A Cradle to Avert Apocalypse C12

Chapter 12

Whether Kwon Shinju’s survival would ultimately help save Kwon Haeju remained to be seen, but for now, Nam Shinhoo felt a measure of relief at having accomplished at least one thing.

He brushed away the blood running down his arm and stood. There was no time to linger. With the boss defeated, the scattered subordinates would soon finish regrouping. Before the Epic Guild members gathered back together, he needed to return to the dungeon entrance.

“Here—use this.”

One of the Hunters slipped off his jacket and draped it over Nam Shinhoo’s shoulders, covering the gouged wound. Even though the potion was already working, blood was still seeping from the torn flesh.

“If it’s exposed, there’s a risk of infection.”

“Thanks for the concern. Then let’s head back to the main—”

“What exactly is going on here?”

A low voice cut through the confusion.

Kwon Haeju had approached without anyone noticing, his gaze fixed on Nam Shinhoo with visible displeasure.

It was a scene ripe for misunderstanding.

The surroundings were in shambles from the monster’s rampage. Kwon Shinju stood nearby with reddened eyes, clearly having cried. Bloodstains littered the ground. And Nam Shinhoo—who had said he would guard the dungeon entrance—was nowhere near it.

“Why are you here?”

Kwon Haeju’s eyes were sharp, narrowed like a crescent moon sinking into the dawn.

“Hyung, I’ll explain. Hunter Nam Shinhoo came to save us—”

“Stay out of this.”

Without looking away from Nam Shinhoo, Kwon Haeju pushed his brother aside.

“You’ll explain yourself properly later. Why didn’t you report the moment you found the monster?”

“…Th-that’s…”

The moment a monster was discovered, the information should have been relayed to the entire guild. But in the chaos following the monster’s death and Nam Shinhoo’s injury, Kwon Shinju had failed to send out any signal.

Given the circumstances, it was understandable—but to Kwon Haeju, it looked like nothing but a mistake.

Leaving the dejected Kwon Shinju behind him, Kwon Haeju turned back to Nam Shinhoo.

“And the fact that you’re here means the dungeon entrance was left unattended. With only civilians and people with no combat ability remaining.”

Kwon Haeju’s brow furrowed.

“I didn’t entrust that place to you because I trusted you. I knew how ruthless you can be toward people you have no interest in—and yet…”

Nam Shinhoo noticed Kwon Haeju clenching his fist. The gesture carried self-reproach—anger at himself for having trusted Nam Shinhoo even briefly.

Trying to excuse this by saying I came because Kwon Shinju was about to die wouldn’t even count as an excuse.

To someone who knew nothing of the future, it would sound like nonsense.

And Kwon Haeju wasn’t wrong. Nam Shinhoo had chosen Kwon Shinju over the gathering team—because Kwon Shinju was someone who must not die.

If the boss monster had moved toward the dungeon entrance while Nam Shinhoo was rescuing Kwon Shinju, the people left behind could have been placed in serious danger. Even handing them an expensive artifact didn’t change that fact.

“You’re the same as ever,” Kwon Haeju said coldly. “I thought there was nothing left to be disappointed by.”

At those words, Kwon Shinju jerked his head up, eyes wide.

“No, Hyung. Hunter Nam Shinhoo came to save us. He got hurt because of me—”

“Kwon Shinju.”

Kwon Haeju’s voice was ice-cold.

“Hunting injuries are normal for Hunters. But civilians aren’t the same. They enter dungeons trusting us. That’s why support-types and gathering-types must be protected first.”

“…”

“…Of course, not everyone thinks that way.”

His gaze shifted pointedly to Nam Shinhoo—open hostility in his eyes.

It was a debate they had clashed over countless times in the previous life. In moments of crisis, who should be protected first? Nam Shinhoo had always weighed the possibilities and chosen what he believed was the most efficient option.

“Isn’t that right?” Kwon Haeju asked.

“Yes,” Nam Shinhoo replied.

He straightened, though his shoulder and back throbbed with every movement. After a deep breath, he spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

“….”

“Leaving my post was my mistake.”

Kwon Haeju continued to frown at the unexpectedly compliant apology.

“Still, why don’t you leave it at that for today? As you said, there are still people at the dungeon entrance. If you want compensation for breaking our agreement, I’ll provide it.”

“…That won’t be necessary.”

Kwon Haeju gestured to a nearby guild member.

“Regroup by squads and withdraw. Squad Three will remain behind to investigate the site.”

“Hyung!”

“We’ll talk later. We’re pulling out.”

Kwon Haeju turned away. Those who had been watching the confrontation between the two S-rank Hunters finally let out breaths of relief.

Among the members of Squad Three, a few offered Nam Shinhoo quiet bows.

“Hah…”

Walking behind the formation, Nam Shinhoo pressed a hand to his shoulder. The bleeding seemed to have stopped; no blood seeped through the jacket.

At the dungeon entrance, he folded the borrowed jacket neatly, gathered his belongings, and changed into fresh clothes to hide the wound. When he looked back, Kwon Haeju was busy dealing with the aftermath of the crack—never once glancing in Nam Shinhoo’s direction.

“…”

The rift between them felt deeper than before, as though the gap that had once been unbridgeable had widened even further.

But he had no regrets.

If this were the previous life, today would have been hell for Kwon Haeju—not anger or disappointment toward Nam Shinhoo, but clutching his brother’s cold body and drowning in guilt.

That hellish past had been replaced with nothing more than a tiring, ordinary day.

That was enough.

Today was a critical turning point for Nam Shinhoo, but to everyone else, it would be remembered as just another day in their routine. Changing things one day at a time—quietly, unnoticed—that was the future Nam Shinhoo desired most.

By the time Nam Shinhoo reached the address listed in the report, the sun was already high overhead.

“So this is it.”

He studied the massive old estate before him.

Beyond the stone wall, aged tiled roofs peeked through. Moss-covered totem poles and stone cairns guarded the entrance. Colorful paper charms tied to bamboo swayed gently in the breeze.

Han Wooyeon was the grandson of a renowned shaman. Nam Shinhoo recalled his joking voice—how people initially thought he hadn’t awakened as a Hunter but had received a divine calling instead.

At this time, Han Wooyeon should have been living alone here, guarding his hometown after his grandmother’s passing. Though he had no immediate family, he’d once said he never felt lonely thanks to the women who had served his grandmother as a spiritual mother.

“…Something’s off.”

The estate was far too quiet for a place where someone lived. There were no footsteps, no voices—nothing. It felt abandoned.

Yet the faint scent of medicinal herbs suggested it hadn’t been empty for long.

“Young man? What brings you here?”

An elderly woman approached from behind, her white hair curled softly. She didn’t seem to recognize Nam Shinhoo beneath his hat.

“Here for a fortune reading? Afraid you’ve come for nothing. This place is empty now.”

“…Pardon?”

“They moved out two days ago. Left everything behind, too. After the old shaman passed away, it’s like something possessed this house. Tsk, tsk.”

Two days ago—exactly the day before Nam Shinhoo came to Gyeongju.

“Looks like you came a long way for nothing.”

“I see…”

The report Choi Kanghyun had provided was two weeks old. That meant Han Wooyeon had moved suddenly, almost like he was fleeing.

What does this mean?

Han Wooyeon was someone who saw what others could not—worthy of the title Divine Younger Brother. And now he had fled as if escaping something.

What had he seen? What had driven him away?

Just as everything seemed to be falling into place, an unexpected variable emerged. Returning to the past was unprecedented enough—had Nam Shinhoo overlooked something? Had seeking out Han Wooyeon itself affected the future negatively?

Nam Shinhoo’s expression darkened as the anxiety he’d suppressed began to surface.

“…Young man? Are you alright?”

The woman tapped his shoulder.

“Ah, sorry. Do you know where the owner of this house moved to?”

“How would I know? He left like a fugitive. Oh—wait. You…!”

She suddenly looked closely at Nam Shinhoo’s face, clapping her hands as if realizing something.

Even in a remote village, it wouldn’t be strange for someone to recognize him. Nam Shinhoo appeared on television more often than the president.

Thinking his identity might be exposed, he pulled his hat lower.

Unbothered, the woman grabbed his arm and studied his face with sparkling eyes.

“Well, aren’t you handsome.”

“…Excuse me?”

“Such a pretty face. And tall, too.”

“….”

Apparently, she hadn’t recognized him at all.

“Oh dear, where are my manners. That’s not it. The grandson here asked me to give this to someone before he left…”

Rummaging through the pocket of her flower-patterned pants, the woman pulled out a neatly folded white envelope.