TFN C46

Chapter 46

In the meantime, the black masses piled so thickly that the outside of the cube was no longer visible.

“It feels like we’re sinking into a swamp.”

Cheongmun, weighing the best way to clear the dungeon with his limited bullets, raised his gun and fired at one side. The shot pierced through the blobs overhead and vanished.

“Sir, maybe conserve your ammo until we—”

Boom!

The deputy had been about to suggest they pause and strategize when something fell, snapping his head up in alarm.

The clumps plastered against the cube overhead burst into ash, raining down. Only then could they see what had dropped.

Cheongmun flicked his fingers. A second cube, the size of the safety zone cube, hovered into the air and merged with the first as it sank.

The masses clinging to the walls shrieked—“Kyaaak!”—and vanished.

Clear vision restored, Cheongmun pulled a sanctified round from his magazine and activated the skill inscribed upon it. Though meant for long-range sniping, such items had to be used however needed, without waste.

He summoned a holy cube outside, expanded it, and spun it rapidly around their position.

Whirr—!

Like a giant swinging a hammer, the rotating cube crushed the monsters.

Cheongmun widened its sweep in concentric circles, rippling outward.

By the third great circle, the golden radiance spilling from the cube winked out.

“Holy power’s gone.”

“What? Attributes can run out?”

They had always believed, as with fire-forged swords or water-staffs, that attributes remained until destruction. “Semi-permanent,” people called them.

Cheongmun only shrugged at the alert hovering before his eyes.

“Not embedded in the item itself—layered over as a skill. That must be why.”

He had slain countless creatures at once, and it seemed the power had simply burned away.

He swung the cube again, but this time it only shoved the monsters into heaps, without eradicating them.

From the sky above, fresh masses poured endlessly, cramming the gaps.

“We’ll have to deal with that.”

The deputy pointed upward.

Even if they managed the spawned mobs, it would be endless. The only option would be to abandon the fight and charge straight to the boss.

But among those present, only Cheongmun could do such a thing—and he could not take them all with him.

No one could say how long the civilians dragged into the dungeon could survive before Cheongmun located and slew the boss. Casualties might already be enormous.

Cheongmun turned his gaze to the pit of letters, the place linked to Hunternet.

Nam screwed his eyes shut.

“We can’t send messages outside from in here, can we?”

“If we could, the site would’ve been shut already. Temporary maintenance notice slapped up.”

Kim muttered curses, ranting about how every time they said “S-Rank” he wanted to scream.

And then, from the stream of black letters at his feet, a pale hand shot out.

“What the hell—!”

Cheongmun snapped his head around just as the intruder emerged, riding the text, lips curling as its translucent arm plunged into Kim’s body.

“Ghk—! E…everyone… run…!”

Kim’s head fell limp. His body was wrapped in the vague silhouette of a ghostly form.

“Ahhh! He’s casting spells!”

Kim Geungsik, the Bureau’s top analyst of magical recordings, a mage who studied illusion.

Possessed by the intruding spirit, his palm flared with fire. Flames swelled monstrously within the cube.

The deputy charged forward, but Cheongmun only clicked his tongue as he watched the monster puppeteering Kim’s body.

He summoned a new cube around Kim.

“Oxygen removal.”

At once, the fire died. Kim collapsed unconscious, starved of air.

The ghostly parasite wriggled free, only to be shot down by Cheongmun with a sanctified bullet.

“Ugh, senior…”

Though a hunter’s body was tough, without oxygen, the brain suffered.

The team rushed to Kim’s side, restoring his breathing.

Outside, black masses dragged them down like a swamp. Inside, pale phantoms slithered in unbidden, hunting to possess.

This dungeon was no ordinary anomaly—it was peril itself.

The ground shook.

Beeeeep—!

A piercing warning tone accompanied the arrival of an emergency alert on Wonhyo’s phone.

〈[Seoul Metropolitan Government] Dungeon manifested on Gyeongin-ro, Yeongdeungpo District.

Nearby residents, evacuate immediately. Beware falling glass, signs, and concrete debris.〉

A dungeon had spawned nearby.

The unmanned taxi slowed, hazard lights blinking, and stopped at the nearest station.

[Your set destination has been designated as an emergency evacuation zone. Trip ends here. Please ensure you have all belongings before disembarking.]

The polite announcement was followed by an automatic partial refund.

Wonhyo stepped out and looked around.

He did not know the neighborhood, but one landmark was unmistakable.

The sign read Yeongdeungpo Market Station. He was close enough.

Turning southward, he muttered, “What in the world is happening?”

“Where should we go?”

“There’s a shelter up there!”

Worried voices bustled around him as people hurried toward the designated evacuation site.

Cheongmun couldn’t be far.

Wonhyo considered using the thread of fate again to divine his position, but lifted his head.

His status window had not warned him, so he hadn’t realized—but faintly, from a distance, he felt the aura of a vengeful spirit he knew too well.

He saw the gray smoke and dust rising in that direction. The dungeon, pulling in earth and matter, had sparked fires.

“He must be there.”

Wonhyo was certain.

Either inside the dungeon, or just outside.

If buildings had been dragged in, people surely had too, and Cheongmun would be rescuing them.

He thought of the talismans he had prepared. If only he could deliver them—but entering the scene would be impossible. Amid such chaos, summoning Cheongmun out would be nothing but a hindrance. And dangerous besides.

Sighing, Wonhyo opened his map app to find the nearest shelter.

The station building had one, but already full, forcing him to go farther.

He scrolled north. An elementary school gymnasium was listed.

He glanced south again, fiddling with his phone, before turning away.

He planned to walk to the shelter and call a taxi home afterward.

But as he took a step, his body froze.

“…Huh?”

It was as though his soles had fused to the concrete.

A weight pressed from above, and he instinctively twisted his neck to ease the stiffness.

“General?”

Cautiously, he called the spirit his mother served.

No reply. Only his body moved—slowly, inexorably—turning him southward again.

He tried to resist, to change direction, but it was useless. The general’s power shoved him only south.

“Do I really have to go that way?”

That way lay the dungeon.

The sort serious enough to warrant disaster alerts. Not like the placid ruin behind Cheonggye Mall they had visited before.

What could a useless scrap like him possibly do?

Still, when he sought compromise, the answer was ironclad. No room for negotiation.

With the Immortal Maiden, sometimes he could haggle. But the general allowed no detours.

In that sense, the child-spirit was the easiest—he could be swayed with a bag of snacks.

Step by step, shoved forward, Wonhyo moved south.

The once-faint ghostly aura grew clearer. Still weak, like a single drop of ink in a vast tub of water, but perceivable—within a kilometer at least.

『Contact with powerful Ghost Qi detected. (…In progress…76.2%)』

He had thought he was safe, but apparently not.

At the warning, Wonhyo instinctively tried to retreat. No use.

『Contact with powerful Ghost Qi detected. (…In progress…77.1%)』

It was only a small increase, but after the earlier Hunternet incident, his meter was already critical.

He clenched his fists.

If he dawdled like a bull resisting the yoke, he would transform into a dog and be dragged to Cheongmun.

Even as a man, he might not be able to summon him—but as a dog, there’d be no chance.

Drawing a deep breath, Wonhyo sprinted.

Whether it led to death or survival, he had to find Cheongmun before he became a beast.

“General, I hate you!”

He demanded whether it had to be this way, but there was no response—the general was not one he served personally, and no conversation was possible.

“I’ll tell my mother later!”

She treated the spirit with respect, but as in parent-teacher conferences, authority lay with the parent of the child.

As he ran south, past the stream of evacuees fleeing north, they looked at him as though he were mad.

He only shouted back, “Preventing self-consciousness overload!” and kept running.