TFN C69

Chapter 69

“Hm?”

At Nam, the junior officer’s sudden interjection, the chatter in the room died down. Everyone fell silent, heads tilting as they processed his words.

“What’s the maximum rank threshold for this place again?” someone asked.

“If you’re referring to the artificial dungeon, the last recorded test was B-rank,” another replied.

“That’s when over a hundred participants got pulled in, right? The difficulty spiked after that—apparently, it even triggered a hidden condition that raised the dungeon’s rank.”

“At first, when it was just a matter of meeting the headcount, it was D-rank. It jumped the second time when the participants’ average ranks increased.”

Barely twenty-four hours had passed since the last incident, so everyone remembered it vividly.

“What’s the average rank if it’s just us entering?”

“Wait a sec… B? Maybe B+. I don’t know that guy’s rank, though.”

Wonhyo, who’d been idly examining the laptop inside Cheongmun’s cube, perked up at once. He was the only outsider in the lab—so if there was an “unknown,” it had to be him.

“Ah… I’m S-rank,” he said cautiously.

“S-rank—sorry, what? Weren’t you F-rank?”

“If you didn’t attend in-person safety training and only took online courses, you’d still be classified as F,” someone muttered skeptically.

No one said it aloud, but the glances he received—half curious, half doubtful—were enough to tell what everyone was thinking.

“It’s just… I hadn’t renewed my rank registration within the one-year limit. My class quest had my rank locked, so it didn’t reflect any of my progress since awakening.”

Cheongmun, who had been observing quietly, spoke up on Wonhyo’s behalf.

The deputy team leader narrowed his eyes. The normally genial man suddenly looked sharp, almost intimidating.

“If it didn’t change much, that still means it did change, doesn’t it?” he said pointedly.

The air tightened. The others’ gazes turned more appraising.

“It only unlocked recently—like, just now! I’m scheduled for re-evaluation tomorrow!” Wonhyo stammered quickly.

“Ah, I see. Have you made an appointment yet?”

“Uh? Oh—you’re talking to me. Not yet, sir. I came straight here, so I haven’t had time.”

The junior officer with the short hair—the same one who had earlier been loudly arguing about provoking the vengeful spirit—walked over, holding a tablet.

“Then let’s make one right now, sir. Re-awakenings can be a bit tricky, but it’s not painful or complicated.”

Seeing the fierce gleam of bureaucratic zeal in their eyes—the kind that hunted down unregistered awakened criminals—Wonhyo sighed quietly and complied, scheduling his examination right there in front of them.

“With two S-ranks, our average jumps higher,” someone noted.

“Count me out. Ghost-types mess with me too much,” said Officer Kim, who had been possessed once before and still wasn’t over it. The team nodded, rearranging the lineup accordingly.

Cheongmun, who had been typing rapidly on a tablet, paused and turned to Wonhyo.

“Can you go?”

“Me?”

Instead of answering immediately, Wonhyo took a moment to assess himself.

His hands and feet had regained warmth, the fatigue had lifted. He’d only rested a little and downed one energy drink, yet his condition felt almost identical to before entering the Tower.

Even the soreness from carrying heavy loads was gone, his throat smooth again.

“I can,” he said confidently.

“Good.”

Cheongmun rose to his feet.

“Authorization for artificial dungeon entry has been granted. Only Yoon Wonhyo and I will enter. The rest will remain on standby.”

The team, who had moments ago been arguing over who should go instead, fell silent.

“Just the two of you?” the deputy asked.

Cheongmun’s tone brooked no discussion.

“We still don’t understand what causes the dungeon’s rank to fluctuate. Fewer entrants means lower instability. Even if the average rank is high, I can cover one more person on my own. And if the environment is similar to before, Wonhyo’s abilities will be sufficient to navigate it.”

“Fair point. Similar monster types are likely, too… though there’s always a chance of being pulled in,” the deputy noted.

He gestured toward Nam, who was managing HunterNet.

“Huh? Me? Pulled in?”

“You’re the one managing the posts. You’re deleting them and irritating it, so yeah—pretty good chance.”

Nam turned helplessly to Cheongmun.

“Sir, can I at least wear my new armor? The one I bought last month? And maybe bring some salt?”

Without a word, Cheongmun snapped his fingers—his cube expanded, infused with the golden Pama energy from his Tower reward, wrapping around Nam in a faint shimmer of protection.

Still uneasy, Nam jumped when Wonhyo handed him a paper talisman.

“Here. Just in case,” Wonhyo said.

Nam’s face brightened a little as he began preparations.

“Okay. I’ll start by deleting the post.”

When an admin removed a reported post, a system notice automatically logged the reason in the account’s inbox.

Wonhyo gripped his gimyeong—now shaped like a small bell—and focused on the laptop.

The vengeful spirit trapped within Cheongmun’s cube began to stir, the air thickening with spiritual pressure.

Wonhyo nodded once. Nam took the signal and began deleting faster.

The more he erased, the more the surrounding energy boiled. Wonhyo clenched the bell, infusing it with divine power.

“All done,” Nam called out.

The laptop remained quiet.

“Try deleting the ID,” Officer Kim said.

“Huh?”

“Or suspend it.”

“Can we do that? People might complain if we suspend an account like that—”

“Dead people can’t complain,” Kim snapped. “He’s confirmed deceased. Say the account’s been compromised and permanently deactivate it.”

“Got it.”

The clatter of keys filled the lab again. Then silence. Nam inhaled deeply.

“Executing.”

His hand trembled slightly, but he pressed Enter.

The instant he did—

Boom!

A deafening crack rang out from the laptop sealed inside the cube.

“Did it explode?”

“No,” said Cheongmun calmly.

The device itself was intact.

But every talisman attached to it burst into flames at once.

And from within, black, thorned vines began to sprout—dry, brittle like the ones they’d seen in the boss room—piercing outward toward the cube’s walls.

Everyone froze, watching.

The vines struck again and again against the translucent barrier—then suddenly stopped.

Wonhyo, feeling the energy resonate through his entire body, raised the bell and began to chant.

“Cheonho-shinji-gyushin… O-naegu-cheon-hyeon-nyeo, sok-gyeon-bul-shiin…”

It was instinctive, the ancient incantation flowing from his lips—but the sealed cube remained unaffected.

Whatever barrier Cheongmun had created completely isolated the inside from the outside.

Still, the ambient miasma that had leaked before their arrival was gradually suppressed.

“It’s moving again,” someone warned.

The black vines, which had gone still, began to collapse inward—shrinking, condensing—until they gathered into a single pulsing mass.

“Mana surge detected.”

Officer Kim had already raised a massive sensor rig with a mounted camera, monitoring the readings.

Weapons materialized in every hand.

Cheongmun widened the cube’s perimeter.

“Readings rising steadily,” Kim reported.

The thorned mass quivered violently, like a thick fluid trembling on the verge of bursting.

Then, with a crack, it lashed outward—

Wind howled. The innermost cube shattered.

Cheongmun didn’t even blink. He summoned another, then another, layering them atop each other until the storm quieted.

When the air finally stilled, Wonhyo turned toward Nam, who was stationed safely behind a secondary barrier.

Their eyes met; Nam raised a trembling hand, talisman clenched tight.

Wonhyo nodded reassuringly, then looked back at the laptop.

The shattered vines dissolved into a swirling mist—red and black clouds merging into a vortex that spun violently in midair.

“The dungeon has opened,” someone announced. “External readings classify it as C-rank.”

They ran quick analyses using portable gear from their inventories, confirming the result.

Cheongmun shifted his stance, glancing toward the outer team.

Through the transparent cube, Officer Lee gave a signal: no external mana interference.

The dungeon entrance, once unstable, was now solidifying before their eyes.

Cheongmun drew his weapon.

With a smooth motion, he loaded the pistol’s magazine and flexed his wrist. His glove flashed once before vanishing entirely.

Wonhyo finally realized where that mysterious gun had come from—the same one that had appeared out of nowhere before the gaksi.

He almost laughed. Wouldn’t it be more practical to store food and water in there instead? But he supposed it was weapon-exclusive storage.

After checking his firearm, Cheongmun motioned for him to prepare.

Wonhyo pulled out the Hoya mask he’d obtained in the Tower, fitted it over his face, and swapped his gimyeong for a sacred dagger.

He drew several talismans from his pouch and stuffed a few blank papers into his pocket just in case.

When he stepped closer, Cheongmun extended his hand again.

I thought the last time would be the last, Wonhyo thought wryly. But I keep finding myself holding this hand again.

He placed his hand atop Cheongmun’s palm.

Cheongmun summoned one final cube around them, then absorbed the barrier encasing the cursed laptop.

As they took a few steps forward, gravity seemed to vanish—wind roared, the world spun—

And in the blink of an eye, they were pulled straight into the dungeon.