One was a forest-type gate. Towering ancient trees, vines thick as rope, monsters lurking in the shadows. The official handbook warned of disorientation, ambushes, and terrain hazards.
Lee Aseok took one look around, pulled out a firestarter scroll, and dropped it at his feet.
Within minutes, the entire forest was ablaze.
The howls of monsters were drowned out by the roar of flames, the canopy collapsing in showers of sparks. The “labyrinth problem” solved itself. No more trees. No more hiding places. Just ashes.
Seo MinHyun screamed the whole time. “This is not strategy, this is ARSON!”
Aseok didn’t answer. He never did.
Another time, the dungeon was nothing special. Standard lineup: goblins, ogres, the occasional dark mage with an overinflated sense of drama. The kind of place that usually required a tight formation and coordinated spells.
Aseok grabs his rusty iron rod. Not enchanted, not special, just bent and dented like trash metal.
Then he walked in.
No sword. No technique. Just a man jogging casually through waves of enemies, swinging that iron rod like he was swatting flies.
Every goblin he passed dropped. Every ogre stumbled and collapsed. Every dark mage foamed at the mouth and keeled over as if gravity itself betrayed them.
By the time the others caught up, the dungeon floor was littered with unconscious bodies, and Aseok was dusting off his hands like he’d just finished a morning jog.
Ziqin stared at the rod in disbelief. “That’s not even magical.”
Aseok just shrugged.
Back in the present, the water-dungeon gate fizzled slightly, indicating the boss had been defeated.
Seconds later, the new guy stumbled out, his hair standing up from the shocks, armor drenched, and dignity left somewhere in the third corridor.
He collapsed at Ziqin’s feet and mumbled, “He didn’t even help me. I was dying. He just walked past.”
Ziqin didn’t blink. “Yeah. He does that.”
Seo MinHyun passed the man a potion with the dead-eyed kindness of someone who’s been through the same.
The van door opened.
Lee Aseok stepped out.
His coat wasn’t even wet. No mud. No burns. His breathing steady, his hair in place. He looked like he just came from a nap, not a massacre.
Behind him, the holy sword floated, still looking sulky and utterly ignored.
Pudding barked and ran up, tail wagging, licking Aseok’s hand like he just returned from vacation.
Aseok patted the dog and calmly asked, “Next gate?”
Everyone stiffened.
He Ziqin dropped his mana potion.
“No,” MinHyun groaned. “Please. Not another.”
Taegun didn’t speak. He was staring at the sky as if asking the gods what sin he had committed.
Mu Yichen simply nodded once, a silent soldier with no fear of death, only fatigue.
Aseok looked around. “Teleport?”
Ziqin let out a shuddering breath. “Yes, sir…”
And with a flick of light, they vanished again.
Meanwhile, back at HQ, the surveillance team watched the data with horror.
“three A-rank gates in 48 hours,” someone whispered. “Two B-ranks and one S-rank today.”
“Should we send backup?”
“No. No more. We lost He Ziqin for a weeks. Let them be.”
The director sighed. “Just let him… keep doing what he wants. We’ll call it… tactical efficiency.”
“Tactical madness,” someone muttered.
But no one dared file a complaint.
After all, no one knew how far Lee Aseok would go.
And no one wanted to be the next one to find out.
The HQ had long since given up.
No more envoys. No more “official warnings.” No more polite requests for the hero Lee Aseok to slow down.
After what happened to He Ziqin, who had been sent with fresh hope and returned a walking ghost clutching a half-empty mana potion, the higher-ups decided discretion was the better part of valor.
Who knew what Lee Aseok would do to the next person sent to stop him?
So the reports piled up in silence:
-
Fire-based gate? Lee Aseok didn’t hesitate to drown it in flames that melted stalactites and set the very walls ablaze.
-
Ice-based gate? The chill never bothered him. He simply conjured frozen spears and shards that pierced every icy horror until the dungeon’s heartbeat faltered.
-
Water-based gate? Lee Aseok’s electric storms crackled and sparked, sending hunters scrambling for dry ground, if they could.
Many hunters barely escaped with singed hair or nervous hearts.
The more brutal truth, however, was what no one dared say out loud:
Lee Aseok never helped.
At least, not in any way others understood as help.
Hunters who cried for assistance in the chaos found only cold silence. If someone got in his way, he cut them down, literally, with an iron rod so battered and old it looked like it belonged in a museum.
The weapon clanged and rasped as it sliced through dungeon monsters and, occasionally, hapless hunters too slow to move aside.
His iron rod was no elegant holy sword. It was a blunt instrument of unrelenting force.
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But no one hated him.
How could they?
He found the dungeon bosses faster than anyone, dispatched them with brutal efficiency, and destroyed the cores before they could spawn new horrors.
The news spread like wildfire. The world marveled and muttered about the terrifying speed of “the merciless hero.”
Inside the gate, the air was thick with smoke and ash. Gargantuan salamanders roared, their molten scales gleaming like liquid gold.
Hunters advanced cautiously, chanting prayers or gripping enchanted blades. Then Lee Aseok appeared at the front, the old iron rod raised.
With a savage swing, he cleaved through a salamander’s tail, the creature’s roar echoing through the cavern. Flames erupted, but instead of dodging, Aseok swung again, sending sparks flying like fireworks.
Behind him, a water mage hissed, “He’s gonna burn us all alive.”
Aseok ignored him and plunged deeper, leaving trails of scorched stone and monster corpses in his wake.
In an ice-based dungeon, the chill bit through armor like a knife. Hunters wrapped themselves in layers of magic and fur, fingers numb around weapon hilts.
The air shimmered with frost, and ice wraiths danced just out of reach.
Lee Aseok simply stepped forward, lifting his iron rod like a conductor’s baton.
With a grunt, he slammed the rod into the frozen floor.
Cracks spiderwebbed out, sending shards shooting up in a frozen spray.
Wraiths shattered like glass.
One hunter whispered, “Is he… using ice to fight ice?”
Aseok didn’t answer.
Water-based dungeons were the worst.
Electricity hummed in the air, charging the flooded corridors with raw danger.
Hunters scrambled across slick stones, dodging spitting eels and shocking tentacles.
Lee Aseok stood ankle-deep in water, eyes cold and calculating.
With a sudden movement, he slammed his rod on the water surface.
Lightning sparked and jumped, arcing violently.
Hunters yelped as electric currents coursed dangerously close.
One wizard screamed, “Are you crazy? You’re gonna kill us all!”
Aseok’s reply was simple:
“Survive or die.”
And survive they did.
But just barely.
For weeks, the brutal rhythm continued.
Mu Yichen, Seo MinHyun, and Park Taegun were thinner, paler, and more exhausted than anyone dared to admit.
One evening, after emerging from yet another dungeon that took barely an hour to clear, the three collapsed near the van.
Seo MinHyun, sweating and shaking, downed his mana potion like water.
Park Taegun flexed his fingers, white-knuckled.
Mu Yichen looked at them both, then up at Lee Aseok, who sat quietly feeding Pudding, who, by some miracle, remained energetic and happy.
“Lee Aseok,” Mu Yichen said calmly but firmly, “We need to take a break. The team can’t keep this up. We’re collapsing.”
Aseok glanced at them without changing expressions.
He turned to the puppy and scratched behind its ears.
“Fine,” he said slowly, “You can take a test. I won’t interfere.”
Mu Yichen blinked.
Aseok’s fingers found He Ziqin’s shoulder, steady and unyielding.
“Teleport,” he said, voice low and cruel.
Before anyone could react, Aseok vanished, vanished along with He Ziqin and the puppy.
Three exhausted men were left behind.
Mu Yichen’s eyes darkened.
A deep, uncontrollable anger flared in his chest.
Lee Aseok had left without even a glance back.
Without a word.
Yet Mu Yichen held it in.
He knew better than to let his fury show, so Mu Yichen swallowed the rage.
The moment Lee Aseok’s cold hand settled on He Ziqin’s shoulder, the world seemed to fold in on itself.
The sharp word—“teleport”—cut through the exhausted silence like a blade, and in an instant, Lee Aseok, He Ziqin, the scruffy puppy Pudding, and even the dull glint of the holy sword vanished without a trace.
But despite the furious heat burning in his chest, Mu Yichen’s years of discipline held firm. He refused to let rage cloud his judgment.
Not now. Not when the team was already stretched thin. He took a slow, deep breath and reminded himself: rest first. Then anger.
Seo MinHyun and Park Taegun, standing beside him, felt the sting of abandonment just as sharply.
Both were soldiers in their own right, strong, capable, resilient. Yet now, they were left behind.
Left because they couldn’t keep pace. That gnawed at them. Their usual confidence was shaken.
Inside the van, no one spoke and soon they were back to their home.
“I can’t believe he just left us here,” Seo muttered, collapsing onto the worn sofa in the van the moment they returned.
Without ceremony, his eyes snapped shut. Exhaustion won the battle instantly.
Park Taegun’s usual stoic facade cracked for a moment. “We’re not needed anymore. Or maybe we never were,” he said quietly.
Duty called, as always, and before long, he was filing his report on the mission’s progress. Then he too surrendered to exhaustion, curling up on his narrow bed.
Mu Yichen moved with calm purpose. The faintest crease of worry crossed his forehead, but he refused to show weakness.
He stepped into the cramped shower, the warm water washing away the grime and weariness of countless battles.
Once clean, he pulled on fresh clothes and set to work in the small kitchen of their base. Food was essential, especially for Lee Aseok.
The hero rarely spoke, rarely asked for anything, but Mu Yichen knew the truth: if Lee Aseok was hungry, there was no telling what might happen.
He cooked with care, preparing meals to be refrigerated and ready.
He thought of Lee Aseok’s pale, unreadable face, the minimal expression that never betrayed his thoughts or feelings.
The quiet man who hadn’t spoken to another human for more than a year, whose speech was clipped and direct, rarely more than a few words.
Mu Yichen arranged the food neatly and checked the supplies. They had to be prepared.
No matter what, Lee Aseok had to be well-fed and ready. It was the only way they could survive the relentless pace.
Two days later, the team was good as new, or as close to it as possible under the circumstances.
The van hummed softly as they geared up again, ready to face the endless cycle of dungeons waiting to be cleared.
Meanwhile, Lee Aseok was already on the move.
As usual, he traveled the world like a silent shadow, hunting down as many A-rank gates as he could find.
The landscape of danger was ever-changing: crumbling ruins in the west, forests where the trees whispered threats, underground caverns dripping with menace.
The rare S-rank gates, the true tests of strength and skill, were fewer but still appeared with alarming frequency.
Lee Aseok made sure to tackle those first, prioritizing their destruction before the threat could spread.
Inside a dungeon, the air shimmered with heat. Flames danced along the walls, casting twisted shadows.
Lee Aseok didn’t bother with theatrics. His iron rod, scuffed and battered, swung with quiet precision, sending waves of fire crashing against monstrous forms.
He looked at the ruins, expression unreadable.
A huge salamander-like beast lunged, claws slashing the air. Lee Aseok moved calmly, stepping aside with minimal effort before the rod slammed into the creature’s side, splitting scales and flesh. It roared but didn’t stand a chance.
The team, or rather, the few hunters brave enough to follow him, scrambled behind.
Many stumbled or fell, singed by fire or crushed by debris. Lee Aseok’s eyes never flicked toward their struggles. Cry for help? Ignored. Block his path? Sliced through with the iron rod.
In the next room, an ice dungeon stretched like a frozen tomb. Sharp crystals jutted from walls and floor, glittering cold and deadly.
Lee Aseok moved with the grace of a blade, his rod smashing ice and bone alike.
Hunters slipped and slid on the frost, some barely avoiding fatal falls. When a young mage called for aid, frozen mid-spell, Lee Aseok barely glanced her way before cutting down an approaching ice beast with one swift strike.
“Keep up or get out of the way,” he said once, voice dry and sharp. No one argued.
It was cruel. It was ruthless. It was undeniably effective.
People whispered about the way Lee Aseok did as he pleased, ignoring cries for help, pushing aside anyone who got in his way, never lifting a finger to assist unless it was to cut through a monster’s throat or strike down the dungeon’s core.
Yet no one hated him. Because he was the fastest, the deadliest, the one who made sure the threats were ended before they could spread.
Lee Aseok’s name spread far and wide as the tyrant hero no one dared to question. He moved like a ghost across the world, tearing through A-rank gates with ruthless efficiency, never slowing down.
On the other side of the world, Mu Yichen and the others arrived at another gate only to find He Ziqin looking even worse than the last time.
The teleportation specialist trembled uncontrollably as he clutched a mana potion, his hands shaking so badly that the liquid inside nearly spilled.
Next to him sat the small, scruffy puppy, Pudding, the only creature who seemed to bring any comfort in this bleak existence, and beside the puppy lay the holy sword, its blade faintly gleaming in the dim light.
Seo MinHyun glanced at He Ziqin with a mixture of sympathy and helplessness.
The poor guy looked like a rag doll tossed around by fate, used as little more than a teleportation tool by Lee Aseok.
Yet no one could do anything about it. Lee Aseok was the chosen hero, a tyrant who answered to no one and did as he pleased.
“Poor He Ziqin,” Seo muttered under his breath, “he’s been dragged around nonstop for long. Must be pure hell.”
“No kidding,” Park Taegun said, rubbing his temples. “At least he gets to rest outside the gates... but barely.”
The truth was clear: no one dared send anyone else to ‘talk’ to Lee Aseok after what happened with He Ziqin. Who knew what the merciless hero might do to the next unlucky envoy?
Suddenly, the heavy silence was broken as Lee Aseok emerged from the dark gate.
His clothes were singed in places, bearing the scars of another brutal battle. The iron rod in his hand dripped fresh blood, the deep crimson stark against the dull metal.
He stopped a few steps away, eyes scanning the small group with that familiar blank expression that never betrayed even the faintest hint of emotion.
The puppy, now noticeably bigger and more energetic, bounced eagerly toward him.
Without a word, Lee Aseok crouched down and gently gathered the puppy in his arms, petting it with a tenderness that no one would have guessed possible from a man so cold and distant.
Mu Yichen, Seo MinHyun, and Park Taegun watched in silence.
It was rare to see Lee Aseok so close to anyone, let alone showing any sign of affection or care.
How could a man so merciless to his fellow humans treat this small creature with such gentleness?
“Guess that’s the only thing he really cares about,” Seo said quietly, almost to himself.
Author Note:
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