“The first cry of a newborn lamb, Gold Essence forged from a thousand days of sunlight, Silver Essence formed under a thousand nights of moonlight, the season’s first snowfall atop a mountain over ten thousand meters high, and spring dew gathered from the very first bud on a tree… Do things like that actually exist?”
Tae Woon’s voice was filled with uncharacteristic confusion—something that rarely showed on him. And that was just part of the list.
“It’s winter right now. Even Everest isn’t over 9,000 meters… And how exactly are you supposed to capture a sound?”
“Mmm… In Mak Slechth, they don’t know when something might come in handy, so they store everything… Guess even you can’t get these.”
Kim Sibaek didn’t catch the twitch in Tae Woon’s brow at that last remark. He went ahead and slashed through several items on the list, downgrading them. The device was already operating on the bare minimum of functionality, and now he’d be swapping out materials too. That would make it a one-time use item at best—but there wasn’t much choice.
The “newborn lamb” became just any suckling lamb. He scratched out the requirements for prolonged sunlight and moonlight exposure. The list was now a collection of significantly watered-down ingredients—perennial snow, morning dew, and other components even a novice would know were subpar. Tae Woon simply stared at it in silence.
Kim Sibaek offered his thoughts with no ill intention.
“Didn’t you say Gold and Silver Essence are a brand-new kind of magic? That Earth only recently figured out how to extract them? I heard they’re almost impossible to get—booked out for years, people offering ridiculous premiums and still getting nothing. So even you would have trouble.”
“……”
“Think pure gold and silver might work instead? Hmm, but if we downgrade it any further, it won’t even function once—it’ll work on chance alone. That’s a problem.”
“……”
“Still, if even you can’t get them, then we’re kinda—”
“I’ll get them all. You just wait for me to bring them to you.”
For some reason, Tae Woon’s voice came out sharper than usual, firm with resolve, as he folded up the list.
[Death and Beauty marvels at her Apostle’s unexpected talents.]
“……?”
Even Lord Biendeoé shook her head in disbelief. Kim Sibaek could only look on, confused. Either way, the magical tool to capture a newborn lamb’s cry would be developed by the research team under Biendeoé’s supervision.
“We can collect perennial snow from Mount Baekdu. As for the rest, we can send guild members out to gather them.”
“I’ll handle the morning dew personally—it needs to be collected precisely.”
“Make sure the whole process is recorded.”
Tae Woon summoned Yang Eunho and instructed him to launch a ‘Guildmaster’s Cup Morning Dew Collection Contest.’ The rule? The dew collection had to be filmed in full, unedited footage. Unsurprisingly, Yang Eunho objected to this ridiculous idea—but fell silent when Tae Woon offered to pay the prize money out of his own pocket.
The entire conversation had taken less than ten minutes. The kid who always acted so polite and reserved around him had suddenly gone full bulldozer, leaving Kim Sibaek completely bewildered.
“You can get Gold and Silver Essence from either the U.S. or Russia, right? Hmm… Russia would probably be faster.”
“You can actually get it?”
“I’ll go myself and negotiate.”
“Then for the purchase cost, shouldn’t I at least—”
“Don’t worry about it. Your salary comes out of my pocket anyway.”
Even as he spoke, Tae Woon was already booking the earliest available flight to Russia on his phone.
“Jeez… You catch colds so easily. How do you plan on surviving in that freezing place in the middle of winter? Let me come with you.”
“I’ll go alone this time.”
Tae Woon smiled softly, all earlier intensity gone as if it had never existed.
“I only want you to see the good side of me.”
The only one who realized he’d be using illegal, likely unethical methods to acquire the ingredients was Biendeoé. Kim Sibaek, still blissfully unaware, hurried to pack hand warmers for him.
As Tae Woon boarded his flight, leaving behind a guild buzzing with excitement over the absurd prize money tied to that lunatic contest, the true scale of the operation began to unfold.
Like the space race during the Cold War, the U.S. and Russia had poured astronomical sums into magitech research. Only this past summer had they finally succeeded in developing a spell capable of extracting Gold and Silver Essence. The difference in efficiency compared to ordinary gold and silver was massive, and demand had exploded worldwide.
Naturally, both countries prioritized domestic distribution to their own researchers and mages. Only a sliver of the supply made it to international buyers, and even that was already booked out for years. But of course, where there’s demand, there’s always a backdoor.
The director of Russia’s National Magitech Institute—a powerful S-rank Hunter and mage—was visibly pleased when he received a meeting request from the famed Guildmaster of Korea’s 7777 Guild. The fact that the inquiry had bypassed the sales department and come directly to him made it obvious—this was urgent. And urgency meant profit.
Even with bribes, he’ll still have to wait at least six months.
But when the man arrived—alone, with no assistants—the director was startled by how young he looked. Tae Woon had been making headlines for nearly two decades, and yet the director had subconsciously expected someone middle-aged.
After a brief exchange of greetings, Tae Woon quietly brushed his finger across his lips before finally speaking. The director leaned forward, anticipating a number. Instead, what he got was a name.
“Anatoly Ganzhuk.”
The former institute director—fired years ago after taking the fall for a failed project following a mysterious epileptic outbreak.
The current director blinked, confused by the sudden mention. But the next words left him reeling.
“Bannik. Ejection clam…”
“W-Wait!”
He practically screamed, cutting Tae Woon off mid-sentence, waving off the translator in panic. Even though Tae Woon had seized total control of the conversation with just a name, he showed no satisfaction, no smugness—only that same calm, unreadable gaze.
And somehow, that terrified the director even more.
“…How much do you actually know?”
“That you used a reagent synthesized from the manastone of the S-rank monster Bannik to create a poison that mimics the symptoms of epilepsy. Down to the letter.”
Tae Woon responded fluidly, without even a pause, despite the director’s awkward English. He knew everything—every last detail. The director’s face went pale as he stammered, struggling for a retort.
“Th-That’s a baseless accusation. You have no proof.”
“Do I need any?” Tae Woon replied coolly. “If I tip off Brusilova, she’ll handle it. She’ll bring the evidence—and the witnesses—to me.”
The name he dropped, Brusilova, wasn’t just anyone. She was the oligarch who had once backed the former director of the institute. Unlike the disgraced ex-director, who’d been dismissed after a mysterious project failure and never recovered, Brusilova was still a powerful player behind the scenes.
Anyone could look into the circumstances around the former director’s removal. That information wasn’t hard to find. But the fact that Tae Woon knew about Brusilova—the true power behind him—was something else entirely. It meant Tae Woon had eyes inside the institute. Deep inside. There was no room left to maneuver.
Realizing he’d been completely outplayed, the director gave up. He let out a long, weary sigh as if surrendering something heavy.
“I don’t plan on pulling this kind of cheap trick twice,” Tae Woon said evenly. “So name your highest price. I want it now, in-hand.”
Honestly, the director was just grateful Tae Woon wasn’t outright stealing the stuff. He muttered the price he’d only dared to imagine, and Tae Woon transferred the money immediately—straight to a private account, no questions asked.
As the payment confirmation came through, the director asked one final question.
“How the hell did you find out?”
It didn’t make sense. There shouldn’t have been any way for that information to leak—unless he got dragged into a hearing for some other scandal entirely.
“Who knows…”
For the first time, Tae Woon’s usually flat gaze dimmed with something deeper—something tired, and bitter.
“You live long enough, and even the things you never wanted to know find a way into your ears.”
***
The trigger that turns someone from a hopeless wreck into a force of destruction—one who spreads that despair outward, not inward—is different for everyone. Like snowflakes, no two are ever the same.
For Kim Daeho, it was watching his parents be murdered at the Dongdaemun Stadium shelter.
For Ahn Sohee, it was the refugees who used her and her younger sibling as bait in a monster nest—and then fled without looking back.
But for Gu Yeongmin, there wasn’t a single moment. No flashpoint. Nothing that could be pinned down as the reason. It just kept building. And building. And building.
Trapped in Seoul during the collapse, he watched as civilization crumbled and society fell into chaos. He saw the worst of humanity laid bare. And as someone who hadn’t Awakened, he understood one thing perfectly—his survival was nothing short of a miracle.
Shelter leaders like Tae Woon and Justyna had done their best to save everyone—not just Hunters, but civilians, the elderly, the weak. But they were the exception. Most weren’t like them.
If Gu Yeongmin had ended up in a shelter like the one at Dongdaemun Stadium, he wouldn’t have lasted three months. He wouldn’t have been killed by monsters—but by other people.
Yes, it was monsters who first appeared out of nowhere, hunting humans and trampling everything in their path. That much was clear. But it was humans who turned that nightmare into a blood-soaked hell.
Because there wasn’t enough food.
Because someone was useless.
Because they were in the way.
Because they were weak.
Because someone needed bait to lure the monsters.
Because they were old.
Because they were young.
Because they were sick.
Because they were injured.
Because they had power.
Because they were annoying.
Because it sounded fun.
Because they felt like it.
There were a thousand reasons to kill—but none of them were necessary. None of them justified it. One word summed it up.
Because.
Gu Yeongmin had seen it. A person who slaughtered people in the shelter simply because he was “tired of everything and felt like killing someone.”
And that person? Not a monster. Not a beast. Just a human. Someone who, just a few months ago, had been living an ordinary life like everyone else.
Monsters kill to survive. Humans kill for fun.
And honestly? The so-called “civilized world” hadn’t been much different before it all fell apart.
No. It was exactly the same.
