The early chaos might’ve settled, but society still creaked under pressure, and life outside Seoul was just as harsh and unforgiving. The slaughter and massacres committed in the capital had all been carried out under the guise of civilization. Even if no one swung a weapon directly, lives were taken—cleverly, and lethally.
When you really thought about it, the world before the Cataclysm hadn’t been much different. Gu Yeongmin had simply been too young to see society’s rot for what it was. Only after humanity had hit rock bottom did the truth become clear to him.
Was it right for the world to run on swollen, unchecked human greed? He didn’t think so.
Some called the Cataclysm a divine punishment—a wrathful judgment meant to strike humanity down. Most of the time, those beliefs spiraled into cult worship, and Gu Yeongmin saw that too as another ugly symptom of human selfishness, exploiting their own kind for gain. Still, he couldn’t entirely disagree with the sentiment.
A grand purge. A cleansing of the world.
Out of all lifeforms, only humans—and not even all of them, just those from so-called First World nations, and within those, only a privileged few—had twisted the planet with their comforts and indulgences. They were a microscopic minority, not even 0.00001% of all living beings, yet the world was rotting from their greed.
The Cataclysm changed that. Monsters appeared. Humans died in droves. And with their disappearance, global warming slowed by three centuries. Creatures that hunted humans—who had sat smugly at the top of the food chain—were born. Apex predators that had skipped countless steps of evolution, emerging like miracles.
When Gu Yeongmin grasped that truth, he became a Demonic Terrorist.
Civilization had to fall. Humanity deserved extinction. And yes, that included himself.
“If you’re going to commit terrorism, why not make it productive?”
The one who delivered this revelation appeared to him as a boy dressed in black—a so-called savior of the Seoul refugees. The irony of it amused Gu Yeongmin, and he actually liked that twisted bit of humor.
Later, after meeting Edokers, he learned the boy in black was actually an agent of Chaos, a servant of destruction. But the name didn’t matter. What mattered was that this being had given him the power to carry out his divine mission.
So for the sake of that mission, Gu Yeongmin once again put on his calm, natural mask and slipped back into human society.
“Oh! The Seven Guild just uploaded a new raid guide. It’s a field hunt featuring Hunter Kim Sibaek.”
It was during their lunch break. The person who spoke set their phone down on the table, playing the video. Everyone from the Field Analysis Division of the Paranormal Phenomena Response Agency gathered around to watch. Gu Yeongmin was one of them.
Field hunt videos were a dime a dozen. But only the 7777 Guild’s channel showed someone healing massive, bone-deep injuries in the blink of an eye, leaving the wounded perfectly fine.
Feigning interest in the video, Gu Yeongmin glanced instead at the quest window floating in his vision.
[Quest 06]
[Germinate a Monster Seed in the field south of Gae-seong.]
No fluff. Just a clear objective. He smiled faintly, remembering all the knowledge and power he’d gained through the flood of quests, both big and small, since receiving the revelation. He was probably the only person on Earth who’d successfully germinated a Monster Seed artificially.
At that moment, the group watching the video let out a collective gasp. It was the same reaction every time Kim Sibaek showed up. Even freshly uploaded videos racked up views at lightning speed. The counter ticked upward in real time, and new comments were pouring in—many of them in foreign languages.
Ever since Kim Sibaek appeared, the public had reacted like this. Even those who had once doubted his healing powers started to believe once unedited videos and firsthand accounts from other Hunters began to spread. The skeptics started to disappear.
The only ones who still refused to believe were conspiracy theorists or bitter outliers drowning in their own insecurities. People like that wouldn’t have believed it no matter who the healer was, so they were irrelevant.
In the end, the public didn’t just believe in Kim Sibaek—they adored him. He wasn’t just the only person with healing powers; he was also kind, selfless, and gave without hesitation.
But what if this one-of-a-kind person were to die—or vanish?
Would those same cheering crowds collapse into despair, grief, and hopelessness? That thought stirred something dark and curious within him. It felt like an intriguing method of terror.
His gaze shifted again. The quest was still there. Quests only pointed the way—it was up to him to shape the story.
***
The new year brought even more chaos to Kim Sibaek’s life. Thanks to Tae Woon’s funding—or rather, his support—he was able to gather materials faster than expected and start crafting with help from Lee Hangyeol. With the quests unusually quiet, he was throwing himself into guild work, healing the injured and exhausted, and building a solid reputation for the “little crow.”
Checking in on Sister Hyoju Agnes had also become part of his regular routine.
“What’d she say?”
He asked the moment Tae Woon hung up the call with Sister Benedicta.
“She said your sister’s doing well. I even gave her your New Year’s greeting, too.”
Tae Woon smiled warmly, and Sibaek chuckled at the sight.
“Back when we visited the orphanage, the atmosphere with the nuns felt kind of chilly. I never would’ve guessed she was your sister. You didn’t show a single sign. But… you’re worried, aren’t you?”
“She’s a sister I never even knew existed… but yeah. I want her to be okay.”
Sibaek let out a small laugh. People always said you grew numb to things as you got older. That you stopped reacting to pain. That you stopped caring.
That was true for him too, to a point.
Age had hardened him, made him more resilient—but just knowing his sister existed stirred something deep inside. Even now, words like “family” and “sibling” carried a weight that tugged at him. Maybe that was his one soft spot.
Though if he was being honest, the softest part of him… was probably standing right in front of him.
As I grow old… become an old man…
Startled by the thought that had just crossed his mind, Kim Sibaek quickly erased it from his head. There were Apostles and Paladins in Mak Slechth who were pushing two hundred—he was still young… definitely.
Still, out of everything in his daily routine, the most important thing to Kim Sibaek was the time he spent with Tae Woon. Tae Woon insisted on calling it a “date.” Whatever the name, Sibaek had made up his mind to savor every moment of it.
“Then shall we pick up where we left off?”
Even if it was just a board game in the CEO’s office during lunch break.
At first, they’d started off with Halli Galli, a fast-paced card game that fit perfectly into their tight lunch hour. Kim Sibaek had never really been into games, so he hadn’t known just how much a game could change depending on who you played it with. That kind of emotional investment was something new to him.
But once he got into it—really into it—he started slamming the bell like a man possessed. The moment he secured a card, he went all-in and brought his hand down with a loud SMACK! And just like that, the solid wood table—which had faithfully served in the CEO’s office ever since the guild was established—cracked straight down the middle.
“…….”
“Hyung, I thought the only thing you broke with your hips was the bed, but apparently you can break other things too. So hot. Want me to break something next?”
“…Let’s not talk.”
That was last week.
The guy had money to burn and wasn’t shy about spending it—but instead of replacing the cracked table, he left it right there like a monument. Every time Kim Sibaek walked into the office, that damn table glared at him like a guilty conscience.
“Of all places, what were you two doing at work that broke a table—never mind. Please. Don’t explain. I’m begging you.”
Yang Eunho had said that with wide eyes before backing out of the room like a ghost. That memory still haunted Sibaek. Playing games at his age was one thing—but making a scene in front of the juniors? That was just plain disgraceful.
Trying not to look at the ever-widening crack in the wood, Kim Sibaek rolled the dice onto the board. If they wanted to make the most of their short lunch, they had to move fast.
The mind games—fought through cards and plastic pawns—turned surprisingly intense. This round ended with Tae Woon’s victory. Sibaek clicked his tongue in disappointment. They’d added a rule today: whoever won got to make a wish. He’d been hoping to win, but it was over.
While tidying up the cards, Tae Woon asked, “Wanna go for two more rounds and make it best of three?”
“Feels like we’re running out of time.”
“We can keep playing after lunch.”
“You don’t have work?”
“Playing with you is my job.”
Sibaek responded to the nonsense by gently pinching his cheek—just enough to feel it, not hurt. Tae Woon winced dramatically, then flashed a bright, unbothered smile.
“What would you have wished for if you’d won?” he asked.
“…A new table. You?”
“Oh, nothing big. Just something cute.”
“What, is our little Woonie’s wish so top-secret you’ve got to be all mysterious?”
His coy teasing only piqued Sibaek’s curiosity more. He leaned forward over the fractured table. Tae Woon, sitting across from him, loosened his tie, then grabbed both ends and pulled them tight.
The smile blooming across his face was dazzling—like a flower in full bloom.
“Hyung, close your eyes.”
