Nam Jiwon stood still for a second, the weight of his own heartbeat thudding in his ears. Then, summoning all his courage, he stepped forward.

  He bowed.

  “Thank you… for saving us,” he said clearly, eyes fixed on the broken pipe near Lee Aseok. “Really. If you hadn’t come, I…I wouldn’t be here.”

  The words felt small in the aftermath of chaos, but they were all he had.

  Lee Aseok didn’t reply.

  Didn’t blink. Didn’t acknowledge.

  His eyes, half-lidded, remained on the rubble ahead, as if Nam Jiwon hadn’t spoken at all.

  Mu Yichen, standing beside him, finally seemed to register the bigger picture. His gaze lowered slowly to the dented, blood-smeared pipe near Aseok's legs. Then it flicked to the wyvern corpse on the nearby building.

  Even Mu Yichen couldn’t quite hide his reaction.

  “…You used that?” he asked, voice low.

  Still, Lee Aseok didn’t say anything. He just glanced at the broken pipe in a daze.

  Mu Yichen’s mind ticked quietly. A single blow. No weapon aura. No holy sword involved.

  That pipe wasn’t even enchanted. Yet the wyvern’s skull had been crushed inward, as if hit with an S-rank force amplifier.

  No wonder the upper guilds were nervous.

  No one knew Lee Aseok’s rank. No one had seen him use his ability. And he hadn’t taken the assessment test, claiming he’d "lost interest" when asked.

  In fact, the only thing consistent about Lee Aseok… was his ability to make people uncomfortable.

  A slight gust blew past them, brushing dust through the broken streets. In the distance, the wyvern corpse was being hauled off by another guild.

  Lee Aseok suddenly began walking again.

  Without another word, he stepped over the rubble and passed the collapsed outer wall of the building. His eyes caught on something half-buried under the concrete slabs. He stopped.

  Mu Yichen and Nam Jiwon followed, pausing behind him.

  Then they watched as Lee Aseok crouched and pulled out..

  An iron rod.

  Bent at one end. Slightly rusted.

  A regular person would’ve tossed it aside.

  Lee Aseok held it up to the light, testing the weight. His fingers wrapped around the hilt, the way someone would hold a sword, or something that once pretended to be one.

  Nam Jiwon blinked, unsure if he should say something.

  Mu Yichen raised an eyebrow.

  “A rod?” he asked.

  Lee Aseok didn’t answer immediately.

  Instead, his gaze sharpened.

  The world around him dulled.

  Because at that moment, the rod in his hand triggered something old. Something buried so deep inside him that even time hadn’t dulled the memory.

  —The final boss of Hell Gate.

  —The crumbling city.

  —The broken weapon he’d once held, shattered in the first clash.

  —And in his bloodied hands, a rod just like this one, ripped from a wrecked transport frame.

  It hadn’t been a weapon.

  Not even close.

  But it was all he’d had.

  So he’d gripped that iron rod, absorbed the corrupted core energy of Hell Gate into his veins, and kept fighting.

  The rod had melted halfway through the battle. His arms had fractured. His body had begun disintegrating from the inside.

  But he’d won.

  He’d died moments later, body turned into dust. Alone. Forgotten.

  Lee Aseok looked down at the new rod in his hand now.

  Rusty.

  Useless.

  Perfect.

  “…No one would believe me anyway,” he muttered to himself.

  Mu Yichen tilted his head. “Believe you about what?”

  Lee Aseok didn’t answer.

  Instead, he slowly straightened up and swung the rod once. It made a low whistle through the air. He stared at it.

  In his hand, the rod didn’t feel like scrap metal.

  It felt like proof.

  In this life, he didn’t need to impress anyone.

  No need for rankings.

  No need for spotlights.

  He didn’t even know what his own rank was anymore.

  He didn’t need to.

  The rod was rusted, bent, and heavier on one side.

  It wasn’t a weapon.

  But in Lee Aseok’s hand, it felt like one.

  He tilted it slightly, letting the weight settle in his palm.

  The metal was uneven, a jagged bit at the tip where it had been snapped off during the building's collapse. Anyone else would’ve tossed it aside. Anyone else would’ve laughed.

  But Lee Aseok wasn’t anyone.

  And the rod reminded him of something.

  The moment he died.

  Of the monster that towered over the world.

  Of how, with a shattered body and a useless piece of iron, he brought that monster to its knees.

  It wasn’t the weapon that had won that fight.

  It was him.

  Lee Aseok raised his head slowly.

  The wind shifted.

  Mu Yichen, a few meters away, felt it first, a subtle shift in the air, like gravity tilting sideways. Something quiet, ancient, and not entirely human seemed to rise from Aseok’s skin. The energy was neither loud nor violent. It didn’t roar.

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  But it was crushed.

  People nearby, guild agents and low-rank hunters, froze mid-step.

  Nam Jiwon, who had just opened his mouth to ask something, found he couldn't speak.

  Lee Aseok smirked.

  It was faint. So faint it was barely there. Just the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

  Then, slowly, deliberately, he closed his eyes.

  The world seemed to exhale.

  Silence stretched.

  Then he opened them again.

  And his eyes, once reddish-brown, dull like drying earth, had changed.

  What replaced them wasn’t a color that existed in nature.

  They were a mix of pale violet and piercing blue, like galaxies caught in glass. Stars flickered faintly in his pupils. A nebula spun slowly in the irises.

  The light inside them wasn’t static; it pulsed with depth, as if the night sky itself had slipped into his sockets.

  Mu Yichen sucked in a breath and unconsciously took a step forward.

  It wasn’t just the eyes.

  Lee Aseok had always been strangely attractive, in a haunting, distant way, like a statue you weren’t allowed to touch.

  But now, with those inhuman eyes and that faint smirk, something about him had shifted.

  His long black hair, unbrushed but falling elegantly over his shoulders, caught the sunlight with subtle streaks of blue.

  His skin, pale from years without sunlight, seemed even more unreal under the dust-covered light.

  His white shirt, still stained faintly red from his earlier encounter with Qin Yue, clung to his lean frame.

  His hands, slim, soft, gripped the rod casually over one shoulder like a prince returning from battle.

  He didn’t look human.

  He looked like a fantasy creature trying to imitate one. A spirit, maybe. Or a deity who’d been forced into mortal skin.

  A being who remembered godhood.

  Nam Jiwon, who was watching this unfold from the side, blinked hard.

  “…This is illegal,” he muttered under his breath. “This kind of charisma should be regulated.”

  Mu Yichen didn’t respond.

  Because Mu Yichen, who had seen many S-rank hunters, who had trained with legends, who had stood in the heart of battlefields, felt something new forming in his chest.

  Dread.

  He couldn’t sense Lee Aseok’s rank.

  He couldn’t even guess his mana structure.

  And yet the sheer pressure in the air now felt like he was standing next to a collapsing star.

  He tried to speak, but before the words came out..

  The ground under Lee Aseok’s feet cracked.

  Just a hairline fracture.

  But it was enough.

  Mana surged outward. Not violently. Not to intimidate. But like heat escaping through the skin of the world.

  The iron rod pulsed faintly in his hand as the energy coiled around it, not imbued like a spell, but absorbed.

  The rusted metal lit up from within for a moment, veins of blue and violet snaking under the surface before fading again.

  Mu Yichen’s heart dropped.

  He understood.

  That wasn’t a weapon.

  It didn’t need to be.

  Lee Aseok wasn’t using it to cast or enhance. He was using it because he could.

  His skill, still officially unregistered, still unknown, was devouring the residual dungeon energy left behind in the battlefield and channeling it into the rod like it was an extension of himself.

  He wasn’t wielding the rod.

  He was using it to wield his mana.

  Not a smudge of dirt on his face. Not a wrinkle in his expression.

  Mu Yichen, who stood the closest to him, found himself staring. His usual calm cracked just slightly as he opened his mouth to speak.

  But before a sound could leave his lips…

  Lee Aseok disappeared.

  There was no flash. No magic circle. No gust of wind.

  Just absence.

  A breath ago, he had been standing there.

  Now, nothing.

  The holy sword he always kept near his side floated down gently to the ground, hovering as if confused. Alone.

  Yichen’s brows furrowed as he took a step forward, but before he could speak again…

  A wyvern’s head hit the ground with a wet, heavy thud.

  Then another.

  And another.

  High above, in the distant sky, the wyverns began falling one by one, their long necks suddenly separated. Their bodies spiraled through the air before crashing to rooftops and concrete, lifeless.

  A sound, too fast for thunder, too sharp for wind, rippled across the battlefield. A streak of violet-blue-red light slashed through the sky.

  It moved like lightning. No, faster.

  Whenever it passed by, a monster fell.

  Flying wyverns were bisected midair.

  Those on the ground crumpled before they could blink.

  Hunters paused in confusion, blinking up toward the skies. Civilians inside shelters stopped screaming. Children clutched their parents and stared with wide eyes.

  A streak of light again…CRACK!...another wyvern sliced in half.

  Some people thought it was a new weapon.

  Others thought it was a flying artifact sent from the Hunter Association.

  None of them imagined it was a person.

  But Mu Yichen knew.

  He knew.

  And he stood there, frozen, like the others around him, unable to speak, barely able to think.

  Because what they were witnessing wasn’t a battle.

  It was a slaughter.

  Precise, elegant, merciless slaughter.

  Like a divine punishment disguised as beauty.

  There was no wasted movement. No hesitation. The figure never landed, never stopped. It passed through the battlefield like a blade dancing through silk.

  Lee Aseok had chosen his weapon.

  A broken iron rod.

  The same rusted thing he had picked up like a toy.

  And now it glowed faintly with unstable light, flickering between colors as if reacting to the immense energy it channeled.

  Each swing wasn’t a spell.

  It was just momentum and raw, directed power.

  And the rod moved like a conductor’s baton, orchestrating a quiet, blood-soaked symphony.

  In a single moment, a dozen wyverns fell at once.

  Mu Yichen wasn’t the only one who noticed.

  From the west ridge of the ruined street, Seo MinHyun and Park Taegun approached quickly, both having followed the sudden shockwaves and dying monsters.

  Taegun’s calm eyes scanned the scene, noting patterns, angles, trajectories.

  MinHyun?

  MinHyun was gaping.

  “…Okay,” he said. “What the hell is that?”

  Neither Mu Yichen nor the frozen hunters nearby answered.

  Seo MinHyun squinted.

  All he could see was a blur of purple and blue. Lightning? Magic? Was that a sword? A whip? A drone?

  “Is it a relic?” he asked again. “An artifact? Some new Guild weapon?”

  Still no response.

  He huffed. “Why is everyone ignoring me lately? I still rank higher than 90% of these people. I’m handsome. Charismatic. I moisturize. What more do you want?”

  Taegun, still silent, gave him a withering look.

  MinHyun groaned.

  Then suddenly, something flashed overhead.

  BOOM.

  A wyvern, one of the largest, had begun to charge toward a civilian group, but the blur crashed into it midair, splitting it into clean halves before the pieces even hit the ground.

  Lee Aseok landed for a single second, just one, to steady his footing.

  MinHyun caught the image in that instant.

  The blood trailing off his shoulder, the cracked concrete at his feet, the way his eyes glowed, not with rage, not with madness, but with quiet purpose.

  And despite himself, Seo MinHyun went still.

  Park Taegun, standing nearby, kept his usual calm exterior but his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the battlefield. Something didn’t sit right with him.

  His gaze drifted past the carnage to a holy sword resting alone on the ground, a sword that had never been seen apart from its bearer.

  Taegun’s lips pressed into a thin line.

  “That holy sword,” he said slowly, voice low, “where is the person who wields it?”

  Seo MinHyun blinked, then glanced at the sword. “Uh… well, looks like it’s just chilling there.”

  Taegun’s expression hardened, eyes darting around.

  “Could it be... Lee Aseok?”

  A wave of nods rippled through the gathered hunters. Almost everyone who had witnessed the battle nodded solemnly, their eyes still wide with awe.

  One older hunter whispered, “He was moving faster than sound... like a ghost.”

  Another murmured, “That lazy kid? Moving at sonic speed? Are we seeing things?”

  Seo MinHyun’s mouth dropped open.

  He blinked several times, as if doubting his sanity.

  Seo MinHyun gawked at the battlefield as if his brain had stopped halfway through a thought.

  His usually sharp tongue failed him, eyes darting between the corpses of wyverns and the strange purple-red-blue streaks still sizzling through the air like afterimages.

  “Okay. No. Absolutely not,” he muttered.

  He pointed to the trail of bloodless monster heads lying scattered across cracked concrete and broken rooftops.

  “Someone tell me that wasn’t Lee Aseok. Tell me it was an artifact. A drone. A very aggressive weather pattern.”

  No one replied.

  He turned to the nearest hunter, waving a hand in front of the guy’s face. “Hello? Earth to random bystanders? Why are you all looking like you just watched a god descend?!”

  The man only whispered, “It was him…”

  Seo MinHyun froze. “No. No, no, no. The sloth? The one who looks like he naps with his eyes open? That guy moved at sonic speed and killed thirty wyverns in under a minute?!”

  Park Taegun, standing nearby, remained silent. But even he looked unsettled, an emotion rarely seen on his perpetually cool face.

  Seo MinHyun took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s not panic. Maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe I fell asleep mid-battle and hit my head.”

  Park Taegun glanced sideways. “You’re not dreaming.”

  “Great,” MinHyun snapped. “Then I must be hallucinating. That’s the only way this makes sense.”

  But his rant was abruptly cut off.

  Because on the battlefield, the final blow had landed.

  A last wyvern’s severed head hit the ground with a wet thud, rolling a few feet before slumping still.

  And then it happened.

  The streak of color that had been zipping through the air finally slowed, a swirling wave of purple, blue, and red mana dissolving like mist in the breeze.

  As it cleared, a figure emerged from the haze, quiet, still, unbothered by the destruction.

  Lee Aseok.

  Standing with one hand lowered, gripping a simple iron rod, his long black hair fell over his white clothes, now lightly torn and smeared with dried blood near the chest.

  The holy sword was nowhere to be seen. There was only that rusty iron rod, undamaged, glowing faintly.

  But what caught everyone’s attention were his eyes.

  Not reddish-brown anymore.

  They shimmered with a strange blend of colors, light blue at the center, bleeding outward into violet with faint glints of starlight, as though galaxies swirled behind his pupils.

  It wasn’t a human gaze.

  It was too old.

  Too vast.

  Too… distant.

  Seo MinHyun’s mouth fell open again.

  “Oh my god, it was him.”

  Park Taegun let out a low breath. “Took you long enough.”

  The crowd stood in stunned silence, the chaos of battle completely forgotten.

  Their eyes were drawn to the quiet figure in white, standing amidst the blood and rubble like some ethereal myth made flesh.

  For a long time, people had whispered questions.

  Why had the holy sword chosen him?

  Why the quiet boy who never spoke, who seemed uninterested in heroism?

  But now, now they looked at Lee Aseok and saw something different.

  Not a slacker.

  Not a mistake.

  They saw power, true power. The kind that didn’t need explanation. The kind that demanded silence and awe.

  Someone whispered, “...A god in human skin.”

  Another said, “He’s not like us.”

  Seo MinHyun looked like he was going to have a stroke.

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