Not All Hunters Are the Same
Kang Moo-hyuk had long suspected that China might have more gates hidden in the Makyung than they let on.
“There are… four more?”
“At minimum.”
He didn’t trust Russia’s intelligence—not because he doubted Russia, but because he knew how insidious Chinese guilds could be.
During the Great War era, conspiracy theories had swirled about Japanese hunters’ involvement in the “Guoryongneung Catastrophe,” but China was far from innocent either.
They’d diverted troops they’d promised to send, leaving Korean hunters to face the dragons alone. They couldn’t exactly wash their hands of the blame.
Korea’s hunter community had failed the raid and suffered a fatal blow by losing S-rank hunter Jeon Ye-jun, yet they couldn’t even lodge a formal protest with the other two nations. Chinese and Japanese hunters had seized the power vacuum left by Korea’s absence.
And the Makyung is that kind of place to begin with. Some areas are off-limits even within the Makyung itself, called forbidden zones where no one dares enter.
A region where perfect scouting was impossible.
Russia might have missed some gates.
Jeong Woo-su rubbed his dry face, trying to pull himself together from his stunned daze. “What’s the source of this intel?”
“Russia.”
“How did they…”
Jeong Woo-su trailed off, clearly doubting Kang Moo-hyuk’s words.
And who could blame him? Russia constantly monitored Chinese movements, so acquiring intel wasn’t surprising. What was dubious was how Kang Moo-hyuk had gotten it.
Kang Moo-hyuk shrugged off his armored coat, hung it on a nearby chair, and sat down. “This might take a while.”
“I don’t mind if it does.”
He crossed his arms, organizing his thoughts.
If I tell him straight about Russia, it’ll lead to Nikolai Kamenisky and the Hunter Federation, and eventually force me to reveal Joo Se-ah’s S-rank status.
Plenty of people already knew about Joo Se-ah’s rank. Letting it spread further would make secrecy impossible. The longer they delayed going public, the better.
Politicians, especially—they’d blab even with a gag on their mouths. Even working together, caution was key.
If it leaks, Japan will move.
Japan’s influence snaked through Korea’s political, business, and hunter circles. Keeping secrets was tough.
With the north already in chaos, Japan jumping in could spin everything out of control. He couldn’t spill the full truth, so he’d have to spice up a half-truth.
“This’ll veer a bit off-topic. Let’s start with the Slayer Guild.”
Kang Moo-hyuk’s mind raced, crafting a story on the fly. It spilled from his lips seamlessly.
“Slayer Guild planned a long-term push into the Makyung to counter slowing growth from the saturated domestic market.”
“That’s the rumor floating around political circles too. Tier guilds eyeing the Makyung.”
“What if Joo Se-ah taking over Taeseong Guild separately was part of Slayer’s plan?”
“What do you…?”
“Even Korea’s top guild can’t pioneer the Makyung alone. So they created Taeseong Guild to expand their reach.”
“That’s odd, though. I hear Slayer and Joo Se-ah don’t get along.”
“On the surface.”
“Surface? You mean it was a front?”
“Other tier guilds resent Slayer. If Joo Se-ah led a new guild backing them, interference was inevitable. Plus, with Taeseong Group capital flowing in, guilds eyeing control would block it at all costs.”
“Are you saying Taeseong Group orchestrated this?”
“Say what you will, but Taeseong is Joo Se-ah’s family.”
The tale flowed convincingly, even to a savvy assemblyman like Jeong Woo-su.
Taeseong Group aimed for dominance in the gate industry long-term, but monster corpses and gate resources were finite. They were squabbling over a shrinking pie and needed a breakthrough.
Enter Joo Se-ah, brokering cooperation between Slayer Guild and Taeseong Group.
The more Kang Moo-hyuk spoke, the more the lie clung naturally to his tongue, letting him flesh it out.
“That’s when they hit a snag: China.”
“Makes sense. China’s aggressive about the Makyung. It was their territory originally.”
“It’s less about territorial rights and more that they’re untrustworthy.”
Jeong Woo-su nodded in agreement.
China shared borders with the Makyung, and no neighboring country was free of hunter issues.
“Korea borders China, and Sinuiju’s under heavy Chinese hunter influence. They had to tread carefully.”
“Is that why Sinuiju…?”
“Shh. Plenty more to that story. I’ll tell you if the chance comes up later.”
Kang Moo-hyuk avoided expanding the improvised plot. Overelaborating could create holes. A sharp politician like Jeong Woo-su might spot them.
He tabled the Sinuiju discussion he’d never actually have and pressed on.
“Because of China, Slayer sought ties with Russia—specifically Vladivostok factions. They were scraping by without Moscow’s support and needed a third-party ally. They looped in the Guild Cooperation Department, but direct contact risked leaks. So they used Taeseong Guild’s North Pocheon base as cover to build relations.”
“My god… North Pocheon connects to the Makyung too?”
Jeong Woo-su’s shock was natural; his mouth hung open.
North Pocheon, Sinuiju, Makyung—each link was massive. Realizing they all tied into Slayer Guild’s scheme hammered home their influence.
This is snowballing. Gotta sync up with the guild master, Cha Gil-ju, and Seong Seon-je later.
That explained how he’d gotten Makyung intel from Russia.
From there, Kang Moo-hyuk stuck to the truth.
Yi Suk-young spotting Chinese gates while hunting in the Makyung, laid out chronologically. He skipped sensitive or trivial details, but even so, reaching the Tumen River defense collapse took time.
“No one’s trustworthy on gates, so we’ve kept it secret. But with China seemingly bursting them deliberately, we can’t sit idle. Russia will move soon too. No single guild or two can handle it. That’s why I’m proposing a national unified strike force.”
Jeong Woo-su sighed deeply, smoothing his disheveled hair from listening intently.
“How much time do we have? Until those gate bosses come down.”
“No idea. Could be tomorrow, or months from now.”
“Too uncertain. We don’t even know if the bosses exist, no proof. Can’t we diplomatically press China for locations?”
“If words worked, they wouldn’t burst gates in the Makyung. Precedent: Blagoveshchensk, like I mentioned. They collapsed it just because they couldn’t claim it.”
“That was hunters. Government stance might differ.”
“Post-Great War, China’s Communist Party endured civil war and allied with hunters to consolidate power. They can’t command guilds outright, but they’ll join hands for mutual gain anytime. Same with Russia tensions—they’ll play dumb on Makyung flare-ups.”
“Then the international community…”
“The moment our government exposes Makyung incidents, China launches malicious attacks. Japan piles on. You saw post-Great War: how Korean sacrifices played out in diplomacy. We lack strength to counter China yet.”
Korea had to handle it alone.
For the first time in his political career, Jeong Woo-su felt true crisis.
The Hunter Special Committee had always been a partisan battleground. Hunters didn’t heed politicians anyway—what policies or visions could they push?
Unable to control them, better to toss them scraps and eat well themselves.
He’d flowed with the current like that, but now chest-tightening pressure choked him.
Then he realized it wasn’t mere burden.
His long-forgotten rookie dreams flooded back: serving the people, devoting to the nation, youthful zeal for humanity’s prosperity and world peace.
It was a sense of duty.
“If this goes south, my political career’s toast.”
“I’d be blacklisted from the hunter world too.”
“You say it lightly. Heads will roll. You’ve got a cushy gig.”
“Better than people dying.”
“Fair.”
Jeong Woo-su closed his eyes, bit his lip lightly, then shot to his feet.
“Putting the unified strike force on the agenda—that’s what I can do?”
“And stoke winds to pass it fast as possible.”
“President could veto. Kim Sang-jin’s in-law runs First Guild.”
“Tier guild or not, First’s members are hunters. Same for others.”
“Meaning?”
“Not all hunters are the same. Crises reveal the real ones.”
“Guild master!”
Bang! The door shattered as a burly man stormed into the office.
But he couldn’t fully enter; his broad shoulders jammed the doorframe.
Embarrassed, he shrugged them in, but they weren’t shrinking that easily.
Sideways crab-walk it was.
“Guild master!”
“Yo-seop, I’m not deaf yet. And I’ve told you: doors open, not break. One more time, and next it’s your thick skull.”
“My skull’s tough. Anyway, why aren’t we heading up?”
“Up where? This building ends at nine.”
“No, there!”
“Oh, that? Hold tight. We’re beefing hunters from spring hires for guild review. Straight to C-rank this time. Nab a couple gates after, and ‘Dog Fighting’ Guild hits B in no time.”
“Who asked about guild review? Cheongjin City.”
“Why there?”
Guild master Lee Chang-gu scowled.
Byeon Yo-seop’s antics already irked him; mentioning the northern warzone felt ominous.
“You wanna go there?”
“Why not?”
“Aigoo, dude. Quiet spell, huh.”
Despite his brute build, crude speech, and antics, Byeon Yo-seop was a brainy hunter. Mastered strategies, cared for guildmates—popular pick for expedition leader. But he’d cut hunts for endless volunteering, flipping stomachs.
Remote village monster cleanups, no less.
Once out, he’d vanish for ages.
Despite the gripe over unpaid work, Lee Chang-gu couldn’t boot him.
Skills were top-notch.
Honestly, C-rank—no, B-rank’s too small for him.
Prime prospect Byeon Yo-seop had drawn big-guild scouts repeatedly.
But he demanded volunteer clauses in contracts. Mega-guilds with packed schedules couldn’t bend.
Lee Chang-gu tossed a hail-mary offer: no matching salary, but blank contract—anything goes.
My luck. Gained a headache too.
That’s how a prime A-rank hopeful landed in fringe guild Dog Fighting.
Now, with steady records, rising revenue, C-rank promotion looming—he mentions Cheongjin?
Byeon Yo-seop wanted to volunteer at the Cheongjin front.
“A fresh A- rank going there for what?”
“Hunters hunt monsters. What else?”
“You die, then what?”
“Didn’t watch TV? It breaks, everyone dies. Promotions mean squat.”
“Damn that Kang Moo-hyuk bastard. Filling your head with pipe dreams.”
“Not swayed that easy. It’s who I am. Give up on me—let’s go.”
“You’d throw guildmates into the meat grinder?”
“Help where it’s safer.”
“You’d be promoted already if we had spare hands.”
“So we just grind cash here?”
“Big guilds got it.”
“Iron Will’s C-rank.”
“Iron Will? C-rank variance is huge. Scale-wise, they’re B. Backed by conglomerates, rider wolves—they rival A. Just short high-ranks keep ’em C. And civilians meddling in hunter work. What can he do?”
Byeon Yo-seop bristled. “Better than loafing hunters. Fine. You stay, I go solo. Later.”
“Hey! Stop—really walking? Knew it. Sigh… Oh, secretary. Come in.”
Lee Chang-gu beckoned his bear-like secretary peeking from the busted door.
“Can’t let our ace die alone. Rally the roster. All hands on deck.”