“Defend me for a moment.”
The instant Seo Gaeun shifted into position to guard him, Tae Woon closed his eyes and focused. The flow of demonic energy, far clearer than anything visible to the naked eye, became vividly distinct.
The location of the core. The direction of the monster’s attacks. The trajectory of its strikes. As soon as everything clicked into place, Tae Woon opened his eyes and launched into motion.
He kicked off a solid oak desk mid-air, soaring toward the two o’clock direction. The pillar he used for leverage would collapse in four seconds—he stepped on it just in time to leap again, this time toward nine o’clock. The monster’s next strike came immediately: a steel beam slashing up at an angle from the wall.
“…No matter how many times I see it, I never get used to it.”
Looking up from below, Seo Gaeun let out a low whistle. With each leap, Tae Woon ascended higher and higher, defying gravity itself. Predicting and even using the monster’s attacks to his advantage, his movements were so seamless it felt like he was reading the future.
People aren’t supposed to be able to read demonic energy—so how the hell was he predicting these strikes so precisely? Every time she asked, his answer was always the same: “Just a hunch.”
Even if he did have some hidden precognitive power, how many people could react so perfectly in life-or-death combat without a single mistake? On top of that, most Hunters would have run out of mana just from breaking the monster’s camouflage with a wide-range attack.
Watching him fight made her wonder if they needed a new rank above S—maybe something like U-rank or EX-rank.
His long coat fluttered behind him as he vanished into the storm of falling debris. Seo Gaeun began to retreat, blocking the oncoming attacks headed her way.
Once she was outside the building, she looked up with a furrowed brow. Tae Woon had leapt so high, he was now just a tiny black dot in the sky.
How’s he planning to find the core up there?
The scanner pointed upward, but despite the relentless downpour of debris, a building still stood tall above it all. To avoid falling, one would have to keep leaping non-stop. And up there, pinpointing an exact location using a scanner would be nearly impossible.
Just then, as if he’d read her movement through mana, a massive black blade of darkness suddenly stretched down from the upper levels.
Seo Gaeun instantly understood. When you can’t pinpoint where the core is, there’s a simple solution—cut everything.
The immense blade of darkness, brimming with overwhelming power, plunged downward without hesitation. Even Seo Gaeun’s field of vision dimmed under its massive shadow.
“Kkyaaaah…!”
A chilling scream erupted from the monster, sensing its imminent death. The blade fell like a guillotine, not only slicing the hidden core in half but also cleaving through the remains of the building as it came crashing down.
The core was destroyed, and the buildings collapsed in full. Seo Gaeun was relieved this wasn’t the real world. If someone had actually cut a skyscraper in half in reality, the cleanup would’ve been beyond anyone’s worst nightmare.
As Tae Woon landed through the cloud of dust, Seo Gaeun stepped forward to check on him.
“Are you hurt anywh—”
“My hyung didn’t see me fighting just now, right?”
“…What kind of image are you trying to keep with your mentor?”
“Cute, fragile, and pretty Woonie.”
“…”
“It’s not an image. It’s just the truth.”
“Ah. Of course…”
A grown man in his thirties referring to himself in the third person while acting cutesy might actually be more devastating than an Eid Portal…
Ignoring her distress, Tae Woon began brushing dirt all over his suit with careful attention. It was oddly meticulous for someone who had just left Seo Gaeun alone to handle a wave of monsters. Unlike Seo Gaeun—who looked every bit like someone who’d just fought a battle—Tae Woon, who had soloed a Portal Keeper, had been almost pristine. Until now.
This time, Seo Gaeun didn’t ask why. She didn’t want to know. Absolutely not.
These days, it’s expected for Awakened individuals to hunt monsters, yet the mechanics of Awakening are still not clearly understood. What is clear, however, is that Awakening marks a life-changing turning point. It’s only natural that scammers claiming to trigger Awakening are everywhere.
And that’s why Gwak Yoonsang was torn.
Is Kim Sibaek seriously trying to run a scam in front of Agency Hunters?
Why would someone who’s suspected to be an S-rank Hunter stoop to such cheap trickery? The more he thought about it, the more confusing it got. So instead of overthinking, Gwak Yoonsang decided to just watch and see.
The group was currently waiting for the two Strike Team members to return after destroying the External Core. Which also meant Tae Woon—who’d been stuck to Kim Sibaek like glue and carried a reputation more terrifying than his face—was no longer around. Even Bae Ji-han, who wasn’t exactly the most polite guy, had been uncharacteristically welcoming. Emboldened by this, a few civilians had gathered around and sat in front of Kim Sibaek.
After a stream of typical but sincere praise—That was amazing, you’re incredible, how has no one heard of you?—the conversation had somehow drifted.
“You can really gain powers through faith?”
The transition had been so natural that no one realized how they got here. Not that any of them could’ve known this was a polished proselytizing technique, refined over decades by a veteran cleric.
“It probably won’t be as flashy or dramatic as the abilities that Awakened Hunters gain. Most people just end up healthier, or maybe their natural healing speeds up a little. That’s usually about it.”
“Eh, then it’s nothing special.”
Despite brushing it off as underwhelming, no one actually got up to leave. Sure, being near an S-rank Hunter offered a sense of safety—but more than that, Kim Sibaek’s calm, gentle voice carried a soothing pull that eased even the fear of being trapped inside an Eid Portal.
Bae Ji-han, who had once fallen for a scam, looked visibly doubtful.
“If what you’re saying is true, then shouldn’t all pastors and monks be Awakened?”
“As I mentioned, this is different from a Hunter’s Awakening. That’s why some people may have experienced it without even realizing.”
Kim Sibaek continued in a warm, unpressuring tone that put everyone at ease.
“Humans are the most intelligent lifeforms on Earth. The development of our intellect and civilization means our desires have evolved far beyond mere survival. Human desire—and the hopes that stem from it—are infinite in variety. And really, what could be more enticing to a god who encompasses infinity than that infinite spectrum of human longing?”
“…Sounds kinda cult-y.”
“It doesn’t matter what divinity or religion you follow. If you attend a temple, then pray to Buddha. If you go to a church, pray to God. In doing so, take a moment to look inward and examine the genuine wish within your heart. That may well be the trigger.”
Truth be told, no one really believed him. His words sounded a little too much like something from a cult manual.
But his voice was oddly soothing, lingering pleasantly in their ears. And if praying might make you healthier, well—there wasn’t any harm in trying. It wasn’t like he was asking for money.
“In my case, this crow was the medium that helped me find that calm.”
“Wait, that thing’s not just a pet?”
“I consider it a guardian spirit.”
For a moment, everyone’s expression said the same thing: “Yup, definitely a cult.” But at least the ugly baby crow perched confidently on his head left a memorable impression.
Gwak Yoonsang, still mentally circling thoughts like A scam? A cult? Why would an S-rank Hunter do this?, tilted his head in confusion. Then, the thick mist that had been surrounding them stirred and rippled. A strange dizziness—like overlapping timelines brushing against each other—flashed through their minds.
The fog, once gelatinous and dense, instantly scattered. Their view cleared, and beyond the white veil, the faint horizon became visible again. Gwak Yoonsang’s face lit up.
“Looks like they’ve destroyed the External Core.”
Moments later, two figures emerged through the thinning mist. It had been about an hour since they’d departed. Seo Gaeun, covered in dust and monster blood, looked utterly drained, and even Tae Woon’s usually immaculate hair was a tousled mess.
“Woonie, you did grea—”
“Hyung.”
Before Kim Sibaek could finish his sentence, Tae Woon let out a faint groan and collapsed, crumpling to the ground.
