A Cradle to Avert Apocalypse C11

Chapter 11

To think something that large had been hidden underground. Judging by its scale, the creature he’d just killed had to be the dungeon’s boss monster—or at least something of a comparable level.

The boss map had felt strangely easy for its dungeon rank. Now it made sense. A portion of the boss monster must have escaped through the crack beforehand. Even so, it had been abnormally large.

Monsters that exited dungeons through cracks grew unnaturally massive once they entered reality. Even Nukelabi—no more than an aircraft carrier inside a dungeon—had expanded until it blotted out the sky once it emerged into the real world. A size so overwhelming one could only stare helplessly at it.

“Alright, stop gawking and get it together! We need to head back soon. Check your equipment.”

Kwon Shinju, finally snapping out of it, issued orders to his squad. Unlike his earlier dazed state, he moved among the fallen members, helping them regroup. As expected of Hunters, their injuries were limited to shallow cuts from flying debris.

After confirming everyone was safe, Kwon Shinju let out a breath and approached Nam Shinhoo, who was still examining the sinkhole.

“Hunter Nam Shinhoo.”

Kwon Shinju bowed deeply.

“About earlier… I’m truly sorry for being so stubborn.”

Having witnessed Nam Shinhoo’s attack, Kwon Shinju had no choice but to accept it. Nam Shinhoo hadn’t excluded him out of disdain or by comparing him to his brother. It had been a purely objective judgment based on an overwhelming difference in power.

I almost caused trouble because of my own inferiority complex.

Lowering his head further, Kwon Shinju spoke again.

“And for doing what I should have done as squad leader… thank you—no, I mean, I’m sorry.”

Nam Shinhoo straightened up. He saw the crown of Kwon Shinju’s bowed head, and the way his clasped hands trembled faintly.

He’s fragile. Unlike his brother.

Despite being an A-rank Hunter, he was timid and lacking in confidence.

In truth, Nam Shinhoo was the one who had intruded on another guild’s operation. Even if his intention had been to help, it was still a situation where fault could be found—yet Kwon Shinju apologized honestly. It was the kind of personality that was bound to suffer losses in life.

“It’s fine. Anyone would’ve acted like that.”

Even at Nam Shinhoo’s casual response, Kwon Shinju didn’t seem ready to straighten up. Scratching his cheek awkwardly, Nam Shinhoo felt at a loss. Comforting others had never been his strong suit. He was someone used to charging head-on and winning—crushing obstacles, trampling those who dismissed him, and forcing his way forward whenever he thought himself lacking.

I lived arrogantly like that… and failed in the end.

A bitter shadow passed through him. Clicking his tongue lightly, Nam Shinhoo gathered his emotions and spoke.

“You did well.”

“…Pardon?”

“At the end, you gave proper orders, and no one got hurt. That’s good enough. You’ll get smoother with experience.”

“…Really?”

Kwon Shinju looked genuinely unsure, as if he wasn’t used to praise at all.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“Th-Thank you.”

Kwon Shinju’s ears reddened as he bowed again. To be this happy over such mild praise—he really was the opposite of his brother. If you mixed the two of them evenly, they’d be perfect.

The clumsy encouragement seemed to work. The stiffness left Kwon Shinju’s face. Nam Shinhoo patted his shoulder twice and turned away.

“Let’s wrap this up. Time to go home.”

“Yes!”

With the boss defeated, things seemed settled—at least on the surface.

Still… something feels off.

Why did it feel so uneasy, even though everything had gone well? Maybe it was because it had all been resolved too easily.

Am I just being overly sensitive?

Nam Shinhoo took a deep breath. All that remained now was to meet Han Wooyeon—yet it felt like the day wasn’t truly over.

That was when it happened.

Behind Kwon Shinju, who was moving away, a small fragment glinted. The instant Nam Shinhoo noticed it, the fragment shot toward Kwon Shinju at high speed.

“Look out!”

Shouting, Nam Shinhoo threw himself forward, wrapping Kwon Shinju in his arms and rolling away. Tree roots slammed into his head, gravel struck his body—but none of that mattered.

“Tch….”

After rolling to a stop, Nam Shinhoo grabbed his shoulder. Something warm trickled down his back. He pushed himself up and glared at the sinkhole.

Clever bastard.

Instead of targeting him, it had aimed for the weaker Kwon Shinju.

Guild members who had been standing at a distance rushed over.

“Squad Leader! Hunter Nam Shinhoo!”

“What happened? Don’t tell me there’s still a monster—!”

“No. That thing is definitely dead.”

The monster was gone. No presence, no form remained. But the unease he’d felt earlier had been the clue.

He should have realized sooner. If that thing had been a boss-level monster, there was something it should have left behind.

A mana stone.

Boss monsters always possessed mana stones. Yet there had been none where the creature burned away.

Without recovering the mana stone, the raid wasn’t truly over—and he’d let his guard down because of Kwon Shinju.

“Th-Then what attacked…?”

“It was probably a spore-type monster. When the main body died, it must’ve fired off the mana stone to find a new host.”

A monster that reproduced by launching its mana stone upon death. Having lost its host to Nam Shinhoo’s attack, it tried to parasitize another tree or forest.

“Ugh….”

Pain spread from his left shoulder, where the mana stone had struck, down his back—like roots burrowing into his flesh.

In saving Kwon Shinju, he hadn’t dodged perfectly.

Nam Shinhoo felt at his shoulder. The mana stone was embedded deep, writhing as if trying to take root.

Behind him, Kwon Shinju went pale. That attack had been aimed squarely at his head.

“Wh-What do we do? This is because of me—”

“It’s plant-type. It can’t reproduce in a human body. Just a last-ditch struggle.”

Nam Shinhoo rummaged through his belongings, then sighed. He’d left what he needed back at the dungeon entrance.

“Anyone got a blade? A dagger would be best.”

“Here!”

A guild member hurriedly offered his weapon—the one he’d been using moments ago. Nam Shinhoo gestured at him.

“You’re fire-magic, right? Heat it up.”

“Y-Yes! I’ll try.”

Once the blade glowed red-hot, Nam Shinhoo took it and, without hesitation, drove it into his own shoulder. The Hunters gasped, covering their mouths at the sound of tearing flesh.

The smell of burning meat spread through the forest as Nam Shinhoo carved around the embedded stone. With a sickening sound, he ripped out the mana stone and its roots.

To prevent any chance of infection, he cut out flesh twice the size of the stone itself. Even for him, it was enough pain to make him close his eyes briefly.

“Hah….”

Exhaling at last, Nam Shinhoo secured the stone. His fingers trembled faintly. Once he’d steadied himself, he uncorked a potion and poured it over the wound. The flesh began to knit together.

Hunters rushed to help.

“H-Hunter, you’re still bleeding—!”

“Wipe it, quickly. Here, alcohol pads!”

Even as the wound healed, blood soaked the ground. The cloth was instantly stained red.

“It’s fine. I used a potion. It’ll heal on its own. I’ll just change clothes.”

For an S-rank body, this level of blood loss wasn’t dangerous. Still, the pain lingered—roots had brushed his nerves. Nam Shinhoo flexed his tingling fingers.

Looking up, he met Kwon Shinju’s trembling gaze.

“I’m sorry. Because of me… I really am useless—”

Kwon Shinju lowered his head, lips quivering. It was more self-blame than necessary. Hunters got injured all the time.

Nam Shinhoo raised his uninjured hand and ruffled Kwon Shinju’s hair. Startled, Kwon Shinju looked up.

“It’s fine. I let my guard down. That’s on me, not you.”

“…Sniff.”

“And we recovered the mana stone properly. That means there won’t be any more danger today.”

Kwon Shinju’s eyes reddened. Nam Shinhoo patted his head once more.

Unlike Kwon Shinju, Nam Shinhoo felt satisfied. He’d been uneasy about the missing mana stone—now that loose end was dealt with. The injury didn’t matter. Trading flesh that would heal for certainty was a bargain.

Only now did it feel truly finished.

He was sure of it.

Kwon Shinju was supposed to die here.

And he hadn’t.