The Countdown to Cataclysm

Swords and spears flashed through the dim air deep within a Normal-grade ruin that had materialized only that month.

A party of Russian hunters fought tooth and nail against a horde of monsters. Although it was the lowest possible tier of ruin, tackling it was still no walk in the park for lower-ranked hunters struggling to keep a small Hunter Company afloat.

Even so, they threw themselves into the meat grinder, readily enduring brush after brush with death. What drove them was an unshakable conviction: conquer the ruin, and life would turn completely around. They believed, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that every ruin was an irreplaceable treasure vault.

It was hardly just them. Every hunter on Earth who stepped foot into a ruin shared the exact same sentiment—that ruins were gifts bestowed upon humanity by God.

No one viewed them as an existential threat or a looming risk.

Granted, the interiors were exceptionally perilous, but one had to enter the tiger's den to catch the cub. More importantly, unlike dungeons, monsters inside ruins never spilled out into the real world, so nobody considered the ambient danger an intolerable gamble.

At long last, after an entire grueling month of siege, the Russian hunters brought the raid to a triumphant close.

"...Outstanding work, everyone."

The raid leader offered a few words of praise to his exhausted subordinates, marking the true end of their operation.

"Phew. I thought I was a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dead man."

"Hey, my friend. Today's a special occasion. How about a shot of vodka before we head back?"

"No way in hell. If I pour vodka down my throat right now, my heart will actually stop."

"What's wrong with you? Since when was vodka anything more than water to us?"

Laughter broke out as they readied themselves to step out into the crisp outside air. But just before they could cross the threshold—

Every single hunter froze, brows furrowing in confusion.

Out of nowhere, an alert window from the Ruin System flashed into their vision. It was a bizarre, unprecedented disruption, and sheer bewilderment rippled across the party.

"Wait, what the hell is this?"

"You got one too?"

"...A countdown...?"

The words burning inside the window read as follows:

This alert was not delivered solely to the Russian squad; it appeared before the eyes of every single human being capable of manipulating mana across the entire globe.

The moment the broadcast struck, the International Hunter Organization and governments worldwide were thrown into absolute, screeching pandemonium.

"What is the meaning of this?! What on earth is happening?!"

"Director Miller! Say something! Give us an explanation!"

"I..."

High-ranking officials of the international governing body crowded into an auditorium, shouting demands at the world's most distinguished scholars who had dedicated their lives to studying mana, hunters, and ruins. But after several decades of total radio silence, the Ruin System had suddenly hurled an incomprehensible ultimatum. How could the researchers possibly know anything about it?

With nothing substantive to say, the scholars could only mop the cold sweat pouring down their foreheads.

Regardless of their ignorance, the crisis was already underway.

"Going by the Ruin System's explanation, this means monsters from uncleared ruins will soon pour out into the reality we live in."

"Dear God... A random weekly allocation by country?"

For the inaugural week, three nations had been chosen: the United States, Canada, and Mexico. Each had been assigned one uncleared Legendary-grade ruin. Whether by design or twisted coincidence, all three belonged to North America.

If those uncleared ruins were not conquered within seven days, the monsters lurking inside would be materialized at random locations within their national borders.

Of course, monsters already roamed Earth. Decades ago, humanity had failed to exterminate every beast that poured from the initial Gates, allowing wild populations to establish permanent footholds. Yet those creatures had long since been contained within quarantined zones known as dungeons. With steady containment and perimeter maintenance, they no longer posed an existential threat to civilization. On the contrary, an entire industry had flourished around harvesting them for magic crystals and raw materials.

That stability existed entirely because the monsters were quarantined within fixed zones. Beasts suddenly materializing out of thin air in unpredictable civilian sectors was a nightmare of a completely different order.

"The far graver issue lies in the grade of these uncleared ruins."

The ruins that remained unconquered across the globe were, at the very least, Legendary-grade or higher.

Had the ruins slated for terrestrial expulsion been Common or Rare, it wouldn't have triggered such sheer terror. No matter how demanding a ruin beneath the Rare threshold might be, modern strike forces could always overpower it somehow. But the aggregate combat potency of the beasts packed into a single Legendary-grade ruin was easily equivalent to an awakened Transcendent-grade hunter—the absolute pinnacle of planetary warfare.

"Imagine a hostile Transcendent-grade force running wild in the middle of New York, Beijing, or Tokyo."

"...If luck runs against us and these monsters materialize over dense metropolitan centers, it will be an unprecedented bloodbath."

"Is there truly no contingency plan to clear these ruins right now? We cannot simply sit on our hands and suck our thumbs!"

"......"

A suffocating silence descended over the chamber. Nobody had an answer.

The strategic rewards buried within a Legendary-grade ruin were staggering; had humanity possessed the means to conquer them, they would have been raided decades ago. Every single one had been abandoned due to prohibitive logistical hurdles and lethal casualty rates. What miraculous breakthrough could possibly emerge just because their backs were suddenly against the wall?

"How many uncleared Legendary-grade ruins are there worldwide right now?"

"Roughly a thousand."

A collective shudder swept through the assembled delegates, followed by long, agonizing sighs.

It made bitter sense. Several decades had passed since the Ruin System first introduced itself to Earth, and a thousand unconquered Legendary ruins was a plausible tally for that span of neglect. Yet an even more terrifying reality loomed beneath ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the surface: Legendary ruins were not the only sites left uncleared.

An alarming number of Ancient-grade ruins remained completely untouched.

With Legendary ruins, there was at least the desperate conviction that, given enough human sacrifices and firepower, the breach could eventually be suppressed. But if an Ancient-grade ruin suffered a breach and emptied its horrors onto the world, even an apex superpower could be wiped off the map overnight.

One government official hung his head low, groaning in despair.

"My father always lectured me as a boy never to put off today's work for tomorrow... I never dreamed that proverb would return to haunt us with such apocalyptic weight."

Strictly speaking, this predicament was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not born from bureaucratic laziness, nor was it any individual's fault. Had anyone known that uncleared ruins would transform into ticking time bombs, humanity would have acted differently. But after decades of benign quiescence, who could have predicted that the Ruin System would arbitrarily issue such an extinction-level ultimatum?

"Whatever the cause, the disaster is already upon us. We must find a way through."

"Indeed. In the face of an existential global catastrophe, all nations must set aside differences and commit to total cooperation."

Despite long-standing ideological friction and deep historical grievances, the vast majority of representatives nodded in grim agreement to forestall planetary ruin.

Naturally, even amid such existential terror, there were those harboring cynical, self-serving calculations.

'Our nation wasn't picked for the assignment. Why should we bleed our elite hunters to bail out the Americans?'

'Who knows? Maybe the system will keep dumping ruins exclusively on North America.'

'Besides, no one knows where the monsters will actually drop. If they materialize on an uninhabited desert island, it won't be a problem at all.'

The selfish logic was simple: once the monsters physically appeared, let them wander in isolated wastelands, then dispatch suppression units at leisure.

"...And that brings us to the current situation."

"......"

Jeon Jaewoo sat in silence across from Yoo Jeongtae, completely dumbfounded by the administrative debriefing.

'What kind of world-ending catastrophe is this all of a sudden?'

Up until just days ago, he had been peacefully raiding ruins all by his lonesome. How could the genre of his life flip on its head so violently? If this report was accurate, humanity was staring down a crisis rivaling the day Gates and monsters first shattered human civilization.

The news outlets and internet communities were already descending into volcanic panic.

Reading through the frantic chatter, a sudden, uneasy thought prickled the back of Jaewoo's mind.

'Wait... did I cause this?'

The timing was dreadfully suspect. Why would the Ruin System trigger an unprecedented global disaster so soon after his own awakening? Nothing like this had happened in decades. Could tearing through Legendary and Ancient ruins all by his lonesome have caused a systemic malfunction or an administrative overload?

After a second of quiet reflection, Jaewoo shook his head.

'Nah, that's absurd. Talk about main-character syndrome.'

What conceivable link could there be between his Heaven's Box trait and a planet-wide Ruin Break? It was sheer coincidence.

"At any rate, South Korea isn't on the list for this week, right?"

"Yes. Fortunately, we were spared this round," Commissioner Yoo Jeongtae replied gravely, rubbing his weary temples. "However, there is no telling when an uncleared Legendary ruin will land on our doorstep."

Currently, there were roughly one thousand uncleared Legendary-grade ruins scattered across the globe, and roughly two hundred sovereign nations on Earth. While the exact allocation formula—whether it factored in landmass or population—remained unknown, a crude mathematical distribution meant South Korea would eventually be saddled with around five of them.

Five Legendary-grade ruins, every single one abandoned in the past because they were deemed impossible suicide missions.

'Does the country even have the operational capacity to clear five?'

Cable news was ablaze with lofty speeches about international fraternity and mutual aid, but realism painted a much darker picture.

Still, if worst came to worst and the ruins ruptured, hope was not entirely lost. If humanity could successfully scatter and isolate the materializing monsters, containment was theoretically achievable. More importantly, once the monsters stood on terrestrial soil, every S-rank hunter who had exhausted their ruin clear tickets could jump into the fray without system restrictions.

Of course, clearing the ruins before the beasts ever broke through was infinitely preferable.

"Though you are an unaffiliated hunter, Hunter Jeon Jaewoo, your tactical weight on the national stage is peerless. I felt it only right to brief you on the full picture."

"Even if you brief me, it isn't as though I can single-handedly resolve this."

"I am well aware."

Yoo Jeongtae had no intention of begging Jaewoo to conquer a mountain of ruins right this second. For one, no one even knew which ruin would be assigned to Korea when its turn arrived. Furthermore, regardless of Jaewoo's absurd ability to conquer Ancient-grade ruins unassisted, he was still bound by the fundamental rule of limited ruin entries. No single human could conquer a thousand ruins.

"For now, we must prepare to fight with everything we have," Yoo Jeongtae said firmly. "And coordinate as closely as possible with foreign powers."

A tense, agonizing week ticked away in the wake of the Ruin System's ultimatum.

Governments inked emergency mutual-defense treaties and poured astronomical budgets into emergency raid forces. Yet expecting decades of neglected, impenetrable fortresses to be conquered in seven frantic days was pure fantasy.

The United States, standing tall as one of humanity's foremost hunter superpowers, managed to breach and conquer its assigned Legendary ruin just hours before the deadline.

Canada and Mexico, however, failed entirely.

And when the crimson digits of the countdown finally struck zero—

The Ruin System executed its warning without mercy.

Every single monster coiled inside those uncleared ruins was ripped from extradimensional space and hurled directly onto sovereign soil. And by some cruel, mathematically improbable mockery of fate, the hordes did not rain down on remote tundras or arid deserts.

They materialized directly over the most densely populated metropolises in Canada and Mexico.

In the span of a single breath, the heart of North America turned into a living hell.