Chapter 99
Jeong Hwan-jae looked back and forth between me and Riri with a slightly puzzled expression.
As if wondering what on earth we were talking about, he showed clear confusion.
I explained the situation to him—what Dan Myeong-ah had told me, and my own guesses about what Kim Kyung-hoon must have been thinking.
Jeong Hwan-jae quietly listened to everything, stroking his chin. He too seemed to be evaluating the possibilities regarding Kim Kyung-hoon.
“Yea, your interpretation is possible, but personally… I don’t think that man’s top priority was turning us into a dungeon.”
But he quickly added that he wasn’t dismissing my theory entirely.
I, on the other hand, was desperately hoping my theory was completely wrong—but he looked flustered, as if he was afraid I might get hurt by it.
“Really? But it doesn’t feel like he’s completely ignoring us either…”
He nodded.
He seemed to be considering a different possibility as he turned away from me and looked out the window.
Without question, among all the guild buildings in Korea, Hantae Guild’s building was the tallest.
Far away, I could see Namsan Tower, and beyond that, the lingering scars of Ragnarok still remained.
Though ten years had passed since Ragnarok, and most of the damage had been resolved, there were areas that no skill or magic could restore.
Entire regions that countries could no longer utilize.
Places where no life grew, where dungeons spawned so frequently the land had become a wasteland.
“I’ve never really thought to myself, ‘I’m going to get stronger on purpose.’”
“Well, you’re already the strongest.”
“Even before I awakened, I never thought, ‘I’ll outrun everyone,’ or ‘I’ll surpass that person.’”
There truly were people born like that.
People who lacked competitiveness—who didn’t even have the basic desire to win against others.
When those people possessed great talent, others grew even more jealous.
Jeong Hwan-jae was simply born strong, yet had many enemies.
Even I, despite fainting people with my singing and all the chaos surrounding me, received strange jealousy from others.
“That’s why I don’t fully understand Hunter Kim Kyung-hoon’s psychology. But if he truly pursues strength itself, then he wouldn’t try to turn us into a dungeon.”
Hearing that, I finally began to understand what Jeong Hwan-jae meant.
Cold sweat trickled down my back.
But… could a human really think like that?
How could a person act that way?
Without realizing it, I clutched Riri, perched on my shoulder.
He gently leaned his head toward me, as if he understood my thoughts perfectly.
“He might want to become a dungeon himself.”
“That’s what I think.”
At that moment, Lucy—who had been hovering quietly—swooped over to float beside Jeong Hwan-jae.
Despite his cute appearance, he spoke with a rather gloomy voice.
“Becoming a fusion dungeon means death for the contractor, but for the assigned employee… it means data erasure.”
“Data erasure?”
“It means their existence disappears. We don’t leave corrupted data in the network.”
What did it mean for data to be erased?
It wasn’t the same as death. Assigned employees were already dead, after all.
Riri trembled slightly.
Lucy also spoke in that depressed tone—but it didn’t feel like he was grieving for the employees that vanished.
“Then what happens to them?”
“They become heroes who don’t remain in history. They stay only in people’s memories… and once those people die, they simply disappear.”
“No need to pity them. That’s how it is for ordinary people who aren’t data.”
I silently nodded.
He wasn’t wrong.
If no one remembers or records someone, it’s hard for their existence after death to remain at all.
Just like how there are more unsung heroes than remembered ones.
But to someone… that being had been a companion for a long time, receiving endless affection.
I didn’t understand.
I hugged Riri tightly to my chest.
Jeong Hwan-jae hesitated, then awkwardly flicked Lucy with his finger.
Both of them let out bright little laughs.
“Don’t worry, Yea. We’re much stronger than Hunter Kim Kyung-hoon or his assigned employee. We won’t get corrupted because of him.”
“Personally… I hope not just us, but anyone avoids going through something like that.”
“Same.”
Jeong Hwan-jae nodded in agreement.
Making sure I stayed safe—and protecting Riri—was important.
But preventing such incidents from happening again in the future also mattered.
A fusion dungeon intentionally created?
That must never be allowed.
Lucy studied my face carefully before speaking lightly:
“That girl Yuko had a low rank, so even when she turned into a dungeon, the interior difficulty was only around A.”
“But Hunter Kim Kyung-hoon… he didn’t participate in the ranking match this time, but isn’t he a ranker?”
My voice trembled with dread. Lucy nodded casually.
“Sure, it’d be better than if you or Hwan-jae became a dungeon, but… if that awakened one really turns into a dungeon—”
A colossal gate would reappear at the center of Korea for the first time in ten years.
His words felt distant, unreal.
“…Where do we need to go to find Kim Kyung-hoon?”
* * *
“I Yoon-ah, any more of this and your body won’t hold up.”
Gaseul spoke nervously. Unsettling winds swirled around him.
Every time he used holy power, static distorted his appearance—he didn’t look remotely okay.
So Yoon-ah dragged her feet as she walked.
Behind the already-ruined space, a barely-breathing human twitched weakly.
Casting: Dead Guilt (A)
A status window popped up in front of her for the first time in a while.
Was it because she had used too many skills?
Or had her assigned employee become so corrupted that the system could no longer skip these notifications?
Either way, So Yoon-ah didn’t care.
Gaseul had neither the authority nor the will to stop her.
He was only speaking because he knew the path she was walking was one that would bring about her own destruction.
Why do humans give their affection so easily…?
Gaseul followed her with worried eyes.
Black mana—dyed with malevolence—spread outward.
The dark energy seemed mixed with something else, making it even more murky as it seeped into him.
“You know something? Assigned employees don’t get counted for murder or killing even if they die.”
“You—you…”
“That’s why I can keep you alive. Thankfully, I’m really good at memory-erasing skills.”
When So Yoon-ah awakened, one of the skills she obtained allowed her to tamper with people’s memories.
Dead Guilt — a skill that deletes the target’s most negative memories.
The first person she had wanted to use it on was the man now called Hwajon.
He stood in front of an animal hospital, his school uniform stained with animal blood, pacing anxiously.
‘Ah, you’re… from Class 4.’
‘You awakened?’
‘Uh… yeah.’
The boy looked at So Yoon-ah as if uncomfortable.
Maybe it was an instinctive dislike of other races.
Just because someone had the power to heal humans didn’t mean they all had noble hearts.
So Yoon-ah didn’t feel joy at having the power to heal others—she felt joy at becoming one of the rarest hunters in the world.
Everyone will recognize my worth.
At nineteen, he was desperate to prove his value and importance.
There was no need to understand what had triggered this emptiness within him.
He had simply been born that way—no person or environment had “made” him like this.
‘I’m heading out first.’
Young Hwajon left first, clearly unwilling to continue the conversation.
So Yoon-ah reached out toward his retreating back.
Skill activation conditions not met.
Dead Guilt canceled. (Reason: Target’s stats are higher than caster’s.)
The sense of deprivation he felt that day—the very first after awakening—remained vivid in his memory.
