LTTH C24

Chapter 24

It was no mere auditory hallucination. Though the hunters seemed unaware, Hansol heard with startling clarity. He stood rooted in place, turning his head sharply. Upon listening again, it was clear the voice was not Korean. A chilling voice, alien to human tongue. Though the language defied identification, the meaning unfolded with eerie precision.

(A mere human could not possibly hear my words.)

“Ah.”

“Hansol, Hansol!”

It was no human presence. The lengthening phrase and swelling presence made knowledge undeniable—a being other than man had come into this place.

“…It is dangerous.”

“Do you sense something?”

“There is something not human here.”

“No matter how high my sensory stat, I sense nothing…”

“Darling, there is something, isn’t there?”

Cold sweat beaded down Hansol’s back as he muttered in fits. James and the Master showed at least some measure of belief, but the other hunters did not. There existed a third kind of stat, unmeasurable by straightforward values such as health or mana. Among these was the ‘Sensation’ stat.

To define it roughly, it heightened one’s sensory acuity. One might simply liken it to a keener awareness of presences and a greater attunement to the atmosphere than the common folk. Yet a high Sensation stat aided in navigating the Gate and perceiving danger early, enabling a safer clearing. Among those hunters with elevated Sensation, many transitioned into guides within the Gates.

And naturally, such a guide was present within Hansol’s party, the ten carefully selected.

“Being a healer, you may excel in healing, but my own stats perceive nothing odd. Why do you insist something lurks here?”

A hunter, stoic and sharp-featured, adjusted his angular spectacles and spoke. His demeanor suggested no tolerance for error, and Hansol’s body trembled slightly in response.

“I might well have the highest Sensation stat among us here.”

“Indeed.”

With the assent of several hunters, the man’s glasses rose sharply once more, revealing him as the famed guide Minos’ progeny. The man shifted under the influence of grand guilds unwilling to mingle with Hansol, a seasoned hunter accustomed to plotting precise routes and leading without fault.

As one acquainted with rankers and their ways, his words naturally bore greater weight.

“Tell me, by whose favour do you think you entered this Gate?”

“Hansol was with us at the start and at the end. None here should be ignorant of that.”

James and the Master snarled in displeasure, yet no more than that; the rest wore expressions of bewilderment. By all reason, it was hard to believe something had escaped the notice of Minos’ son. Had it been the old Hansol, he, too, would have assented.

(Hmm, is something different? Tsk. Or perhaps not.)

Still, the disquieting voice echoed persistently within his ears. Should it be a hallucination, that too posed its own trouble.

(This is rather amusing.)

“……!”

A laugh, tinged with mirth yet chilling to the spine, sounded. Hansol clutched tightly to the collars of James and the Master as he scanned the surroundings. Something would manifest. Such was a law already decreed.

“Something is coming.”

“Perhaps a welcome development. Has there been naught but those tentacles before?”

“Indeed. Let us give battle.”

‘No, this is no time for ease.’

Hansol alone felt the frustration amid the confident hunters. Danger loomed. A warning that had saved his own life multiple times raised its voice fiercely now. To flee would be wise—but if he fled, what of the others?

In his sight strode the hunters, each engraving resolve upon their faces. Could these not be afraid? Of course not; their presence alone radiated an overwhelming aura. Surely, they would notice what he could not. Those keeping the line bore duty and responsibility—failure here would almost certainly herald a Gate Break at best.

Hansol bit his lips and clenched the collars of James and the Master.

“Hansol?”

“Darling?”

“It is perilous. Most so.”

His voice, low and trembling, carried warning—the best he could muster behind a mask of composed falsehood. He yearned to shout, “Flee, all of you!” and burst into flight, yet he was the sole healer here. Were he to retreat, all awaiting them faced only death.

‘…Perhaps there is even the faintest chance.’

Though the number lay close to zero, with infinite zeros trailing, at the end there might be one.

Overlaying his mind’s turbulent anxiety with a fragile logic, Hansol steeled himself. After all, here stood the world ranker, the Tower’s Master, and the first Holy Knight.

I will survive. I must.

As if to mock his resolve, cracks appeared in the verdant aether, and from the billowing black smoke, a presence manifested.

The impact was neither brilliant nor praetentious but a mere curling of smoke. Yet that humble tendril of darkness easily shattered two rankers who had once stood proudly in the frontline.

‘Damnation.’

The death was too swift—the agony of final breath unheard. Handpicked elite hunters of the world, their fate laid bare in a ruinous end that rendered all their laurels meaningless.

‘They were rankers…!’

Each was a force comparable to sovereign power. Yet such a pitiful defeat—how could it be spoken of? As the black smoke adorned the air and slowly took form, the mere seconds it took crushed any will in Hansol to move. Whether to flee or fight, the outcome seemed certain.

“Hansol, run.”

“…Yes?”

“What words are these, mage?”

“This is beyond even my detection magic. A being none here could hope to overcome, even should all charge at it.”

“…Is that so?”

“Indeed.”

The Master’s resolute voice struck James’ expression rigid. As the black mist coalesced into a shadowy silhouette, a creeping dread began to ascend like smoke curling in the night.

“Come, darling.”

“No, wait.”

“There is no ‘wait.’”

“Blessing—why not use Blessing?”

Hansol shook off James’s grasp and spoke urgently. Now was not the time to surrender—they had yet to exhaust all means. Even unleashing full might barely sufficed; if James and the others flagged, what awaited the remaining ones was naught but death.

Hansol was a healer.

One who saved lives. To abandon them would be unthinkable. Such a notion held no place within his understanding.

“It is not time to give up. You said this skill confers a buff? Could there not yet remain hope, if everyone’s power increases roughly one and a halffold?”

“…Blessing.”

That was why. A gamble it might be, a near impossible wager converging to naught, yet he placed his hope in the faintest flicker of possibility.

“There might… just might be a chance.”

“Then…!”

“Though I grasp your meaning, Hansol, I must decline your advance to the forefront.”

“No, but—”

“I agree as well, darling.”

United as if rehearsed, the pair implored Hansol in unison to retreat to the rear. Though framed as requests and suggestions, both possessed the power to enforce their will. Hence, all Hansol could do was fall back behind them, watching and preparing his spells.

“Understood.”

Such protection was unwanted favour. Perhaps he should be grateful to still remain in this battle. A quiet sigh escaped him, even as he faced forward. The Holy Knight youth, the Master, and James would lead the way.

“FXXK!”

The skill Blessing embraced them; golden light suffused their forms before briefly fading. Were they stirred to an unknown fervor? James cursed and raised his arm.

A vast golden shield emerged ahead, particles of light glowing, exuding an aura of radiance. James’s stance embodied it fully.

‘Perhaps this is our chance…’

The dazzling golden shield kindled a spark of hope.