TFN C35

Chapter 35

Cheongmun watched as Wonhyo slipped past his hand and entered the dungeon alone, a faint smile at his lips. Soon his expression flattened, tilting his head in terse thought.

Common sense dictated that when entering a dungeon or a Tower, companions maintained physical contact. Otherwise, one risked being scattered to random points on entry, never knowing where each might land.

In the case of the Seouljang Dungeon, those entering within five meters of the gate within a brief span would generally be grouped together—but still, best to issue a warning. Especially so to one who avoided touch as though it were taboo.

『You have entered Dungeon “Seouljang.”

The curse penalty is partially lifted.』

“…What?”

Stiff-limbed, nerves making him swing his arms erratically, Wonhyo froze at the alert. He tried to call it back up, but another message already overlaid it.

『Upon first entry, a one-time dungeon bonus is granted.』

『Exposed to dungeon mana. Mana adaptation increases.』

『Dungeon mana influence raises skill proficiency.』

『Dungeon’s…』

On this singular, first dungeon entry, all accumulated rewards poured in at once.

He blinked in stupefaction.

This is a thing?

And what did it mean that part of his penalty was lifted? Which part? What was resolved? None of this was ever mentioned in forums or rumor circles.

At least it didn’t seem immediately harmful.

“Yun Wonhyo-ssi.”

He turned to find Cheongmun already at his side, shadow slanting across him. The hunter’s presence felt sharper, rawer here within the dungeon, like a blade drawn taut.

Why? Is it dangerous?

Cheongmun, eyes dipped halfway, spoke levelly.

“After awakening, you should have completed two weeks of safety training. You did not?”

“…Excuse me?”

“Hunter safety training. Did you fail to complete it?”

Mention of safety drills left Wonhyo blinking.

“Uh… well, they told me I only had to take the online course. So I took the one-month series.”

Cheongmun’s brow furrowed.

“That four-week online lecture series?”

Wonhyo nodded sheepishly.

Before his awakening, several crafters and non-combat hunters of weak constitution had fallen ill entering dungeons. Until the problem was contained, regulations changed—lower-ranked production types only needed to finish one month course and pass an exam. He had barely passed.

“When you first awakened… your rank was F?”

“…Yes.”

Though his rank had risen significantly and later dropped again with penalties, he had indeed begun at F.

Cheongmun’s gaze narrowed.

“Currently… you’re around D-rank, aren’t you?”

How did he know? Can he see?

Truthfully, his level had once been higher, though penalties had locked his skills now. Still, he nodded.

“When rank changes, it must be reported within one month. Failure is subject to fines.”

“…Fines?”

“Yes.”

“I thought renewal was required only within the year.”

“That was before. As of January 1st this year, the grace period ended. It’s one month now.”

“Then I…”

“If you haven’t been audited, you were lucky. But if caught, discretion applies—like now.”

Confronted by the very officer who enforced it, Wonhyo lowered his eyes hastily.

“I’ll report as soon as we leave.”

“That would be best. Also, during the online course, it must have been outlined: when entering a dungeon with companions, one must maintain physical contact to ensure safe arrival. You saw this?”

“…!”

Wonhyo’s jaw dropped.

Only now did the truth hit him—he had waltzed blindly alone across the gate. Recklessness masked as ignorance, he had practically tried suicide. A dungeon was never harmless, no matter what people said.

“Ahhhh—! I’m sorry!”

Realizing his mistake, Wonhyo bent nearly double, apologizing. His face flushed scarlet.

Yes, he had slept through those lectures, crammed for the test, and let every detail evaporate afterward. But when life was at stake, he should have remembered. Instead, he let his panic blank him out.

A low sigh issued above his bowed head.

“So long as you don’t repeat it, one mistake firmly learned is enough.”

“Yes, sir!” Wonhyo nodded vigorously.

What he had once dismissed—glad he wouldn’t need close contact if he’d never enter dungeons or Towers—was no trivial relief. Worse, he now realized: climbing the Tower to the 7th floor would require holding hands with comrades anyway.

His spine prickled cold, calculating even repayment funds might need compensating commensurate with risk.

Yet he comforted himself—at least he learned it early, not when his partner’s life depended on him. Better chastisement than crushing guilt after disaster.

“I’ll remember it hereafter.”

“See that you do. Now… does this setting suit you?”

Having said all he intended, Cheongmun allowed the subject to close.

“…Yes. It’s perfect.”

Already he noticed: not all penalties clung here, and these skill-proficiency buffs were real. If ever there was a place to summon a spirit tethered to an item—it was here.

Sunlight poured down on endless grassland, clouds overhead, the scene tranquil enough to seem unreal. If not for the barrier demarcating the dungeon’s shell, he would never guess he was inside.

He changed into ceremonial attire and laid out the altar.

Simple, childlike. A spread of apples, oranges, three kinds of greens, a bottle of liquor, and a can of sweet fermented punch. Modest fare; with Cheongmun’s limitless card he could have gone lavish—a table of meats and pancakes—but that wasn’t needed.

He rolled out a patterned mat from his inventory, spread it wide on the grass, then glanced at Cheongmun.

“Place the school trousers here.”

He indicated the empty spot where ancestral tablets or portraits were usually set. Cheongmun took out the pants from the cube, folded them respectfully, and laid them there.

Shoes off, Wonhyo stepped onto the mat, studying the altar.

People lump rituals together as one “gut” (spirit rite), but in truth each region, each purpose, differed. Broadly: prepare the place, call the spirits, honor them, then send them off.

But for a murdered soul bound in between, who knew whether the gate of death had even opened? Which spirit to call for permission first?

His mother had taught him: begin with 지노귀굿 (Jinogwi-gut)—petitioning the other side to allow a spirit temporary return.

Decision made, Wonhyo gripped his ritual instrument, resonant with his power.

What had begun as small bells reformed, taking shape as a janggu drum.

“This is the Jinogwi rite for the departed. Today, on the day of remembrance, let the lost soul descend and speak what must be spoken, through me. Be not startled at the beating drum; be seated and hear.”

He struck the janggu, circling and pacing his measured steps, announcing the rite aloud—to gods who might heed, to saints who breathed mana here.

Cheongmun observed him circle within and without the mat, voice ringing steady.

Now he finally understood what Wonhyo had meant earlier, that some services were not to be charged as labor—the sacred air itself testified.

Even simplified, the rite radiated solemnity.

No gongs, no cymbals—only Wonhyo’s voice filled the quiet field, without emptiness.

Clad in red robe and black vest, black cap upon his head, he moved slowly, then stopped at the center.

Head twisting, shoulders rolling, he lifted his hands. The janggu’s form shifted again—into a bamboo staff taller than himself.

Raising his voice, throat singing with resonance, he called:

“I take up the spirit pole. A soul shackled in this world, nameless, voiceless, caught in error—I grasp this pole to discern truth. If you are here, reveal yourself.”

Cheongmun’s eyes narrowed.

A sound like dry leaves scraping burst through the still air, though no wind stirred.

Wonhyo bent his head, released the staff—yet it did not fall. Pierced like a post, it stood upright in the earth.

“If you are here, let us see your face.”

Cheongmun, gaze lowering past phantom-shaking trees, saw the figure approach.

Stumbling forward into solidity, a shape the same height as Wonhyo emerged.

He had expected something grotesque, malignant, like the spirit that once clawed out of a captain in Team 2.

Instead, wavering and faint, stood the pale outline of a child’s face.