The Grave of Swords

Deep within the Ministry of Disaster Administration, the governing body overseeing the Korean Hunter Administration, an uneasy silence filled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the room.

Commissioner Yoo Jeongtae sat across from Minister Lee Cheolsoo, having been summoned for a private, one-on-one conference. The Minister leaned forward, fixing Yoo Jeongtae with an incredulous glare.

“So… you’re telling me you just let him walk out the door?”

Yoo Jeongtae nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yes, sir. Of course I let him leave. What did you expect me to do—arrest him?”

The topic of their meeting was none other than the identity of the mysterious hunter who had conquered a Legendary-grade ruin single-handedly. When news first broke that an awakened individual possessing a Transcendent-grade trait had surfaced, the upper echelons of government had been thrown into sheer turmoil. To make matters worse, Minister Lee had just stepped out of a meeting with the Prime Minister, who had handed down the absurd demand to somehow recruit that very hunter directly into the state’s service.

“That’s not what I mean!” Minister Lee snapped, exasperated. “If a hunter of that caliber practically threw himself at your feet, shouldn’t the Hunter Administration have moved aggressively to bring him into the fold? You should have done whatever it took to ensure his abilities serve the nation.”

“Are you suggesting I throw him in a holding cell and threaten him until he signs a government contract?”

“You know damn well that isn’t what I’m saying! But when an exceptional talent appears, it is your fundamental duty as Commissioner to secure their cooperation with the state.”

“As long as the strategic resources flow into our borders, isn't that enough? What more do you want from him? The boy already dropped a priceless, top-tier artifact right into the Hunter Administration’s lap before walking out.”

“……”

Minister Lee fell silent, his scowl deepening. Although both were high-ranking public officials, their relationship had never been warm. The Hunter Administration technically operated beneath the Ministry of Disaster Administration, yet a vast ideological chasm divided the two men. Minister Lee was a career bureaucrat—a civilian who had never awakened. Commissioner Yoo, by contrast, was a veteran awakened hunter who had spent decades fighting on the front lines before transitioning into administrative governance.

Yoo Jeongtae fought tooth and nail to keep domestic hunters from fleeing abroad and to prevent ruin-harvested resources from being sold off to foreign powers. At the same time, because he was an awakened hunter himself, he placed immense value on a hunter’s personal autonomy. His philosophy was simple: so long as hunters remained on Korean soil and cooperated with national interests, that was plenty.

Minister Lee, however, wanted absolute state control. From the government’s point of view, an unaligned powerhouse roaming free was an unacceptable hazard; tying them down within a state institution where they could be monitored and commanded was vastly preferable.

“If an awakened hunter with that kind of unchecked power suddenly causes trouble, it will be a national catastrophe,” Minister Lee insisted.

“What sort of trouble are you imagining, Minister?”

“Do you really need to ask? You’re the Commissioner—you know better than anyone how easily someone blessed with sudden, overwhelming might can succumb to temptation and turn to crime.”

Yoo Jeongtae had to suppress a weary sigh. Even if he did commit a crime, it’s not like we have any means to stop him anyway. The kid is literally the strongest living being in the Republic of Korea. What on earth am I supposed to do about it?

Keeping his thoughts to himself, Yoo Jeongtae pushed the dossier on the desk closer to the Minister.

“Look through his background carefully, sir. A young man like Jeon Jaewoo isn’t going to stir up trouble. He strikes me as a perfectly upright, diligent young citizen. What is there to worry about?”

Upright and diligent, my ass, Yoo Jeongtae added privately. According to his profile, he was completely unemployed right up until the second he awakened.

“If he possesses the strength to clear a Legendary-grade ruin completely alone,” Minister Lee pressed, tapping the paperwork, “wouldn’t it be far more appropriate for him to coordinate with the Hunter Administration, lending his power toward conquering even higher-grade ruins?”

“He’s doing exceptionally well on his own. If we try to clamp a leash on him, he’ll only push back harder.”

“Even so, as the grade of a ruin escalates, there are limits to what a single person can accomplish. And above all else, isn’t there a strict limit on the number of ruins an individual hunter can enter?”

“……”

Yoo Jeongtae had no rebuttal for that. The Minister was entirely right.

From the moment an individual awakened, an immutable cosmic law restricted the total number of ruins they could ever conquer in their lifetime.

Looking into any hunter’s status window would reveal that exact figure. Having already conquered two ruins, Jeon Jaewoo’s available count had plummeted from twelve down to ten. Once those precious attempts were fully exhausted, standard methods could never grant access to another ruin again.

Because of this irreversible ceiling, most hunters deliberated endlessly before stepping through any portal. For an apex predator as capable as Jeon Jaewoo to dive into dungeons purely on personal whim was, from the state’s strategic perspective, an agonizing waste. If he squandered his finite entries clearing common Normal or Rare ruins instead of pooling his transcendent might for Legendary or Ancient-grade threats, he might be content, but the government could never stand idly by.

Yoo Jeongtae had harbored that exact anxiety himself. Conquering a Legendary-grade ruin was brutal, but not entirely beyond South Korea’s collective national strike forces. If Jeon Jaewoo burned through his remaining entries conquering Legendary ruins entirely solo, South Korea might forfeit its only chance to ever breach an Ancient-grade calamity.

Even so, the Commissioner saw no immediate cause for panic.

“You don’t need to lose sleep over it just yet, Minister. He literally just cleared a Legendary-grade ruin. An undertaking like that demands recovery time. It’s not as if he’s going to dive straight into another raid tomorrow.”

“……”

They had only just established contact. There was plenty of time to build trust, deepen their rapport, and coax him toward national cooperation.

Right at that moment—

Knock, knock, knock!

A frantic pounding rattled the heavy wood of the Minister’s office door.

“Enter,” Minister Lee called out.

A Hunter Administration staffer burst inside, visibly breathless and disheveled.

“Forgive the intrusion, Minister! Commissioner, I have an urgent development to report!”

“What is it?” Yoo Jeongtae asked, frowning. “Catch your breath.”

The staffer inhaled sharply, then delivered a revelation that landed like a lightning strike across the quiet office.

“Sir… another Legendary-grade ruin that manifested recently was just conquered. And once again, the hunter who cleared it was Jeon Jaewoo!”

“What?!”

Both Lee Cheolsoo and Yoo Jeongtae froze, their eyes widening in utter disbelief. In an instant, Yoo Jeongtae’s confident assertion that they had plenty of time was smashed to pieces.

A somber chill permeated the Legendary-grade ruin known as the Grave of Swords.

True to its grim title, the atmosphere inside felt weighed down under an invisible pall. No rain fell, yet the stagnant air pressed against the skin like damp lead. Surveying the barren expanse, Jeon Jaewoo involuntarily swallowed a lump of dry saliva.

It feels like I just walked into an ancient cemetery.

There were no stone burial mounds or ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠polished tombs scattered across the terrain. Instead, hundreds of mystical blades were plunged deep into the rolling slopes of the dark hills, standing like silent markers for the dead. Drifting languidly around the blades were eerie, spectral phantoms.

Holy crap. Those are actual ghosts.

Jaewoo called up the dungeon’s objective window to review the parameters once more.

Seeing them classified as guardian spirits confirmed his suspicions: these were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not metaphorical illusions, but genuine incorporeal entities. Instinctively retreating a step, Jaewoo ducked behind Myeolgeop’s broad, earthen frame and whispered, “What on earth are those things?”

“They are spiritual-state monsters, commonly designated as vengeful wraiths,” Myeolgeop replied, his deep mechanical voice steady. “Among all incorporeal entities, they represent the highest category of threat.”

Though Myeolgeop showed no signs of distress, his analytical processors were clearly prioritizing his master’s safety far more than usual.

“Creator. These entities harbor extreme hostility toward all living beings. Please remain positioned directly behind me at all times. Under no circumstances should you leave my perimeter.”

Jaewoo gave an emphatic nod, obeying without a second thought.

Yeah, you don't have to tell me twice.

He would have to be completely out of his mind to wander ahead of Myeolgeop inside a Legendary-grade ruin. Fortunately, the wraiths appeared to be earthbound spirits. Each phantom was anchored to the mystical sword it haunted, incapable of drifting beyond a fixed radius. Had they possessed unrestricted mobility, the difficulty ranking of this ruin might easily have climbed an entire tier higher; individually, every single one of those guardian spirits emanated mana rivaling an A-rank hunter.

“Are you going to be all right against them?” Jaewoo asked, glancing at Myeolgeop’s rocky forearms. “It doesn’t look like you have an easy way to damage them.”

Their opponents lacked physical substance altogether. Incorporeal phantoms were infamous for their utter immunity to mundane physical strikes, making them universally dreaded by hunters as the most frustrating subset of undead monsters. No matter how overwhelming Myeolgeop’s physical brute force was, could conventional attacks even scratch a ghost?

“You need not harbor any concern regarding that matter,” Myeolgeop responded smoothly.

“You have a countermeasure?”

“My primary trait, Annihilation, automatically analyzes the target's elemental and physical properties, generating the optimal counter-mana required to extinguish their existence.”

“Wait, really?”

Wuuuuum—!

A hum resonated through the air as an uncanny, iridescent radiance coalesced along Myeolgeop’s wrist blades. It was unmistakably mana, yet fundamentally distinct from standard energy—the difference was as stark as comparing plain water to milk or fruit juice. It was a customized formula engineered for pure destruction.

The surrounding vengeful wraiths, which had been drifting toward them with malignant intent, suddenly flinched. An instinctive tremor rippled through their translucent bodies, and several attempted to recoil. But bound as they were to their burial blades, they had nowhere to run.

Myeolgeop lunged forward without hesitation.

KWA-AAANG!

With terrifying velocity, Myeolgeop’s blades carved a brilliant arc through the gray mist. Strikes that should have phased harmlessly through spectral flesh connected with concussive force. Bisected by anti-spirit mana, the guardian spirits let out soundless shrieks, their forms dissolving into shimmering motes of dust before vanishing entirely.

Jaewoo stared, dumbfounded. …Honestly, watching him mow them down, I can’t even tell how they’re supposed to be stronger than ordinary goblins.

As entities of a Legendary-grade ruin, their destructive capacity was leagues beyond common monsters, but against absolute, overwhelming power, such distinctions were rendered meaningless. Myeolgeop pressed the offensive like an unyielding machine, harvesting the restless souls across the hillside with mechanical precision.

The tally climbed rapidly. Still, because this was a Legendary-grade ruin, the clearance took noticeably longer than the golden halls of his first dungeon. A few of the stronger guardian spirits managed to parry Myeolgeop’s initial thrusts, holding out for several clashes before their spiritual cores shattered under the relentless onslaught.

Yet their resistance merely postponed the inevitable.

Before long, Myeolgeop brought the extermination to an effortless close.

A radiant completion banner shimmered in midair. Jaewoo shook his head in genuine awe.

This guy really can do everything.

His status window hadn't been exaggerating when it described Myeolgeop as the supreme combat weapon of an ancient era. Whether facing incorporeal spirits or savage physical beasts, the golem possessed an answer for every scenario imaginable.

“Well, now that the conquest is done… let’s see what we won.”

Much like the Altar of the Apostle of Death, this ruin contained no rich mana crystal veins or rare mineral deposits. However, the true spoils of war were scattered in plain view across the slopes.

Shhhk…

More than a hundred antique swords remained thrust into the earth. Although the restless spirits that had once possessed them were gone, an ominous, potent mana still hummed along the polished steel.

Jaewoo stepped up to the nearest blade and wrapped both hands firmly around its hilt. Grasping the cursed weapon didn’t trigger any harmful backlash, but when he bent his knees and pulled, the blade refused to budge.

“Hnnngh…!”

He strained ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with all his might, veins bulging along his neck. The blade shifted maybe a single millimeter.

“What the hell… is this Excalibur or something? Why is it stuck so deep?!”

Panting and clutching his sore lower back, Jaewoo let go to catch his breath. Just as he wiped the sweat from his brow—

Clack, thud. Clang.

Myeolgeop was already pacing through the hillside, plucking the deeply embedded weapons from the rocky earth as effortlessly as pulling carrots from loose soil. Within minutes, he had gathered every single sword into a neat, gleaming armory pile right in front of his master.

“Creator. I have retrieved all available blades as requested.”

“……”

Looking at the towering pile of legendary weapons, then at his loyal golem, Jaewoo felt an unexpected pang of existential guilt. Standing there having done virtually nothing while his summon handled every single chore was starting to take a toll on his conscience.