Ripples Across the Sea
At the exact moment Jeon Jaewoo cleared the Grave of Swords, utter pandemonium erupted across the sea in Japan.
“What?! What the hell just happened?!”
The Japanese Ministry of Defense—and indeed, the entire Japanese government—was thrown into absolute turmoil.
Just as South Korea maintained a specialized Hunter Administration under the Ministry of Disaster Administration, Japan managed its awakened affairs through a dedicated Hunter Bureau subordinate to the Ministry of Defense. And on a morning when they were poised to launch a meticulously coordinated expedition, a figurative nuclear warhead had dropped squarely onto their command center.
Of all possible targets, it was the Grave of Swords—the very Legendary-grade ruin Japan had set its sights on—that had vanished from the registry.
For days on end, their analysts and scouts had worked around the clock, conducting preliminary surveys and carefully timing their operations so as not to run afoul of other awakened superpowers. All that remained was to mobilize their domestic vanguard and march in. Yet all that painstaking labor, all that political calculation, evaporated into thin air in an instant. In the world of extradimensional incursions, effort counted for nothing; ownership belonged solely to whoever planted their flag first.
Having poured every scrap of operational bandwidth into that single site at the expense of scouting alternatives, the loss dealt a staggering blow to Japan’s national strategy.
The moment the report crossed his desk, the Minister of Defense summoned the Director of the Hunter Bureau to his office.
“How did this happen? How could South Korea preemptively seize the ruin we were targeting?”
“We are still verifying the operational specifics, sir, but South Korea’s recent movements defy all historical patterns. As soon as this month’s ruins materialized, they claimed a Legendary-grade site almost immediately—and now they have conquered a second Legendary ruin right after.”
“And worst of all, this was neither an expedition fielded by their major Hunter Companies nor an official strike team from the Korean Hunter Bureau,” the Minister pressed, his voice tightening. “It was claimed by a solitary individual. Has South Korea produced a Transcendent-grade Hunter?”
“…We are currently investigating that exact possibility.”
Damn it all. Of all the treasures to slip through their fingers, it had to be the one target they had earmarked for themselves.
“Did they somehow obtain advance intelligence regarding our operational schedule?” the Minister demanded, pacing behind his desk. “How else could this happen precisely as we were gearing up to breach the perimeter?”
“We cannot entirely discount that hypothesis, Minister. It is conceivable they deployed a newly awakened Transcendent-grade asset specifically to cut our legs out from under us…”
Though firm evidence remained elusive, intelligence circles across Japan and several other awakened powers were already coalescing around that very conclusion. Short of an unmeasured Transcendent anomaly, no lone hunter on Earth could dismantle a Legendary-grade ruin in under an hour from its initial manifestation.
Yet in their frantic calculations, both the Minister and his intelligence chief had missed the mark entirely. Jeon Jaewoo had harbored no vendetta against Japan’s strategic interests, nor had he singled out their target out of geopolitical malice. He was an ordinary Korean citizen who had spent recent months worrying about employment; he had neither access to classified Japanese military dispatches nor any interest in them.
Not that intentions mattered now. The ruin was gone, and Japan was left scrambling for scraps.
The Minister pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a vicious migraine blooming behind his temples. “What is the status of our contingency targets? Are there other Legendary-grade ruins we can pivot to?”
“We are reviewing our secondary operations at this moment, sir.”
It was a brazen lie. When a nation committed its elite cadres entirely to a single prize, there was no leftover manpower to maintain viable contingencies. Each month, barely twenty Legendary-grade ruins materialized across the entire globe, contested fiercely by every sovereign power on Earth. For Japan, capturing even one was considered a decisive geopolitical triumph—and a mandatory prerequisite for maintaining its prestige as an awakened superpower.
Now, Korea had snatched the Grave of Swords, tearing their grand strategy to shreds.
Worse, diplomatic protocol offered no recourse. They could hardly file a formal grievance protesting that another sovereign state had conquered a ruin they merely intended to enter. At best, they could leak baseless rumors accusing South Korea of industrial espionage, claiming Seoul had eavesdropped on their strategic communications to steal the march on them.
“Devise a solution immediately,” the Minister barked, his knuckles whitening against his desk. “We cannot emerge from this monthly cycle without a single Legendary ruin to our name!”
“Understood, sir.”
The Hunter Director retreated to his command center, barking orders at his subordinates the moment the doors shut behind him. “Report! Do we have any viable Legendary targets left within our operational radius?”
“My apologies, Director,” a weary analyst replied, frantically refreshing satellite feeds. “Every other Legendary ruin is already under active siege by Russia, China, the European coalition, or the United States. Deploying a new strike force at this juncture would guarantee a catastrophic clash or arriving long after the cores have been extracted.”
“Find a way! I don't care how you manage it! We cannot walk away from this cycle empty-handed!”
Yet no amount of bureaucratic bluster could alter the physical reality on the ground. When the final tallies were settled at the end of the month, Japan had failed to secure a single Legendary ruin.
Meanwhile, back in his modest apartment after wrapping up his second Legendary incursion, Jeon Jaewoo unloaded his spoils alongside Myeolgeop.
Jaewoo summoned Heaven's Box, letting the brass-trimmed artifact rest on the linoleum floor before piling up the mystical blades retrieved from the Grave of Swords.
Should I just toss them all in right now?
He paused, stroking his chin. Did cramming identical items into the box actually guarantee a meaningful enhancement in the final product? More importantly, the base material was swords. If he fed dozens of blades into the synthesis matrix, the resulting summon would almost certainly be another close-quarters melee combatant. And with Myeolgeop already excelling as an elite frontline vanguard, manufacturing a duplicate fighter in the same tactical niche felt glaringly inefficient.
Standing motionless at his side, Myeolgeop registered the subtle shift in his creator’s posture instantly.
“[Creator. Is something amiss?]”
“Not really, just… you already handle swordplay and melee combat. I’m wondering if it makes sense to make another swordsman.”
[“In that case, might I propose fashioning an entity outside the martial combat doctrine?”]
Jaewoo blinked in surprise. “Wait. How would I even do that?”
It was an unexpected suggestion. If he wanted to branch out into a different specialty, what choice did he have when his entire material inventory consisted of several dozen ancient blades?
[“Rather than depositing the blades themselves, you need only isolate the ambient energy residing within them and introduce that extracted essence into the matrix. I calculate that approach will yield viable non-martial constructs.”]
Jaewoo’s brow furrowed. Extracting the intrinsic mana from a weapon and siphoning it into the box without touching the physical metal? Was that even mechanically possible?
Stepping forward, Myeolgeop lifted a single ancient sword from the pile. [“Since the concept appears unfamiliar, permit me to demonstrate.”]
The golem’s mechanical conduits pulsed with concentrated mana, channeling a measured pulse through the hilt.
Whoooosh…
Jaewoo’s eyes widened. The stubborn, sullen aura clinging to the weathered steel began to peel away from the fuller, gathering at the tip like liquid quicksilver before detaching entirely. With effortless precision, Myeolgeop guided the condensed sphere of mana directly into the waiting aperture of Heaven's Box.
“Whoa.” A low whistle escaped Jaewoo’s lips. The lingering mana that had clung to the metal like a stubborn leech had slipped off as clean as a whistle. With sufficient finesse, mana could be manipulated like that?
[“It is no extraordinary feat,”] Myeolgeop said in an even, mechanical tone. [“You, Creator, are more than capable of reproducing the effect.”]
“Me? Really?”
It had only been about a week since he had awakened as a hunter. Up to this point, he had never engaged in systematic mana circulation. Every combat engagement had been delegated entirely to Myeolgeop; Jaewoo had done little more than conjure Heaven's Box and dump raw ingredients into its slots.
[“I strongly advise attempting it. Cultivating precise control over internal mana circulation will vastly accelerate your foundational growth as an awakened entity.”]
Foundational growth as an awakened hunter. Jaewoo wasn’t entirely confident he had the discipline for it, but the logic was sound.
“All right. Let’s give it a shot.”
Now that he possessed mana, neglecting its refinement felt foolish. Dumping every shred of responsibility onto Myeolgeop’s broad shoulders wasn't sustainable in the long run either.
[“An admirable resolution,”] Myeolgeop affirmed, its optical sensors gleaming faintly. [“I shall oversee your training personally.”]
And so began Jeon Jaewoo’s journey to strip the mana from the swords—a process that quickly devolved into pure, unadulterated hell.
“Hey, I’m having trouble separating my own mana flow from the blade’s inherent charge…”
[“Your output is failing to penetrate the metallic core. Increase power transfer by twelve percent.”]
Whenever Jaewoo hit an impasse, Myeolgeop would dissect the error with the ruthless precision of a top-tier cram school instructor. But the golem’s standard for acceptable performance was utterly unforgiving.
“Look, I’m getting pretty exhausted here. Can’t we take a short breather? We’ve been at this for eight straight hours.”
[“With respect, Creator, sensory diagnostics indicate your bio-reserves retain sufficient operational stamina.”]
The golem had the gall to pressure him into continuing with polite, unflinching logic every time he reached for a water bottle.
“…I swear I’m about to pass out for real this time.”
[“The accumulated fatigue poses no threat of permanent cellular degradation. Transcendence demands that the mind conquer physical limitations in precisely this state.”]
“……”
Jaewoo was worked like a rented mule, pushed to the absolute brink where collapse felt imminent. What made it maddening was that Myeolgeop read his physiological state with pinpoint accuracy, dialing the intensity up and down just enough to keep him conscious without letting him off the hook. Several times, Jaewoo desperately wished he could simply faint to escape the grind.
Say what you will about him… he’d make an absolute monster of a drill instructor.
If the Korean Hunter Bureau’s training academy ever caught wind of Myeolgeop’s pedagogical methods, they would have hired the golem on the spot with a blank check.
After days of relentless, agonizing labor—
Fzzzzzz…
The final strand of purified mana was successfully siphoned from the last sword, trickling into the depths of Heaven's Box like glowing mist.
[“Your efforts have concluded satisfactorily. Splendid work, Creator.”]
“……”
Jaewoo stared dead-eyed at the bowing golem, his limbs trembling from exhaustion.
I should’ve just thrown the swords in from the very beginning.
If whatever came out of this damned box turned out to be trash after all that suffering, he was going to dismantle something. Though let's be honest, it's not like I actually have the strength to fight this metal beast anyway.
With a weary sigh, Jaewoo reached out and firmly snapped the lid of the box shut.
Time Remaining Until Completion: 23:59:59
The countdown timer initiated, ticking down the seconds in crisp, azure runes.
All that's left now is waiting a full day.
Dragging his feet toward the bed, Jaewoo instinctively glanced toward Myeolgeop, feeling strangely self-conscious. “So… I can just sleep now, right?”
[“I am merely a golem and an instrument. I possess no authority to adjudicate the slumber of my Creator.”]
“……”
What a blatant lie. For the past three days, that mechanical tyrant had practically radiated silent judgment every time Jaewoo even glanced at a pillow. Are we sure this guy is actually an unfeeling machine?
Shaking his head, Jaewoo tasked Myeolgeop with security duty and collapsed face-first onto the mattress. But the very second his head hit the pillow—
Ding-dong.
Jaewoo froze. “Huh?”
The timing was almost malicious.
“Who could that be? I’m not expecting anyone…”
Of all the moments for a visitor to arrive, it had to be the exact second he was ready to lose consciousness.
[“If an unauthorized intruder is attempting entry, I shall eliminate the threat immediately.”]
“No, stop, don't! Unless someone breaks down the door with an axe, stay completely still.”
Restraining his trigger-happy summon, Jaewoo dragged himself toward the front entrance and checked the intercom monitor. The moment the screen flickered to life, his eyes widened.
Pacing frantically outside his door was none other than Commissioner Yoo Jeongtae.
The head of the Korean Hunter Administration looked completely beside himself with anxiety, fidgeting as if the fate of the nation hung on the doorbell.
What on earth is that man doing at my apartment?
Jaewoo quickly signaled for Myeolgeop to conceal himself in the adjoining utility alcove before unlocking the deadbolt and cracking the door open.
The moment Yoo Jeongtae saw Jaewoo standing in the threshold, an expression of profound, tearful relief washed across his haggard face.
“Hunter Jeon Jaewoo! You're safe!!”
“Excuse me…?”
Relief barely described it—the man looked on the verge of weeping openly in the corridor. Why is a high-ranking government official showing up unannounced just to verify if I'm breathing?
“Ahem! Forgive my indiscretion,” Yoo Jeongtae managed, clearing his throat and attempting to compose his disheveled dignity. “The truth is, our administrative office attempted to reach you dozens of times over the past several days, but your line was completely unresponsive.”
Calls from the Bureau?
Jaewoo had been so thoroughly subjected to Myeolgeop’s brutal boot camp that his phone had died somewhere under a pile of laundry days ago. Naturally, when a newly registered Transcendent-grade anomaly went completely dark right after clearing a Legendary ruin, the government had assumed the worst.
“I apologize for causing concern,” Jaewoo said smoothly, keeping his tone measured. “I was entirely consumed by intensive personal training and lost track of the time. Nothing untoward happened.”
“Ah! Is that so? A training regimen, of course!”
Which means you can leave now. I desperately need twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep.
Yet Yoo Jeongtae showed no intention of stepping away. Instead, he leaned in, his gaze turning desperately earnest.
“If it would not be an undue imposition, Hunter Jeon… could we speak privately for just a few moments? There is an urgent matter I must discuss with you.”
“……”