IRNH C83

Chapter 83

“Hajung! Don’t burn everything—keep the flames low!”

At Sihyeon’s sharp battlefield command, Hajung adjusted her firepower without a single complaint. Establishing a unified raid-command structure was essential, and once you acknowledged it, following without argument was the correct choice. Hajung understood that better than anyone.

At that moment, the brightness diminished as a portion of the flames drew back toward Hajung. The deep shadows cast opposite the blaze began to thin and blur.

Skritch—skritch—

As the shadows weakened, those twisted mouths—the only intact features in the otherwise crushed and mangled bodies—began frantically snapping before plunging back into the darkness. Then, as if receiving a simultaneous retreat order, the rats also withdrew quickly, vanishing into cracks and crevices.

Sihyeon pressed his lips tightly together and swung the makeshift steel blade without pause, cutting down as many retreating rats as possible. Bodies were piled high, nearly reaching his chest.

“…Don’t tell me these things came out because my skill made the shadows too dark?”

Once the situation calmed, Hajung extinguished the scattered sparks and voiced the question everyone had silently been thinking. Naturally, the group couldn’t bring themselves to say anything. It was impossible to tell the person who had been protecting them that this disaster was—indeed—partially her fault.

Sihyeon stared at the gouges in the wall where an Agwi had torn through the shadow cast by the heap of corpses. Slowly, he nodded.

“Seems likely.”

“…Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic.”

Hajung raked a hand through her hair with visible frustration. Most of her skills involved intense bursts of light, which made the current situation extremely unfavorable.

“But it’s not unsolvable. Just avoid creating large shadows. You could limit your fire output, but more importantly, we need to prevent things from piling up around us.”

“But our own shadows—”

“Those are unavoidable. So we keep moving. Don’t let shadows gather in one place.”

The Agwi had fled immediately once the shadows thinned. That suggested they required a certain density or size of darkness to manifest. Sihyeon couldn’t be fully certain, but they would have to find a countermeasure before the next encounter.

“It’s not a major threat anyway. Strange, yes, but not strong.”

Sihyeon spoke firmly, deliberately cutting through the heavy atmosphere weighing down the party. Truthfully, whether the monsters were strong or not, sheer numbers would eventually create dangerous variables. If far larger hordes began appearing, he wouldn’t have time to shield everyone.

But saying that aloud would only undermine morale. Their priority was to move, retrieve Samayoon’s items, then locate Gyumin and Yujun. Sihyeon quickened his steps. Time was running short.

[Congratulations on surviving this far! Please continue gathering life force! (3102/100000)]

A few minutes later, after escaping the blood-soaked, stench-ridden battlefield, the party stared at the notification—disgusted.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. This thing is insufferable.”

“How… how exactly are we supposed to get out of here…?”

Hajung collapsed onto a patch of relatively clean floor, muttering curses at the system message. Samayoon, though less vocal, wore an expression close to despair.

But Sihyeon was fixated on the number—barely changed at all—and frowned.

The “warning” message wouldn’t have appeared only to them. Others in the Gate must have seen it as well. And yet the life-force count had barely risen?

It was unlikely that number simply represented headcount, but even then, considering the battles they’d already gone through, the increase was too small.

They’d handled everything smoothly because Sihyeon, Taewoon, and Hajung had moved in sync. Ordinary groups wouldn’t have been so lucky. And while he’d helped many avoid casualties, some were bound to be weaker hunters or civilians. Yet still, the number barely moved.

…No. Many people had died.

Sihyeon remembered all the life signatures that had abruptly vanished in the distance while he fought the rats. A possibility surfaced—one he voiced under his breath.

“…Do we have to kill each other for that number to rise?”

His voice was quiet, but clear enough for everyone to hear. Every head snapped toward him.

“What?”

“Look at the numbers. You think only this few people died in all that chaos? Sure, maybe some groups had combat-capable hunters, but not all of them.”

His voice grew firmer with each word. It made sense. Why else would the Gate wait and push them through all these convoluted mechanics, instead of wiping everyone out immediately?

“So that’s why it told us to kill each other.”

Sihyeon pushed off the wall and stood straight.

They needed to move faster. If people weren’t killing each other yet, the Gate would escalate its methods to force them to. And once that happened, far worse things would follow. He could easily imagine this turning catastrophic, and every such scenario threatened the people he needed to protect.

He closed his eyes briefly to steady himself, then looked toward the fork in the path.

The area ahead was within plain sight—close enough that even ordinary eyes could recognize it—and the buildings there looked structurally different, as if marking the transition into another zone entirely.

“This won’t do. From now on, we move fast. Sorry, but there won’t be any more breaks.”

His tone brooked no argument. The group swallowed hard, turning toward the same direction Sihyeon was watching.

Step, step.

Following Taewoon’s steady lead, Sihyeon scanned the surroundings. Unlike earlier, the walls were thicker, the steel doors sturdier, and the corridors wider. If the structures continued to grow more secure toward the center, they would slow down inevitably. Sihyeon’s expression darkened.

Since they’d sped up, they had already fought two major battles and countless smaller ones—forcing their pace to falter. If this was the pace now, what would the next areas be like?

“Mitchell, you hanging in there?”

“…Y-yes. I’m fine.”

Hajung’s quiet inquiry came from behind. Mitchell answered calmly, but he was clearly struggling. A stamina stat of ten made him slightly stronger than an average civilian, but not nearly enough for this kind of forced march. And Sihyeon couldn’t afford to stop for him.

[A special gift awaits those who reach the required life-force threshold.]

He remembered the earlier message. The pettiness of the system made him clench his teeth.

He didn’t know how long they’d been inside. Judging by his physical condition, it had to be night by now. People would be starving.

Including his own party.

“How much farther?”

“Not much, sir.”

The answer was the same as before. Sihyeon swallowed a sigh. It was all he could do. Up ahead, Taewoon continued breaking through the path silently, without once complaining. Even though he would have had every right to.

That only deepened Sihyeon’s guilt.

He hadn’t done anything properly for Taewoon since arriving. If anything, he’d been avoiding him these past months. They’d lived together for ten years; the distance had only appeared recently. By numbers alone, the imbalance should mean nothing.

Yet somehow, these past months weighed heavier than everything before them. Sihyeon felt lost—uncertain what he should give Taewoon, uncertain what he wanted himself.

Meanwhile, Taewoon was so focused he didn’t even notice Sihyeon staring at him.

…Damn it. Why now?

He hadn’t completely lost access to his internal energy like before, but maintaining it steadily was difficult—like a damaged device flickering on and off. It wasn’t that the energy disappeared; it was as if his consciousness and body were out of sync, misaligned, locked.

Taewoon didn’t know whether to confess this problem or hide it. He hated being a burden, hated causing trouble. Anxiety crept in.

What exactly is wrong with me?

He judged the timing, cut through the wall blocking the path, and stared ahead.

His problems had begun after meeting the Union. Then, during the experimental Gate link created by Lee Gyuhwan, he’d found something suspicious.

Which meant… perhaps this too—

It was a reasonable hypothesis. If only the voice in his head were functioning, it would have confirmed or elaborated on it. But all he heard now was static—broken, useless noise.

“We’re almost there!”

Samayoon’s excited voice came from behind. And at that exact moment, Taewoon felt his internal energy gutter out completely—snuffed like a candle.

His fists tightened.