Chapter 140
Chapter 140
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 140
Chapter Title: What is a Hunter?
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What is a hunter?
They were humanity's hope in thwarting the demons' plot to invade Earth.
Superhumans wielding immense power to protect people from monsters.
These were the heroes known as hunters.
Until now, hunters had triumphed over monsters and demons with superhuman strength beyond human limits...
...and powerful skills that backed those abilities.
These skills—the true weapons of hunters—were graded and used to classify them.
Of course, physical prowess was also a factor in determining a hunter's rank, but it was relative.
In other words, physical ability ranks depended on how much stronger or weaker one was compared to other hunters...
Skills, however, were uniquely absolute, independent of physical stats.
That meant even if one's physical abilities were on par with an ordinary person and far behind other hunters, possessing a powerful and useful skill would immediately make them a high-rank hunter.
Conversely, those with exceptional physical prowess but weak, useless skills had to put in tremendous effort to prove their strength and climb the ranks.
This was the difference between the relative and the absolute.
Physical ability was something that required vast time and effort to demonstrate relatively.
Skills were absolute proof, shown simply by displaying what one had.
And so, many called skills by this infamous phrase:
'Luck-Based Shitshow Hunter Life'
Could any words capture a hunter's life better?
The random skill obtained upon awakening as a hunter.
The life-altering twist it brought.
Though he now lived a smooth path as guild master of Unwoo Guild thanks to Yong-un, Jin-cheol still agreed with the notion of a "Luck-Based Shitshow Hunter Life."
It was an irrefutable truth, like the laws of nature.
But for the first time, Jin-cheol felt that truth being challenged and denied.
"S-So, you truly have no skills?"
Jin-cheol's forehead began to sweat from shock and bewilderment.
In contrast, Yong-un gave him an odd look.
"Your qi flow looks healthy enough. What's the problem?"
"I'm sorry..."
Under the Supreme One's gaze, Jin-cheol apologized first.
But his mouth wouldn't stop.
A burning desire for answers whipped him on like a rider goading a horse.
"You really have no skills, right?"
Sighing deeply at Jin-cheol's uncharacteristic behavior, Yong-un replied.
"How many times do I have to say it? No such thing as skills."
"Aaaah..."
Jin-cheol clutched his head and staggered.
"Must've eaten something bad. Tsk tsk."
Now Yong-un was even clicking his tongue.
In truth, Yong-un had given Jin-cheol the answer from the start.
No skills.
Yet Jin-cheol couldn't believe it and kept confirming.
And now, after getting that firm confirmation, he was shocked all over again.
'No way...'
They say humans are creatures of forgetfulness.
Even the sharp-minded Jin-cheol, in his panic, was acting just like Ho-gun, who knew nothing but martial arts.
"Supreme One! You really haven't... undergone a skill inspection...?"
"Whatever you ate, I'll fix you up."
Yong-un finally rose from his seat.
"Ah, aaaah!"
He stared straight at Jin-cheol while gripping the Demon-Slaying Sword.
What exactly was a skill?
After resolving to live in this reality, Yong-un had absorbed vast amounts of information about it.
He had witnessed plenty of the magic and skills used exclusively by hunters.
Yet even after seeing them, Yong-un couldn't replicate them.
Back in his days as the Sword Demon of the Heavenly Demon Cult.
Yong-un had loved martial arts so much he was called the Martial Arts Maniac, mastering countless techniques.
This honed his insight into qi flow, allowing him to grasp the principles of most arts with a single glance and mimic them to a decent degree.
But...
'Skills and magic resemble internal energy usage. I get moving and expelling the energy I have...'
Why did simply chanting a skill name—like a spell—transform the expelled energy's form and nature?
It didn't matter if it was innate or acquired.
The color of one's personal energy or the unique traits of family or sect techniques were irrelevant.
The mere utterance of a skill name completely altered the released energy's appearance and properties.
That was why Yong-un couldn't imitate others' skills or magic.
'I was curious at first.'
But who was Yong-un?
A warrior thrilled by learning and mastering new things, earning the title Martial Arts Maniac.
True to his name, he had poured intense interest into magic and skills initially.
It was around then.
The Bupyeong Station demon gate incident that rocked South Korea.
There, in front of the demon gate, he first faced an attack from an S-rank GHO high-tier magic hunter.
The spell that turned pure internal energy into a massive crimson fireball piqued his curiosity greatly.
Afterward, he observed skills and magic closely, even trying to mimic them.
But that didn't last.
Overthinking often makes the thinker look foolish—a law Yong-un ignored at first, but it ultimately killed his interest in skills and magic entirely.
"Supreme One! Please. It might be embarrassing, but could you visit the Hunter Management Agency for a skill check?"
Yet Jin-cheol tossed a log into the ashes of Yong-un's extinguished curiosity.
Yong-un hadn't realized skills were so crucial in this world.
But this tiny log of a skill—making even a master tactician like Jin-cheol look foolish—was enough to reignite the flames of interest.
"Skills, huh... I wonder if I have any."
Now, curiosity outweighed mere interest.
Hunters typically underwent "awakening" and felt it happen...
Yong-un had never experienced that.
He'd simply returned from the murim to this reality.
"Probably not."
Yong-un chuckled and shook his head.
"Y-Yong-un?"
"Hey! Keep it down!"
His mind was convinced it was impossible.
But his heart whispered there was no harm in trying.
That was why he endured the annoying stares and sat here now.
"No way? For real?"
"Whoa... Can I take a pic?"
"Today's Outstar likes gonna hit a thousand easy."
For convenience, he'd built his influence.
To grow it fast, he'd put his face out there.
Now, everywhere he went brought unwanted attention and chatter.
'Is this what he meant?'
"Embarrassing? What do you mean?"
"H-Haha, can't say right now. You'll see when you get there. Oh, and even guild masters of the top five have to go to the precision test room in person for skill checks. Please go."
Only now did he grasp Jin-cheol's words.
Lifting his head, he spotted a pamphlet next to the door labeled "Precision Skill Test."
[From New Hunters to High-Rank: D-Day 100]
[Hey, We Can Be A-Rank Hunters Too]
Under the promotional slogans:
[Precision Skill Tests Available Only for New Hunters]
"So why's Yong-un here?"
"Beats me. This ain't his scene..."
"Yong-un's a newbie? No way he skipped the skill test, right?"
"Crazy talk? What hunter skips that? Not an idiot."
Yong-un's eyebrow twitched at the surrounding voices.
'Having smart subordinates comes with annoyances.'
A faint spark of lightning energy leaked from his lightly clenched fist.
He didn't want to cause a scene here, but Jin-cheol was truly a master.
He knew how to handle people, so he'd anticipated: if warned ahead, Yong-un wouldn't come.
Yong-un had reached S-rank globally without knowing skills, even clearing the San Marino Demonus boss.
With the Demon-Slaying Sword now in hand, skills were irrelevant anyway.
Jin-cheol knew that well.
Yet he'd lured Yong-un here with clever words.
Even using "embarrassing" to spark curiosity.
Pzzt.
"Hoo..."
The lightning from his hand faded with a deep breath.
As it vanished completely, Yong-un vowed.
He'd beat the crap out of that guy when he got back.
Vrrring.
The automatic door under "Precision Skill Test" slid open.
"Lee Yong-un Hunter?"
The agency staffer checked his hunter ID with a bewildered look.
The same puzzled expression as other hunters: "Why's he here?"
"Here."
As Yong-un raised his hand and stood, the staffer's shock deepened.
He gaped rudely.
Eager to finish and leave, Yong-un dashed to the staffer in one step.
"I go in?"
"W-Wait a sec."
The stunned staffer blocked him.
Frantically flipping through the hunter ID.
The rapidly turning pages mirrored his urgency.
Finding something, he stared intently.
"Y-You really... never did a precision test?"
His face was even more entertaining now—flushed red, eyes wide with disbelief.
"First time, so let's wrap it up quick."
From the waiting area: "Whoa! He says it's really his first! Insane!"
Done with this place, Yong-un shoved the staffer aside and forced his way in.
'Gonna have to chant "he's dead" over Jin-cheol's minced remains.'
He recommitted to turning Jin-cheol into ground meat.
At that moment, as Yong-un underwent his precision skill test.
The GHO Italy branch buzzed with frantic activity.
The San Marino Demonus had been cleared mid-weakening operation.
With no major power here, the branch's purpose vanished.
A natural closure, but leaving their home of 20 years darkened many faces.
"Operations Chief?"
One agent approached the chief, lost in sorrow beyond mere gloom.
Gazing fondly at the San Marino map as always, he looked up.
"What is it?"
"Sorry, but we need to pack this place up now..."
His misty eyes scanned the room briefly.
This was the branch chief's office.
"Already that time?"
Surveying traces of the now-departed Pamellino, he gave a heavy smile.
Not one of joy.
A formal expression laced with sorrow—a contradictory emotion.
"Everything else packed?"
"Yes, this is the last."
"No wonder it's been so quiet lately..."
He lifted his hands from Pamellino's desk.
And picked up the revolver atop it.
"What about that?"
Engraved on the grip: 'Pamellino.'
A hunter-grade weapon issued to non-hunter branch chiefs.
The GHO Branch Chief Special Revolver in the operations chief's hand.
Click.
A light tap on the side ejected the gleaming cylinder.
Six rounds, fully loaded, not a single missing.
"Send it to GHO for disposal, I suppose."
Confirming the full load with his own eyes, tears welled at the corners of his.
This was why he'd always seen Pamellino as a lifelong chief.
'If it had been me...'
If he'd been the one in that mana rampage instead of Branch Chief Pamellino.
Would he have pulled the trigger on a rampaging ally slaughtering comrades?
The chief reversed the revolver, gripping the barrel, and offered it to the agent.
"I could never have done it."
If it were him, he'd have fired blindly.
A few agents might die, but he'd survive.
He'd have fled, consoling himself with vows of revenge.
"Pardon?"
The agent mistook his mutter for speech.
Shaking his head, the chief replied.
"Nothing. Muttering to myself. Call the team to pack."
Handing over the revolver, he stepped out of the chief's office.
Today marked a historic achievement after decades—the greatest feat.
Yet the chief's shoulders slumped far from a triumphant commander's.
His bitter retreating figure.
"If I'm sad after so short a time, how must the chief feel after all these years..."
The agent couldn't hide his own bitterness watching him go.
Just one of many cleanup agents, yet even grunts mourned Pamellino deeply.
"Sigh, I'll clean this as neatly as possible. That's the best I can do."
That was Pamellino.
A top leader, beloved even by the lowest agents—a rarity in modern times.
His death's grief echoed profoundly in the space he'd occupied.
Pamellino was that kind of man.
"Whew... Let's start."
The agent tucked the received chief's revolver carefully into his inner pocket.
Patting it to ensure safekeeping, he began tidying the office.
Glint.
Right then, as he moved items.
"This first."
His hand brushed the stack of documents on the desk.
Crackle.
That instant.
"Huh?"
Half the stack lifted cleanly.
Amid an odd noise, something strange caught his eye.
A single gray crescent eye on a black background, peering through a crack like shattered glass.
"Wha—?"
A voice emanated from within, panicking the agent.
But only briefly.
Stab.
A hand burst from the crack, piercing his chest.
"Guh!"
Drip.
Blood flowed from the pierced chest onto the grayish-black-skinned hand.
The blood seeped into the skin, forming unfamiliar runes upon it.
The gray crescent pupil in the black backdrop began spinning wildly.
Spinning so fast, the crescent morphed into a full moon.
Schluck.
Splurt!
The hand withdrew from the agent's chest.
Blood sprayed skyward from the hole.
But as the crack mended, the fountain reversed, flowing back into the chest as if time rewound.
The crack sealed completely.
The agent's chest wound vanished as if never there.
His closed eyes snapped open.
Not as a lowly agent...
But as Branch Chief Pamellino, whose body had been confirmed dead and cremated.