A few hunters looked down at their own finely crafted weapons, forged at great expense.

  Then, they glanced back up at Lee Aseok’s iron rod—simple, unadorned, but wielded with devastating force.

  Whispers floated through the crowd: "That rod... somehow, it’s more formidable than any sword we own."

  From a safe vantage point, Mu Yichen’s eyes narrowed sharply.

  He stood ready, prepared to intervene if necessary, but he knew Lee Aseok was no reckless fighter.

  This—this was something different.

  The fierce, almost desperate aggression was unlike anything he had ever seen in the usually stoic man.

  Questions churned in Mu Yichen’s mind.

  What had driven Lee Aseok to fight like this?

  What ghosts were fueling his rage?

  Despite the danger, Mu Yichen felt a strange certainty—he would stand by Lee Aseok, come what may.

  Even Seo MinHyun and He Ziqin, who were usually quick with sarcastic remarks and teasing banter, found themselves paralyzed in silent shock.

  They had never witnessed this side of Lee Aseok before.

  The hunter they knew would strike and move with cold efficiency, leaving a trail of broken enemies behind.

  But this..this was a brutal, merciless battle waged with raw emotion.

  Every clash sent tremors through the city’s core.

  Every swing was a shout of fury.

  The dragon lunged forward again, claws raking across the concrete in a jagged arc.

  Lee Aseok blocked with the iron rod, sparks flying where metal met scale.

  He twisted, bringing his full weight behind a counterstrike that shattered a chunk of the beast’s armored chest.

  The dragon roared in pain and fury, rearing up and smashing down with crushing force.

  Lee Aseok barely dodged, rolling across rubble and rising immediately to meet the next assault.

  They traded blows like titans in a war of attrition, the battle moving in chaotic waves across shattered streets and ruined buildings.

  Though Lee Aseok could have ended the fight swiftly, he was far too strong for this beast, he did not.

  His strikes were fueled by a storm of questions, anger, and despair.

  With every devastating blow, he vented years of betrayal and suffering, lashing out not just at the dragon, but at a world that had wronged him.

  The dragon was fierce and far from defeated.

  It battered the streets with its massive tail, sending cars flying like toys.

  It roared, flamed, and clawed, refusing to yield.

  But Lee Aseok met every attack with relentless ferocity.

  Throughout the battle, the holy sword lingered beside Lee Aseok, glowing faintly.

  It moved on its own at times, slicing through monsters that strayed too close.

  But Lee Aseok himself relied solely on his old iron rod—his chosen weapon.

  To the crowd, it was a symbol of something deeper than the glowing sword.

  It was raw power, tempered by pain and experience.

  The city held its breath.

  All around the shattered streets, hunters and civilians alike stood frozen, caught in a silence so thick it pressed against their chests like iron bands.

  The only sound was the battle itself.

  No cries for help, no panic.

  Just the deep, bone-shaking roars of the dragon and the sharp, brutal clash of Lee Aseok’s iron rod against living armor.

  The dust hung heavy in the air, swirling with every strike, blurring the edges of the combatants as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the wreckage.

  And then, after what felt like an eternity of chaos, Lee Aseok gathered energy, dark, raw power that pulsed beneath his skin.

  It was power drawn from somewhere no one else could see: the dungeon core he had absorbed in secret, the source of his true strength.

  The air crackled around his iron rod as it glowed with that hidden energy.

  With a single, sweeping strike, faster than any eye could follow, he struck the dragon’s neck.

  A clean, sharp sound cut through the chaos, the sound of bone and sinew severed.

  The dragon’s head flew from its massive body, crashing onto the shattered street with a thunderous impact.

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  The crowd exhaled as one.

  Shock and disbelief rippled through them.

  They stared at Lee Aseok’s small frame, barely a shadow beside the fallen beast, and whispered among themselves:

  "What... what kind of monster is this?"

  Their eyes flicked from the severed dragon head to the hunter’s calm, unyielding stance.

  The gate behind the fallen dragon shimmered, its color fading as the dungeon boss was slain.

  It was closing.

  The gate shimmered faintly, its blue hue flickering like a dying flame. It was nearly gone, collapsing in on itself now that its core, the dungeon boss, had been slain.

  Lee Aseok stood before it, silent, unmoving.

  Then, without any urgency, he raised one foot and kicked.

  The dragon’s massive corpse, its neck severed cleanly, shifted from the force.

  The grotesque weight of it rolled once, then again, its bulk scraping against the broken asphalt with a low, sickening grind.

  Then, with a single, effortless motion, Lee Aseok grasped the edge of the monster's wing and flung the entire body into the collapsing gate.

  A dull suctioning sound filled the air as the carcass vanished into the glow.

  The street fell into dead silence.

  All eyes were on him.

  Hunters, agents, guild members, reporters, every single person stood frozen in place, breath held, as if even blinking would provoke him.

  They stared at the lean figure standing among the rubble, blood and dust clinging to the folds of his torn clothes. A single man. No armor. No backup. No hesitation.

  They couldn’t comprehend what they’d just seen.

  Was he human?

  "What… What kind of monster is he?" someone whispered, and no one dared to answer.

  Lee Aseok turned slightly, his gaze sweeping over the remains of the battlefield.

  And that’s when he saw them.

  A cluster of dungeon creatures, scaled, low-bodied lizards with jagged tails and sunken eyes, lingered just beyond the field of battle.

  They had emerged from the gate earlier, remnants that hadn’t yet returned or been slain.

  They were watching him.

  Tension laced the air like wire. The monsters didn’t move. Neither did he.

  Lee Aseok’s eyes still burned with a silent fury, a rage that hadn’t left him even after the dragon’s death. He didn’t shout. He didn’t charge.

  He simply lifted his iron rod and pointed—first at them, then at the gate.

  The meaning was clear.

  Go.

  The lizards froze for one second longer. Then they ran.

  They turned in a burst of panicked motion, claws skittering against cracked concrete as they bolted toward the shrinking portal.

  Not one looked back. They fled as if the breath of death itself was at their heels.

  And in a way, it was.

  A collective chill rolled through the crowd. It was one thing to watch a man kill a dragon. It was another to watch monsters flee from him without a fight.

  The gate vanished behind the lizards with a final, soundless flicker.

  The threat was gone.

  But no one could move.

  Their bodies felt locked, bound by the presence of the man standing in the middle of the wreckage.

  Lee Aseok stood still with his head bowed. Dust curled around his feet, and his shadow stretched long beneath the dimming sky.

  No one could see his expression, but something primal inside them told them not to speak. Not to approach. Not to breathe too loudly.

  The tension around him was suffocating.

  It wasn’t just battle fatigue. It wasn’t exhaustion.

  It was something deeper.

  Something violent.

  Something broken.

  And then—movement.

  Mu Yichen was the first to step forward. His boots crunched over broken glass and concrete, the sound impossibly loud in the silence.

  His face was unreadable, as it always was, but his pace was cautious.

  He was followed by Kang Juwon. The guild master moved slower, eyes narrowed, his curiosity piqued more than his concern.

  Behind them, the rest of the hero team broke out of their trance. Park Taegun followed, then Seo MinHyun, and finally He Ziqin.

  But something stopped them.

  They got within several meters of Lee Aseok and halted, instinctively.

  The air around him had changed.

  It wasn’t just tension anymore—it was something like pressure, an oppressive force radiating from him that made it feel like stepping any closer would mean crossing a line they wouldn’t come back from.

  Seo MinHyun’s usual cocky grin faded. “Why does it feel like he’s… burning?” he muttered.

  Taegun didn’t answer. He was focused on the man in front of them.

  And now that they were close enough, they noticed the damage.

  Dust settled slowly around them, drifting through the fractured air like snow over a battlefield long since silenced.

  A strange stillness reigned in the aftermath of chaos, and the closer they came to Lee Aseok, the more that stillness began to feel… wrong.

  Park Taegun, Seo MinHyun, and He Ziqin all stood just a few paces behind, unsure whether to move forward or not.

  Something primal in their bodies told them to stay back, to observe rather than approach.

  But Mu Yichen kept walking.

  Kang Juwon followed a step behind, eyes narrowed.

  And now that they were close, really close, they could see what the others couldn’t.

  Lee Aseok's clothes were torn in jagged patches, slashed open across the arms, the waist, the chest.

  His coat barely clung to his shoulders, shredded down one side. Through the rips, his pale skin showed, marred by bruises, faint burns, and dozens of old, crisscrossing scars.

  But that wasn’t what stopped them.

  There was something glowing beneath the ruin of his shirt.

  A golden light.

  Kang Juwon blinked, his eyes adjusting to the strange gleam. The fabric shifted slightly with Lee Aseok’s breath, revealing more of the mark beneath, etched across his chest in looping, ancient lines, like something carved by divine hands.

  It pulsed faintly.

  Not with blood.

  With power.

  And it wasn’t just glowing, it was pure gold, radiant yet… wrong.

  Because for all its holy beauty, it made their stomachs twist.

  A mark like that, pure, perfect, divine—should have felt like salvation.

  Instead, it made the air heavier.

  The ground is colder.

  It was like staring at a sunset that hurt to look at. Like something meant to save had long since forgotten how to.

  “What… is that?” He Ziqin whispered from behind them, but no one answered.

  Mu Yichen stepped closer, his tone soft but cautious. “Lee Aseok.”

  No response.

  “You’re injured,” he said. “Are you alright?”

  Still nothing.

  Then, slowly, like stone shifting beneath a glacier, Lee Aseok lifted his head.

  His expression was perfectly calm.

  But his eyes were not.

  They were molten. Burning. Anger, undiluted and unchecked, churned behind them, rage so deep it could not be voiced, only endured.

  His jaw was locked, his body held taut with restraint that looked like it was seconds from snapping.

  The shift was so sharp that Seo MinHyun took an instinctive step back.

  Even Mu Yichen, who rarely reacted to anything, felt it like a gust of cold wind straight through the ribs.

  This wasn’t the quiet, indifferent hunter they knew.

  This was something far more dangerous.

  Kang Juwon’s voice was low, curious but tense. “That mark… that’s not a skill, is it?”

  Lee Aseok didn’t answer.

  He didn’t even look at them.

  Instead, his gaze turned, past them, behind them.

  To the air.

  Floating silently, barely visible to any but him, was the holy sword.

  It drifted behind him like a ghost at his shoulder, sheathed in phantom light.

  And for the first time in the entire battle, Lee Aseok acknowledged its presence.

  He stared at it.

  Then, without raising his voice, he said, “You remembered.”

  The wind shifted.

  A faint vibration hummed through the air.

  The sword trembled, only slightly, but enough that Kang Juwon’s eyes flicked toward it. He couldn’t see the weapon fully, not like Aseok could, but even he could feel the atmosphere change.

  Lee Aseok’s lips curled into a bitter smile.

  He raised his hand, and with a slow, deliberate motion, pointed to the golden mark burned into his chest.

  “You remembered who left this too.”

  The sword didn’t react.

  But it didn’t need to.

  Lee Aseok already knew.

  “You knew,” he said, quieter now. “You remember all of it, don’t you?”

  His tone wasn’t accusatory.

  It was hollow.

  Like speaking to an old companion at a grave.

  Author Note:

  Every “OH MY GOD ASEOK STOP” gives me the strength to write the next disaster.

  Mon ? Wed ? Fri

  (Yes, I too question my life choices.)

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