LTTH C9

Chapter 9

So, you’re telling me that a full ten days had gone by? That it was nothing more than being fooled by the lie of dimensional transfer, going to England, leveling up a few stages, and then coming back? And all of that in just a blink of time?

“Ha.”

Both fists tightened on their own. The staggering time discrepancy left him dumbfounded, but at the same time his previously frozen thoughts began to churn. Could it really be that the Association hadn’t known about the difference in the flow of time between this world and the so-called other dimension? Unlikely. Even if they hadn’t been precise, certainly they had already formed at least a hypothesis. And yet Hansol had received no such explanation.

“You don’t require treatment, correct?”

“……”

Treatment—for a healer? The sarcasm in the man’s voice was sharp and deliberate, and Hansol did not offer an answer. Shameless. That was the only word to describe not just the researcher before him, but the Association as well, who had thrown him into England while disguising it as some ‘other dimension.’

‘No, wait.’

The place he had been sent under the guise of another dimension was England. Then what, was he to believe that Korea and England had a time difference of ten days? Impossible. As far as Hansol remembered, the time difference between Korea and England wasn’t even an entire day.

‘Then what is this?’

His thoughts, already tangled, began to snarl like yarn tangled in the paws of a cat. What Hansol had experienced had been England, without doubt. True, he couldn’t vouch personally for every Hunter in England, so he couldn’t be sure whether the Duke and Kassie, whom he had met there, were actual English Hunters—but everything else matched the England he had only ever heard described. The existence of the system, the recurring gate breaks—everything was the same.

Unless the world itself had gone mad, or he himself had lost his sanity, only two possibilities remained: either it had truly been another dimension, or England had become a place warped enough to hold a ten-day time gap with Korea.

1. In Hansol’s bewildered gaze, the number beside his level remained—unchanged except for the fact that it had finally risen. A level that in Korea had refused to move. Why had it risen only in England? Why had there been a time discrepancy of ten whole days? His gaze flicked sideways at the researcher before him. If he asked, would the man even answer?

“Is there some problem?”

An Association researcher. No matter how charitably Hansol saw it, this man could never be on his side.

‘…I mustn’t let it slip.’

A stagnant level had risen. To Hansol, that was a blessing, but would it be for the Association? Hardly. They had quietly belittled him all these years without hesitation. He did not hold any grudge, not anymore—but the problem lay in this awkwardly half-raised level. If his level had not risen at all, or if he had returned with a high level, things might be different—but at Level 15, he was neither here nor there. Too low to join hands with a guild strong enough to stand against the Association, too high to remain completely beneath notice. Certainly not high enough to strike out on his own either.

‘Ha. Level 1 or Level 15, it changes nothing in the end.’

Another healer in his shoes would no doubt be occupied with the blissful dilemma of choosing which guild, which ranker’s party to join. But Hansol, starting from a different finish line, was instead consumed with worry over how to remain unnoticed. The absurdity of it made him briefly laugh at himself.

“…My apologies, but I’m rather weary. Might I excuse myself first?”

“Hmm, unfortunately no. By procedure, all returnees from missions must undergo a full-scale examination.”

The man replied, far from apologetic. His tone was sharp, but there was some logic to it. What if Hansol had brought back some incomprehensible curse or status condition from the other dimension? To release him unchecked would severely damage the Association’s credibility. Of course, credibility was the last thing on Hansol’s mind at that moment.

‘If they discover not only my level-up but also my new skills…’

He didn’t even want to imagine it. Especially when one of those skills was an achievement-reward skill—something the Association had long lusted after, pouring in countless efforts, yet never succeeding at obtaining. It wasn’t as though Hansol planned to declare, ‘I got this by achievement reward!’ Of course not. But who was to say they couldn’t unearth it regardless, perhaps through methods or technology beyond his awareness?

If a full examination revealed his sudden level increase and the existence of new skills, the Association would never let him go freely. As a healer—a resource they treated almost as nobility—they wouldn’t kill him, perhaps, but the treatment awaiting him would not be kind. A healer who could actually fulfill his role was precisely the kind of asset the Association relished.

“What’s more, you returned far earlier than expected. An investigation is mandatory.”

Turning like a guide, the researcher led the way, and Hansol followed. Reluctant though he was, the man was pointing out something Hansol himself found strange. The pocket watch serving as the medium of dimensional transfer was supposed to require around a month to recharge its magic. Yet here he was, returned in mere hours. Could the mana density in England really be thirty times higher than Korea’s?

‘England… will they be alright?’

The peddler. The old man. The young man whose arm Hansol hadn’t fully healed.

That place—England—it had felt like he had become something more there. The place where he’d received enough gratitude to last a lifetime. A place that constantly tore itself apart in Gate Breaks, a hell by all measures.

Could the Sanctuary withstand without him? Especially in a land without healers at all? Once the Sanctuary expired, the problem would return. Kassie and the Duke might contend with the lesser monsters—but the one lingering in the air was another matter. Even at a glance, its aura rivaled world-boss monsters that Korean rankers needed raids to challenge. Confrontation was reckless; retreat was the only option. Yet Hansol doubted a man like the Duke would ever choose to flee.

As he stepped into the Association headquarters behind the researcher, Hansol prayed. That England would somehow endure.

England, for its part, was in absolute chaos. True, thanks to Hansol, they had narrowly survived the immediate crisis—but war still raged on around them.

“Isaac! Hansol—or rather, the Healer has disappeared!”

“…Kassie, I left him in your care.”

“Haha. And now he vanished?”

“…Is that truly what you wish to say right now?”

At the front lines, Duke Isaac grimaced as he hacked apart the rampaging Genome monsters. That healer who had descended from the heavens had been their only salvation, the sole thread reducing the endless damage from the unrelenting Gate Breaks. That was why Isaac had remained by his side until the end, only returning to the front after summoning Kassie through Whisper.

And now, in the short time since, he was gone? Was that truly the excuse Kassie dared give?

“…Where is he now?”

“Well, I did cast a tracking spell, but… I can’t quite pin him down.”

At Kassie’s infuriatingly casual reply, Isaac nearly swung his blade backward instead of at a genome. He restrained himself. High-level mages were precious. Yet staring at Kassie’s foolish grin and idiotic face, Isaac turned his head—in truth, lest he truly strike him down. Instead, he poured his rage into cutting down hordes of Genomes, his eyes shifting skyward.

The abomination that hung in the air was still frozen in place, held back by the Healer’s Sanctuary, but it had not vanished. There was no mystery about who would win when that golden radiance faded. It would descend, and the surviving soldiers stood no chance.

“What seemed like divine salvation turns out to be a cruel trick.”

Would things have been different, had he kept that healer beside him? Was entrusting him to Kassie a fatal error? With bitter regret, Isaac’s blade sliced the enemy crosswise. He would not die meekly. He would struggle, defy, and inflict as much pain as he could. His eyes flared crimson with defiance.

“Kassie, your mana charge?”

“Hmm, about halfway full, I think.”

“Hit it once.”

“Eh, I doubt one shot will be enough, though?”

“Then hit it again.”

Splattering blood in arcs where his sword cleaved, Isaac flicked his blade clear after carving down more Genomes. Red stains followed the path, and the fact that these creatures bled red at all, as though that alone sufficed to call them alive, sickened him.

“Next time, I won’t entrust this to you.”

“…What?”

Isaac’s voice was cold as he infused his sword with energy. From the beginning, rumor said, the healer had fallen alone into the very heart of battle without warning. He might just appear again, as suddenly. If so—he decided then—this time, it would be Isaac himself who kept him safe. No one would take him away.

1. As if to affirm his resolve, that dazzling number radiated brightly on Isaac’s status window, a testament to his formidable will.

Forgotten England.

The unending gates, the ceaseless Breaks—it was clear this was hell. Yet that very hell served as a crucible, propelling the survivors into extraordinary growth. And Isaac was one among those forged by it.

Though access to England had been cut off by the ever-spreading corruption of gates and monsters, though the world had long since given up on them, England clung to life—stubbornly, ruthlessly. Perhaps alongside a man who, even more than the world’s top-ranked Hunter, now seemed stronger.