The Grave of Swords

Yoo Jeongtae immediately brought over the Hunter Administration’s senior appraiser.

The appraiser examined the black armor from every angle, his eyes growing wider by the second. His hands trembled against the metal.

“T-This is truly an extraordinary artifact,” he stammered, breathless. “In all my years of appraising, I could count the items of this caliber on three fingers.”

As the appraiser gave a rapid, detailed breakdown to Commissioner Yoo and the surrounding staff, color drained from the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠officials’ faces. By his conservative estimate, the armor was worth at least one trillion won.

Hearing that astronomical figure, Jeon Jaewoo nearly fell flat on his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠back.

Whoa. Did my ears just deceive me? That hunk of metal is worth that much?

After catching his breath, Jaewoo agreed to sell the armor through the Hunter Administration. Whether via private contract or closed auction, the agency would broker the sale to a domestic hunter and wire the proceeds directly to him as the supplier. The buyer might be an agent from the Administration or an elite vanguard from one of the major Hunter Companies, but either way, it would remain in South Korean hands.

A price tag of one trillion won was staggering, yet top-ranked hunters whose net worths reached well into the trillions could comfortably afford it. High-tier tank classes in particular would gladly liquidate their entire fortunes to secure a legendary relic like this.

Once the paperwork was signed, Jaewoo shook hands with Yoo Jeongtae.

“Hunter Jeon,” Yoo Jeongtae said, gripping his hand with profound sincerity, “I cannot thank you enough for choosing to do business with the Hunter Administration.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jaewoo replied modestly.

“If there is ever anything you need from our agency, please contact me at any hour of the day or night. I will move heaven and earth to assist you.”

Jaewoo gave a wry smile, taken aback by the sheer gravity of the commissioner’s promise. Does he really need to take it that far?

Still, Yoo Jeongtae looked visibly relieved that Jaewoo had agreed to sell the armor through official channels. In dungeon expeditions, historical clear records were secondary; the real prize was the strategic windfall of resources and artifacts salvaged from within. By entrusting an item harvested from a Legendary-grade ruin to the Administration, Jaewoo had signaled that he viewed their relationship favorably.

It was unfortunate that Jaewoo refused to join the Administration outright, but as long as he continued funneling world-class spoils through their doors, Yoo Jeongtae could ask for nothing more.

“Oh, right,” Jaewoo added casually, tapping his chin. “I actually conquered another Normal-grade ruin the day before yesterday.”

Yoo Jeongtae’s eyes went wide. “You cleared another ruin in the meantime?”

“Yes. But with my own abilities, extracting all the raw minerals is impossible. I was hoping to commission the Hunter Administration for the excavation.”

A brilliant smile broke across Yoo Jeongtae’s face, and he pumped Jaewoo’s hand vigorously. “Of course! Absolutely! Just say the word whenever you’re ready, and I will dispatch an excavation team immediately.”

For a ruin whose bounty consisted merely of a relic or two, a solo hunter could carry everything out in a backpack. But an expedition bursting with bulk resources was another matter entirely. Jaewoo couldn’t exactly haul an entire golden palace back to reality on his own.

He had already tried ordering Myeolgeop to smash up a few chunks of the palace to take home, but that had ended in disaster.

Boom!

“Creator, my sincere apologies,” Myeolgeop had reported solemnly.

Nearly all of Myeolgeop’s offensive armaments were so destructive that they either flash-melted the gold or disintegrated it into microscopic dust.

Yeah… brute force isn't going to cut it here.

It made far more sense to concede a modest cut to the Hunter Administration or a commercial mining contractor and have them harvest and liquidate the gold on his behalf. With that in mind, Jaewoo signed an agreement transferring the excavation and liquidation rights for the Golden Palace before heading home.

Upon returning to his apartment, Jaewoo pulled out his newly issued hunter registration card.

In the rank field, printed in crisp, unmistakable lettering, was a single word: Transcendent.

So I’m officially the highest-ranked hunter in the country now.

Fortunately, his visit to headquarters hadn’t caused a public scene. Commissioner Yoo Jeongtae knew Jaewoo despised needless fuss and had taken strict precautions to keep ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his visit classified. In any case, broadcasting the identity of an unaffiliated Transcendent-grade hunter to the wider world served nobody's interests.

Even so, despite it being his innate trait, there was still much Jaewoo didn’t understand about Heaven’s Box. One truth, however, stood out above all others: supreme masterworks like Myeolgeop did not manifest easily.

Looking back, producing an autonomous, battle-hardened combat golem like Myeolgeop out of a simple handful of dirt was a miraculous fluke — an outcome whose odds were lower than getting struck by thousands of lightning bolts simultaneously.

Rather than reveling in the prestige of his new awakened rank, a more pressing concern weighed on Jaewoo’s mind: the need for reliable protection.

As he continued his career as a hunter, attention and conflict were inevitable. He was bound to encounter lethal situations sooner or later, and he needed foolproof guarantees for his personal survival. Myeolgeop was undeniably a powerhouse of transcendent destruction, unconditionally loyal and addressing him as Creator, but staking his life entirely on a single golem left an unsettling margin of risk.

To test the waters, Jaewoo opened Heaven’s Box and tossed in several ordinary household items.

He didn’t have exotic treasures lying around, so he settled for everyday junk: sheets of blank printer paper, a pile of clothes from the floor, and a jar of tap water. Deep down, he harbored a faint, greedy hope that another miracle on par with Myeolgeop might appear.

He shut the lid, waited, and opened it again. The materials had indeed undergone noticeable amplification.

The tap water had turned into a thick, nutrient-dense elixir. The printer paper had transformed into immaculate, glimmering gold leaf. And the ten-thousand-won fleece he had picked up at the local street market was now woven from ultra-luxurious, impossibly soft fabric.

Yet none of them were of any real consequence to a hunter.

Tsk. I just wasted the box’s cooldown for nothing.

Hoping for world-shattering rewards at the push of a button with worthless trash was pure fantasy. To yield items of genuine tactical value, he needed to supply materials of real substance.

Incidentally, when he tried throwing in another handful of dirt from his flowerpot, it didn't create another golem — it merely produced exceptionally rich, fertile black soil. Amplifying base performance did not guarantee an astronomical jackpot every time. Unless he wanted to rely on blind luck with near-zero odds, he needed to prepare proper ingredients.

Where am I supposed to find high-grade materials, though? What even counts as a good ingredient for the box?

Noticing his master’s furrowed brow, Myeolgeop offered quiet counsel from where he stood guard.

“Creator, if your objective is to forge items of martial utility, you will need to procure materials that inherently contain mana.”

Jaewoo nodded. It made sense. If a material held no trace of mana to begin with, the box could hardly forge it into useful hunter gear.

Myeolgeop added that combining multiple disparate reagents yielded far better results than synthesizing a single item alone. Depending on the recipe and balance of catalysts, the final outcome could vary across an infinite spectrum.

I’ll have to experiment with the recipes over time to figure out the best combinations.

Still, an ominous premonition nagged at him. He couldn’t shake the dread that he had burned through an entire lifetime of good fortune when he summoned Myeolgeop on his very first attempt.

So where should he begin? Should he follow the routine of ordinary hunters, diving into mundane dungeons to harvest monster carcasses?

Just then, Myeolgeop spoke up once more.

“If you are seeking raw catalysts for the box, venturing into your next ruin would be the optimal course of action.”

“The next ruin?”

It was undeniably sound advice. Extradimensional ruins harbored pristine resources on a scale that ordinary dungeon monster corpses couldn't begin to rival. While monster cadavers formed the backbone of the modern hunter economy, they were crude dross compared to the untouched relics and virgin veins native to the ruins.

The prospect of finding something extraordinary was tempting, but one issue gave Jaewoo pause.

Glancing sideways at the mechanical golem, he asked, “Are you up for another fight? You’ve fought two brutal battles in just a few days. Are there any internal defects or strain on your frame?”

Standard golems required lengthy recharge cycles after every deployment, needing downtime to restore their magical cores much like an exhausted human needed sleep.

Myeolgeop responded without hesitation.

“No operational defects that would impair combat performance have been detected. You may rest assured, Creator.”

A true sovereign war machine was built different from commercial golems. After tearing through an army of monsters, he showed not the slightest hint of fatigue, functioning with relentless, mechanical precision.

Well, he literally is a machine, Jaewoo thought with an amused dry cough.

Clearing his throat, Jaewoo pulled up the cosmic interface of the Ruin System.

“Alright, let’s do it. Which ruin should we conquer this time?”

Jaewoo had total faith in Myeolgeop’s prowess, but sending him solo into an Ancient-grade calamity zone felt recklessly premature. Furthermore, tackling another Legendary-grade ruin risked drawing unwanted global attention.

On the other hand, dropping down to a Normal-grade ruin felt like an inefficient waste of Myeolgeop's combat parameters. A respectable Rare-grade ruin seemed like the sensible middle ground.

Yet as Myeolgeop scanned the floating list alongside him, the golem raised a heavy armored finger and pointed at a specific name.

“Creator. What are your thoughts on this ruin?”

“Hmm?”

Jaewoo peered at the entry Myeolgeop had selected, and his face instantly soured.

It was the Grave of Swords — another Legendary-grade ruin.

Just reading the name evoked images of death and decay. It reeked of an undead-infested hellhole.

I hate undead.

Monsters in general were terrifying enough, but animated corpses were on a whole different level of revolting. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The sheer thought of dead flesh shuffling around with malice was nightmare fuel. First the Altar of the Apostle of Death, and now this?

Does this guy have some weird fetish for necrotic monstrosities?

Jaewoo eyed the golem warily. “Is there a particular reason you picked this one?”

“During our previous operation, you displayed considerable interest in the Skeleton Knight,” Myeolgeop explained evenly. “I reasoned that undead remains might serve as viable raw materials for your box.”

No, idiot! I was just shocked because you told me you beat a Skeleton Knight with your bare hands!

Still, Jaewoo conceded. Myeolgeop wouldn't have recommended it without tactical justification. The only lingering concern was the storm of international publicity that clearing a second Legendary-grade ruin would ignite.

Whatever. Who cares? Foreign superpowers are ramping up their own ruin raids right about now anyway, so our clear will probably get lost in the noise.

Unwanted attention was a nuisance, but securing top-tier power and survival assets took absolute priority. If he combined the essence of fallen monsters with ancient ruin resources inside Heaven’s Box, who knew? Maybe he could synthesize an entire legion of undead knights under his personal command, or even the sovereign knight king Myeolgeop had spoken of.

“Alright,” Jaewoo said, steeling his resolve. “Let’s move.”

“Do you intend to accompany me, Creator?” Myeolgeop asked, his metallic voice tinged with analytical caution. “The dangers within a Legendary-grade ruin are unpredictable. Would it not be safer for you to remain comfortably at our base while I execute the combat mission?”

Jaewoo shook his head firmly.

“No matter where I go, sticking right beside you is the safest place on earth. Besides, I need to acclimatize to the atmosphere of these ruins. If I just cower at home every time, I’ll never grow.”

“Understood. I shall obey your command.”

The moment Jaewoo stepped across the threshold into his second Legendary-grade ruin to gather materials, a crisp chime echoed in his ears.

Ding!

A crimson-tinted quest window materialized before his eyes.

Jaewoo’s eyes narrowed as he read the conditions.

Just as he had feared, this ruin wasn’t going to give up its secrets easily.