A Cradle to Avert Apocalypse C13

Chapter 13

“He said that if a particularly fine-looking young man came by—someone you don’t often see in this village—I should give it to him. I thought it was the strangest thing, but looking at you now, it fits perfectly.”

Nam Shinhoo accepted the envelope sealed with a thin red thread. A faint current of energy brushed against his fingertips through the paper. It was unmistakably something left behind by an awakened Hunter—Han Wooyeon’s power, without a doubt. Slipping the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket, Nam Shinhoo took out his wallet.

“Thank you. I’d appreciate it if you kept this matter confidential.”

He pulled out several yellow bills and handed them to her.

“Well, I’ll be… how uncanny.”

The grandmother stared, eyes wide, as she accepted the money.

“He told me I’d get a nice bit of pocket money for passing this along—said I should buy myself some makgeolli. I wondered what kind of sense it made to take money in exchange for a scrap of paper. Turns out he really was something else.”

“…”

So Han Wooyeon had seen this situation in advance. Not just vaguely glimpsed the future, but clearly foreseen specific events—and deliberately avoided Nam Shinhoo because of it.

After watching the old woman walk away, Nam Shinhoo opened the white envelope.

A thin sheet of paper parted, and a single coin fell out. Tucked between them, he found a small memo.

It was a note Han Wooyeon had left for him.

With slightly trembling fingers, Nam Shinhoo unfolded it. Written on the small, white slip was a single short sentence.

[Not yet.]

[Not yet.]

Nam Shinhoo rubbed the note between his fingers. It was ordinary hanji—plain paper, save for a faint lingering scent of incense. He examined it dozens of times, searching for meaning where there seemed to be none.

Even after returning to Seoul, he kept both the coin and the note in his breast pocket at all times. He half-expected the message to change under certain conditions, or the coin to take on some hidden function as time passed.

But nothing happened.

Not even after an entire week.

“That bastard.”

Han Wooyeon was exactly as infuriating as ever—always leaving him with riddles instead of answers. The fact that he had deliberately avoided Nam Shinhoo while still leaving behind a note meant only one thing: he knew, at least to some extent, what was happening now—and what was yet to come.

Facing the end of the world, and he chose to disappear? Leaving behind just those three words?

He could’ve at least given a clearer hint.

Sitting alone in his office, Nam Shinhoo dragged a hand irritably through his bangs.

The anxiety he’d felt since the moment of his regression—gnawing at him from the tips of his fingers—spread once more, dark and suffocating.

What if he failed again? What if Kwon Haeju wasn’t the one from the prophecy? What if, by focusing solely on him, Nam Shinhoo missed the true savior—and found himself once again standing alone in that empty wasteland, the only one left breathing?

The fountain pen in his hand snapped.

Black ink spilled between his fingers.

“…”

Nam Shinhoo took a slow, deep breath, then wiped the ink from his desk. He replayed Han Wooyeon’s past prophecies in his mind.

Han Wooyeon never spoke plainly—but neither was he someone who abandoned the future to chance. If he said not yet, then at the very least, things were still moving in the right direction. It simply meant more time was needed.

In that case, there was only one thing Nam Shinhoo could do.

Stick to the plan. Save Kwon Haeju.

Even if he wasn’t the true savior, he would still be invaluable—either as support in finding the real one, or as an irreplaceable force on the battlefield.

“Shinhoo. I’m coming in.”

A knock sounded, followed by Choi Kanghyun entering the room. Immaculate as ever in his suit, the large man lifted the tablet in his hand.

“The résumés are in.”

“Ah. It’s already that time, huh.”

Saint Guild was, in both name and reality, Korea’s number-one guild. Centered around Nam Shinhoo and Choi Kanghyun, it had grown into a massive organization through overwhelming strength and an efficient internal system—unlike other guilds that relied on corporate backing. Saint had risen purely on the power of its Hunters.

Although the rise of mid-sized guilds—including Epic—had broadened applicants’ options, Saint Guild remained the first choice. Hundreds of applications poured in each cycle, from which only the most elite were selected.

Lately, however, things had changed.

“How do the applicants look?” Nam Shinhoo asked.

“Hm…”

Choi Kanghyun hesitated.

“They’re not bad—but there’s no one exceptional.”

“Really?”

More and more Hunters were choosing to become the head of a snake rather than the tail of a dragon. Those with high ranks or unique abilities were striking out on their own, founding guilds instead.

This, too, was an effect of Epic Guild’s successful rise as a newly established guild. Kwon Haeju had become an ideal role model for Hunters everywhere.

In my previous life, that was one of the reasons I couldn’t stand him.

Choi Kanghyun glanced at Nam Shinhoo, familiar with the moods that used to follow such thoughts. This time, however, Nam Shinhoo merely flipped through the résumés with a neutral expression.

“It can’t be helped. Let’s see if there’s anyone usable among them.”

As dungeon-clear success rates improved and stability increased, more small guilds would inevitably emerge. And once the Eclipse Hunter Network—EHN—was fully implemented, the trend would only accelerate. With the Hunter Association guaranteeing safety, there would be less incentive to join a large guild.

Nam Shinhoo slowly scrolled through the tablet. As Choi Kanghyun had said, no one stood out—despite these being candidates who had already passed the first screening.

“Hmm…”

“If no one catches your eye, should we skip recruitment this round?” Choi Kanghyun asked.

Nam Shinhoo propped his chin on his hand, reviewing the résumés once more.

“Let’s think it over a bit more.”

Choosing not to recruit was easy—but the ripple effects of that decision were not.

If major guilds closed their doors, applicants would have no choice but to go elsewhere. Newly awakened Hunters, rather than waiting for the next recruitment cycle, would gravitate toward whatever offered immediate profit. In a society already struggling to establish order, it wouldn’t take long for those with power to slip into illegal paths.

And once Hunters went astray, chaos would follow.

To prevent that, there needed to be something open—something hopeful. That was precisely why Saint Guild continued to hold public recruitment every year.

Korea’s Hunter ecosystem was still shallow. The guild stubbornly clinging to second place contributed little to society, while Epic Guild—ranked third—was only just beginning to show promise. Beneath them were countless similar fledgling guilds.

Saint Guild’s social influence was impossible to ignore.

Where once Nam Shinhoo had begrudgingly shouldered that responsibility, he now accepted it willingly.

The stronger Hunters became, the closer he would get to his goal.

Nam Shinhoo turned off the tablet. His tired reflection stared back at him from the dark screen.

“Want something cold to drink?” Choi Kanghyun asked.

Rubbing under his eyes, Nam Shinhoo nodded.

“Something cold. And sweet.”

“Alright. I’ll get—”

His phone vibrated.

“Who is it?” Choi Kanghyun asked.

An unfamiliar number. Nam Shinhoo’s contact information was expensive—known only to a handful of Association officials and key figures from other guilds. Even Choi Kanghyun shook his head, not recognizing it.

“Kanghyun. This isn’t a spam call, is it?”

“That’s the funniest joke I’ve heard all day.”

A spam call to Nam Shinhoo was absurd. That alone made the unknown number unusual.

After a brief hesitation, Nam Shinhoo answered.

—Uh, um… Hunter Nam Shinhoo?

The voice on the other end sounded young—almost too young.

“Who is this?”

—I’m sorry. I really wanted to greet you properly, but this was the only way. It’s Kwon Shinju—the one you met briefly before.

Kwon Shinju. Kwon Haeju’s younger brother. An A-rank Hunter—though known more for his brother’s reputation than his own abilities. An unremarkable close-combat Hunter, neither outstanding nor particularly deficient.

“Calling this a ‘long time no see’ might be a bit much, huh? Haha.”

He was hardly someone Nam Shinhoo would normally sit down to share a cup of coffee with.

“I suppose so.”

“I’m sorry for contacting you so suddenly. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Kwon Shinju bowed deeply once again—far too polite for an A-rank Hunter, whether out of courtesy or low self-esteem.

“It’s fine. I was just surprised, not bothered.”

At Kwon Shinju’s request to meet in person, Nam Shinhoo readily agreed. From his perspective, forming a connection with Kwon Shinju was far more beneficial than harmful.

Reaching Kwon Haeju directly was like hitting a steel wall. Approaching him through Kwon Shinju was far more efficient.

Unaware of Nam Shinhoo’s inner calculations, Kwon Shinju nervously tugged at his collar.

“I wanted to apologize again about before. Because of me, my brother misunderstood you. He didn’t know the situation and was incredibly rude. You were only trying to help us.”

“I told you then—don’t worry about it. No one got hurt. That’s what matters.”

“Wow…”

Kwon Shinju clenched his fists tightly.