In a dim corner of a collapsed building on the far edge of the west zone, Lee Aseok sat with a tablet in his lap, scrolling through an online store with a cold expression. His hair now reached his lower back, soft and silver under the weak light of the early evening.

  He ordered dry rations, medical supplies, and two sets of black hoodies. Silent. Efficient. Without hesitation.

  His expression didn’t change, not when he saw the headlines still flashing at the bottom of the screen:

  [Breaking News: Holy Sword Still Without a Master – Who Is the Missing Chosen One?]

  He simply minimized the window, stood up, and walked to the kitchen area where he reheated a bowl of rice and soup.

  The spoon trembled once in his hand… and then stilled.

  He said nothing.

  He ate in silence.

  Whatever the holy sword did, whatever the world expected, Lee Aseok didn’t care. He had already made a decision, he would never get involved.

  Not with people, not with fate, and certainly not with the sword that had already ruined one life.

  Let the world burn or be saved. It had nothing to do with him.

  Yet, somewhere far away, in a sealed vault deep beneath the ceremonial hall, the holy sword pulsed with a faint glow.

  Waiting.

  Across the country, no, the entire world's powerful guilds and elite departments of the government were shaken to their core. The knowledge that the Chosen One already existed, already awakened, yet had not appeared… was nothing short of madness.

  Speculation ran rampant through backchannel networks.

  “Is he stuck in a gate?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t know.”

  “Or worse, what if he’s dying somewhere right now?”

  Theories piled on top of theories. Many feared the worst. Some even suggested sealing the holy sword permanently until the chosen one emerged. Others whispered the possibility of forging a second holy object, an idea quickly dismissed.

  But while panic consumed the upper echelons of power, the public slowly returned to its everyday routine.

  A month passed.

  The streets returned to noise. Children walked to school in the mornings. Adults returned to work. But always, always, there was a sliver of hope lingering beneath the surface.

  Commuters would glance at the news before heading out, housewives would leave the TV running in the background while preparing meals, and children would ask their parents, “Has the hero appeared yet?”

  Everyone was waiting.

  Waiting for the miracle.

  Lee Aseok was not.

  Inside the collapsed building nestled in the forgotten edges of the West Zone, Lee Aseok lived quietly, as he always had since his return.

  He ordered supplies online and collected them from a faraway drop-off point without speaking to a single soul.

  His hair now brushed against his back in soft waves, and his skin was pale from days without sunlight. His mana had grown stronger. Stable. But he didn’t track the numbers anymore.

  He didn’t care.

  His days were a pattern of distraction, anything to silence the ache in his head and the nightmares that clawed into his sleep like parasites.

  Cartoons. He watched them endlessly. Simple, happy stories with silly voices and bright colors. They were far more comforting than any live-action drama or real-world news.

  He avoided those completely.

  When the noise in his chest wouldn’t stop, he turned to stocks, micro-managing investments, tracing patterns, following economic shifts with eyes void of excitement.

  Sometimes, he would run up and down the crumbled staircases of the abandoned building until his legs trembled and he collapsed from exhaustion.

  He hoped it would help him sleep.

  It rarely did.

  Even in his dreams, the past memories he refused to acknowledge, followed him like shadows. He would wake up gasping, drenched in sweat, with no sound but his own quiet, steady breathing.

  “This life… I’ll never get involved.”

  That promise stayed with him like a mantra.

  Within the fortified headquarters of the International Headquarters (HQ), a storm brewed.

  Databases were being cross-referenced. Talent assessments were being redrawn. Young hunters were being summoned for “re-evaluations.”

  Any individual with the faintest link to a sword-related skill was now under surveillance.

  They scanned gate logs. Revisited cleared zones. Re-analyzed mana residues from cores.

  Still nothing.

  The chosen one had yet to appear.

  And the sword? It remained in its sealed chamber, untouched. Quiet. Radiant.

  Waiting.

  The wind was gentle that night, brushing over the crumbling rooftop of the abandoned building like an old friend visiting a forgotten place.

  Lee Aseok lay stretched across the dusty balcony, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting over his chest. His eyes were half-lidded as he gazed up at the stars above. Clear, distant, cold.

  The faint hum of mana lingered in his veins, quiet and powerful.

  He hadn’t meant to get stronger. Not really.

  In the beginning, he'd only cleared gates to keep the West Zone from drawing attention. And he’d absorbed the cores only because it was the most efficient way to remove them. He never expected anything to happen.

  But things had changed.

  Lee Aseok had changed.

  At first, it was his mana. It had started to swell quietly, steadily, until he noticed the way the air bent faintly around his hands when he focused.

  He had been stunned.

  In his previous life, mana had always been a scarce luxury, barely enough to cast minor spells. He remembered being called useless.

  He remembered the shame of swallowing illegal enhancer pills just to pass the entry level gate exams… pills that brought brief power and long, painful side effects.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  But this… this was different.

  No drugs. No pain.

  Just pure, stable energy. Warm. Alive. Surging.

  It didn’t just stop at mana.

  His body adapted as well. His muscles grew leaner, more defined. His senses sharpened. He didn’t grow physically massive or unnaturally bulky, no, it was subtler than that. Like his entire being had aligned with some unknown force.

  Lee Aseok began running long laps through the shattered floors of the building. He’d leap up rusted stairs and hang from broken steel beams just to burn off the buzzing energy inside his bones.

  "I shouldn’t be like this," he had thought once, panting as he looked at his reflection in a cracked mirror. "This strength... it’s not normal."

  Curious, he experimented more, tested how long he could last without sleep, how quickly he could recover from a wound, and how far he could push his senses.

  But one thing remained unclear: something was still changing inside of him.

  He could feel it.

  In the last few weeks, he had cleared every B-rank gate in the West area without so much as a scratch. Monsters that once took elite teams to subdue now fell beneath his iron pipe like leaves in the wind.

  He hadn’t encountered an A-rank gate yet. He wasn’t sure how he'd fare… but he didn’t feel fear, either.

  Now, resting beneath the silent sky, he blinked slowly, watching the stars above flicker like they, too, were tired of shining.

  There was a time, once, when strength had meant everything to him.

  He remembered gripping cracked training weapons with bleeding palms.

  He remembered chasing every rumor of power. Every chance to become useful. Every dungeon, every mission, every battle.

  All for a future that never welcomed him.

  “I wanted to be strong… to protect others. To prove I wasn’t worthless.”

  But all he received in return was scorn. Isolation. Blame.

  He had died as an F-rank. Forgotten. Burdened.

  And now?

  He was stronger than he ever dreamed of being.

  But the will to use that strength was gone.

  But he no longer wanted anything.

  Not glory. Not power. Not even peace.

  If death came to him tomorrow, he would greet it like an old friend.

  He wasn’t afraid.

  He just didn’t care anymore.

  And with that thought, Lee Aseok let out a breath, soft as wind slipping through broken windows, and closed his eyes beneath the stars.

  Far across the city, in a world that moved too quickly for silence, Mu Yichen lived his days beneath a thousand watchful eyes.

  Though he still trained, hunted, and met with top government officers and guild leaders, there were moments when his gaze would drift. A pause mid-conversation. A flicker of distraction in his otherwise perfect posture.

  He didn’t even notice it himself.

  Those around him assumed he was preoccupied with the Holy Sword’s refusal, an unexpected rejection the entire world was still whispering about.

  But Mu Yichen knew something else lingered at the edge of his thoughts.

  Something he couldn’t name.

  As the son of the late Hero Mu Tianchi, and the only SSS-rank awakened with both knight and sword-type abilities, Mu Yichen had always been the center of attention.

  The future head of the Shadow Guild.

  The perfect heir.

  The symbol of strength for a new generation.

  His mother, Qin Yue, current master of the Shadow Guild and one of the most feared S-rankers alive, had long expected her son to take over the mantle. She had groomed him from childhood, shaped him like steel.

  But Mu Yichen had refused. Politely. Repeatedly.

  Instead, he lived as a freelancer, choosing his own missions, working with a variety of guilds and government departments, taking only what interested him.

  People thought he was gaining experience.

  He wasn’t.

  He was simply… uninterested.

  Power, respect, praise, he had all of it since birth.

  Nothing challenged him.

  Nothing moved him.

  So he walked the path laid before him not out of duty or ambition, but out of convenience. There was nothing else to do.

  Even now, after the Holy Sword rejected him and the world waited for the “true Chosen One” to appear, Mu Yichen wasn’t angry.

  He was… curious.

  A faint itch beneath his skin.

  Something was off.

  And he wanted to know what it was.

  Seo MinHyun, his childhood friend and fellow S-rank hunter, moved beside him like a shadow with too much color.

  Charismatic and bold, Seo MinHyun thrived in the spotlight.

  Though his father was the head of the Flame Serpent Guild, he refused to return.

  “If I join him now, people will just say I’m riding his name,” he often joked, brushing golden strands out of his eyes. “But if I become famous on my own? That’s something they can’t take away.”

  And he had succeeded.

  Clearing gates alongside Mu Yichen gave him more exposure than any guild could buy. Reporters loved him. Fans followed him. Seo MinHyun stood proudly in the light he carved out for himself.

  But they both knew, one day, Mu Yichen would return to the Shadow Guild.

  And on that day, Seo MinHyun would return to the Flame Serpent Guild too, not as a child of his father, but as someone who’d made a name for himself.

  Until then, they moved side by side, two stars burning across the sky.

  Far beneath them, in the ruins of forgotten buildings, Lee Aseok remained in silence.

  No spotlight. No guild. No name.

  Just strength.

  And the will to disappear.

  The tall silhouette of the Government Hunter Headquarters rose above the rest of the district like a silent tower of steel and tension.

  Twenty floors high and always brimming with activity, it was the beating heart of the city’s gate operations. Gates opened across the regions at random, and so the building never slept.

  People came and went in a constant tide, hunters in armor, researchers in lab coats, analysts dragging data files and updates between departments. The air was thick with urgency.

  In the middle of this rush, two figures walked through the automatic glass doors, Mu Yichen and Seo MinHyun.

  Their presence didn’t go unnoticed.

  “Ah! Hunter Mu! Hunter Seo!”

  “Welcome back!”

  A chorus of greetings followed as staff members bowed their heads or offered polite smiles. The pair had visited so often, the building practically felt like their second home. Unlike most hunters, they didn’t need to wait for assignments—they had the privilege of choosing.

  Mu Yichen gave a small nod, his expression calm and distant as always.

  Seo MinHyun offered a charismatic smirk and waved, casual yet sharp-eyed as he scanned the people around them.

  But as the greetings faded, so did the light in the staff's expressions. The whispers came next.

  "That’s Mu Yichen, right? I can’t believe the holy sword rejected him."

  "Maybe he’s not as special as they say."

  "He still has an SSS-rank though... right?"

  "Who knows… maybe the chosen one is someone else entirely."

  There was pity in their tone, some even laced with satisfaction. Jealousy was an ugly thing, especially directed at someone who’d stood at the top for so long.

  Mu Yichen, with his enhanced perception, heard it all but he didn’t flinch.

  He walked past them with the same quiet grace, unaffected, as if their voices were no louder than a gust of wind in a courtyard.

  Seo MinHyun, however, didn’t hold back. He slowed his steps, his eyes scanning the crowd. The moment his gaze locked onto a group whispering at the corner, he clicked his tongue sharply and scoffed.

  “Tch. Cockroaches. Get stronger first before you run your mouths,” he muttered, loud enough for them to hear, and walked after his friend without waiting for a response.

  The group fell silent.

  The two made their way up to the 10th floor where the mission hall was located—a special floor only available to elite hunters with clearance. A large transparent screen lit up as they approached, scanning their IDs automatically and displaying the most dangerous current missions at the top.

  The doors to the mission selection floor slid open with a soft chime, and Mu Yichen stepped through, followed closely by Seo MinHyun.

  Immediately, he noticed the shift.

  This place was usually bright with chatter, light jokes, and the energetic banter of mission planners was blanketed in gloom.

  The lighting hadn’t changed, but somehow it felt dimmer. The air was heavy. The people moved with stiff shoulders and tired eyes, like ghosts running on duty instead of will.

  Even the clicking of keyboards sounded slower.

  Mu Yichen didn’t need to ask why. He already knew.

  The holy sword’s rejection of every participant himself included was more than just a blow to public expectation. For the people here, who worked in the shadow of the unknown, it was a warning bell.

  They understood the weight of the holy object better than most. They knew how devastating a gate could be even at C-rank if left unchecked.

  And the “Hell Gate,” without a chosen one to open and clear it? That was something too terrifying to even whisper aloud.

  Mu Yichen’s sharp hearing caught the fragments of anxious murmurs.

  “…still nothing on the chosen one?”

  “Not even a single new awakener with sword-related skill. We’ve checked everything twice.”

  “What if he’s already dead?”

  “Don’t say that. Don’t even think that.”

  Seo MinHyun’s eyes flicked from face to face, catching the anxiety. He scoffed and muttered under his breath, “Tch… All this drama over some sword. Just pick someone already, damn it.”

  Then, louder and with more edge, “At this point, the holy sword and its so-called ‘chosen one’ are just wasting our time.”

  A few people flinched. No one answered.

  Just then, a familiar man stepped through the corridor, a middle-aged man in a neat government suit, his sharp features now dulled by exhaustion and sleeplessness.

  His ID badge marked him as Kang Hojin, a mid-level administrator and team leader who often handled high-level mission coordination. He was also the one who typically worked with Mu Yichen and Seo MinHyun.

  “Hunters Mu, Seo,” Kang Hojin greeted as he approached, forcing a smile. “Glad you came.”

  Mu Yichen nodded, immediately noting the dark circles under the man’s eyes. Kang Hojin looked like he hadn’t slept in days. The rigid crease of his suit couldn’t hide the way his shoulders slumped.

  “I’ve prepared the latest A-rank gate listings in my office. Please, follow me.”

  As they moved toward the office, Seo MinHyun muttered under his breath, “He’s got the same expression as a man who just paid taxes and got audited on the same day.”

  Mu Yichen didn’t reply. His gaze swept over the hallway, watching people avoid eye contact and speak in hushed tones. It wasn’t fear of the holy sword. It was fear of the unknown. After waiting for a disaster they couldn’t stop.

  In the office, Kang Hojin closed the door behind them and gestured to the seats across his desk. Stacks of reports lined one wall. A digital board glowed behind him with various gate statuses, some blinking yellow, a few red.

  “I wanted to check on your condition,” he began gently. “There’s been… a lot of speculation. I hope the rejection didn’t affect you too deeply, Hunter Mu.”

  Mu Yichen raised a brow but remained calm.

  “I’m doing well,” he answered. “Just like always.”

  There was no bitterness in his tone, no flicker of resentment. If anything, he seemed detached, composed.

  Kang Hojin gave a tired nod, relieved. “I’m glad. You’ve always been professional.”

  Mu Yichen just smiled but his eyes were elsewhere as he was thinking about something.

  every Monday, Wednesday And Friday. Yes, every week!