing but a glance.
Still. Given unlimited preparation time, there was no better stage for a sniper.
Unlimited prep time, huh?
Besides, I was the owner of Asadia—my attack power only grew the longer I waited.
I rummaged through my clothes and pulled out the revolver.
Click.
The heavy metallic sound rippled through the silent examination hall like a short wave.
Perhaps because I had drawn a gun, a shadow of disappointment flickered across his eyes for an instant. Whatever interest or expectation had been there vanished in a single breath. In its place settled the indifference of someone who had already seen the foregone conclusion.
The sense that I could do nothing meaningful.
Well, I couldn’t blame him. If I were in his position, I would think the same. What hunter in the world used a gun? And on top of that, I was blind.
It’s a shame I can’t open my eyes.
If I could see his status window, I might grasp his personality or weaknesses and make this test easier. Still, it doesn’t matter.
The pistol I had picked up originally held three rounds. One used on the World Boss, two more on the maggots on the first floor of the Tower. The chamber was empty. No matter how many times I pulled the trigger, it would only produce a dull, dry click.
But that was fine.
I had a plan.
Because I can fire Intent from the gun.
I listened to the vibrations riding the air. I felt the breath of the earth rising from the soles of my feet. Without even trying, every sound soaked into me.
To survive in a world without light, my body had been forced to master the use of every other sense. Perhaps that was why I excelled at handling anything but sight.
For example… something like this.
Intent surged from within me. The will that had flowed like blood from the depths of my body slowly spread outward, swallowing the world.
Was this what they called synesthesia? It felt as if I were finally facing a hidden facet of reality. Sounds carried taste. Scents conveyed texture. Every sense intertwined, feeding me information from an entirely new dimension I had never experienced before.
He said he wanted to test whether I could handle Intent, right?
Intent. A supernatural force born from the fusion of consciousness and mental energy. From what I understood, hunters needed to wield Intent before they could even use martial arts or magic. It was the most fundamental requirement for manipulating mana.
However, the way heroes used Intent was slightly different. A hero engraved their story upon the world and overlaid their soul atop its laws.
Not long ago, when Achilles first began teaching me how to properly use Intent, I had asked him this:
“But I don’t have any kind of narrative. I was born blind, abandoned by my parents, and spent my entire life trapped in darkness like some pathetic outcast.”
It had struck a chord in my chest. Not a gaze of pity. Not an act of turning away. For the first time, I felt that someone was truly seeing me.
Throughout my life, people had only ever defined me by a single phrase.
“Pitiful child.”
Because I couldn’t see, they pitied me. And even that pity changed shape depending on the situation. In uncomfortable moments, it often became outright avoidance.
The world had been unbearably cold, and my existence nothing more than a consumable to be pitied.
But Achilles had looked at me directly. He did not pity me. Instead, he told me that every wound and every deficiency I carried was a narrative unique to the person called me.
So even this counts as a story.
It wasn’t merely spreading Intent to perceive my surroundings. It went further. I made the world answer my story. I overlaid myself upon it. I reconstructed its laws so that a fragment of reality would align with my perception.
“Hoo.”
With a short exhale, the narrative I released merged with my Intent and flowed outward. Darkness drifted gently.
Maybe because I’ve lived my whole life in darkness, the shape is pretty ominous.
It looked strange at a glance. Too black. Too cold. Just looking at it sent a chill down my spine. I was both fascinated and slightly afraid that something like this had come from my own hand.
But what can I do? All I’ve ever seen and felt is darkness. It can’t be helped.
That a blind person like me would create a bullet of this appearance was only natural. It was gloomy, yes. On the other hand, I thought it matched my personal modifier perfectly.
A bullet condensed from darkness.
If I had to name it, perhaps “magic bullet”… or “Satan.”
Satan—the bullet fired by the reaper. Even I had to admit my naming sense was impeccable.
He wanted to test whether I could handle Intent, right?
Then I would fire the Intent itself.
The pitch-black bullet formed of Intent slid into the empty chamber. With my eyes closed, I aimed the muzzle. A small hand pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The examination hall was a wide, open dome. A massive screen on the wall displayed the testing area in real time. At that moment, the screen showed an examiner and a twelve-year-old girl.
The girl was tiny and looked so fragile that a single tap might snap her in two. On top of that, she was blind.
The murmuring among the people gathered inside the dome grew steadily louder. Whispers became mutters. Mutters became mockery.
The academy was supposed to be the world’s finest institution, a place that upheld meritocracy above all. It drew talent from every corner of the globe, but it also gathered every variety of human being along with them. Arrogant children of chaebols, pretentious snobs who pretended at refinement, street rats who had been dragged in, and outright thugs. The resulting atmosphere was complicated—laughter hiding ulterior motives, jokes laced with venom, and sharp, predatory gazes.
Flicker Sword. Kim Seokhun. One of the handful of S-Class Hunters recognized worldwide. The rank of S-Class was never taken lightly. Simply facing him was an honor. Even a single piece of advice from him was considered priceless experience. Some people applied to the academy not because they believed they could enter, but simply for the chance to hear a few words from its notoriously strict professors.
At that moment, the blind girl fumbled through her pockets. What she pulled out was a revolver. The design was plain—the standard service pistol used by Korean police.
Silence fell for a moment, then exploded into even louder laughter.
No matter how fast or powerful a gun was, it had been designed to kill humans. Everyone in the industry knew firearms were useless against monsters. It was possible to reinforce them using mana stones and spell scrolls from the Tower, but even then, each individual bullet would need to be crafted from mana stones. The technology and capital required for that was beyond even the chairmen of the greatest conglomerates.
Exactly when the laughter and mockery had reached their peak, every sneering mouth snapped shut at once.
Because the screen showed something impossible.
Clang!
Kim Seokhun’s sword snapped in two and flew into the air. The severed fragment spun slowly, catching the light as it fell. No one had seen what happened. It had occurred far too quickly. All they knew was that a single gunshot had rung out.
In the sudden silence, every gaze turned to Kim Seokhun.
He set down the broken half-sword and personally placed the pass necklace around the girl’s neck.
The highest possible praise. A complex mix of emotions swirled in Kim Seokhun’s eyes—astonishment, interest, and perhaps even a trace of reverence. Then, as if organizing his thoughts, he gave a small nod. The signal that she could leave.
The girl bowed silently, slowly holstered her revolver, and offered a deep, respectful bow from the waist. Then she trotted lightly out of the examination hall.
Low, urgent whispers spread through the applicants like a wave. Yet the reality before their eyes could not be denied. Everyone held their breath, staring back and forth between the broken sword and Kim Seokhun.
An anomaly had occurred at the academy.