A Cradle to Avert Apocalypse C14

Chapter 14

“You’re far more admirable than I’d heard, Hunter Nam Shinhoo. To be honest, at first, you really scared me. Mostly because of… well… our guild…”

Kwon Shinju muttered the last part so quietly it was barely audible, then shook his head. It was obvious what he had left unsaid. The bad blood between Kwon Haeju and Nam Shinhoo was common knowledge. As Haeju’s younger brother, Shinju had no choice but to view things from his brother’s side.

“I wanted to clear up the misunderstanding properly. I explained everything to my brother after what happened. I told him that if it weren’t for you, I might’ve died—that it was absolutely not your fault. I told him that over and over again.”

Watching Shinju clench his fists as he emphasized his words made Nam Shinhoo let out a dry chuckle. He was different from Kwon Haeju—too different. Still naïve, still unfamiliar with how the world worked. As if a single clarification could mend things between two people whose relationship couldn’t possibly worsen over a mere misunderstanding.

“You didn’t need to go that far. It’s true that I left my post, and Kwon Haeju only said what he needed to say as a guild master. Still… thanks for caring.”

Shinju’s eyes brightened further.

“Actually, before I became a Hunter, I admired you, Hunter Nam Shinhoo.”

“That’s a bit much.”

“I mean it. And honestly, I’ve wanted to meet you at least once for a long time. My brother—”

He stopped mid-sentence, hesitated briefly, then continued.

“You took good care of my brother when he went into his first dungeon, didn’t you? You looked out for him from the very start, right after his awakening. Ever since then, I wanted to greet you properly.”

“That’s an old story.”

Kwon Haeju had awakened as an S-rank Hunter at the age of twenty.

As Korea’s fifth S-rank Esper, all eyes had turned toward him. With his awakening, Korea officially met the condition of possessing five or more S-rank Hunters, qualifying it as a top-tier Hunter nation. Naturally, the public’s attention toward Kwon Haeju grew even more intense.

The Hunter Association agonized over how to manage such a valuable asset. After much deliberation, they reached a conclusion: assign him a stronger mentor. Someone to make sure the freshly awakened fledgling didn’t go astray.

At the time, the candidates were Nam Shinhoo and the guild master of Evil Nine, the guild firmly holding second place nationwide.

“You don’t need to be grateful for that either. I only took on the mentor role because I couldn’t stand looking at Evil Nine.”

“H-ha… haha. Still, I’m grateful for that part too. If it weren’t for you, my brother might’ve ended up joining Evil Nine.”

“That place still a trash heap?”

At the blunt assessment, Shinju’s expression turned bitter. He must have recalled the countless acts of contempt and sabotage Evil Nine committed as Epic Guild grew. Saint Guild had endured similar things in its own rise—no explanation was needed.

In Nam Shinhoo’s previous life, Evil Nine had disappeared long ago. But when Kwon Haeju first awakened, Evil Nine was firmly entrenched as the number-two guild. Even now, barely clinging to that rank, its public image and reputation among Hunters were abysmal. It was a guild that had wielded its status as Korea’s first Hunter guild to bully others for years.

And Evil Nine had been the first to covet Kwon Haeju. They would never pass up the chance to control an S-rank Hunter with no backing.

Nam Shinhoo had never cared much for the role of mentor, but he hated the thought of Evil Nine pulling strings even more. So he had stormed into the Hunter Association himself and volunteered to take responsibility for Kwon Haeju.

What he took on in a moment of irritation turned out to be exceptional talent from the start. Kwon Haeju absorbed everything rapidly—how to clear dungeons, how to control his strength efficiently, how to coordinate with other Hunters. The foundation he now stood on as a Hunter had all been laid by Nam Shinhoo.

Back then, their relationship hadn’t been bad. Whenever Nam Shinhoo stepped forward, Choi Kanghyun and Kwon Haeju naturally took positions at his sides.

It was something taken for granted.

A past that was now almost impossible to imagine.

Shinju seemed to remember those days too, a faint smile touching his lips.

“I don’t know how things ended up like this, but honestly… sometimes I still miss those days—ah, no. I’m sorry. That was presumptuous of me.”

“It’s fine. It’s not like it never happened.”

Encouraged by Nam Shinhoo’s generous response, Shinju lifted his head quickly.

“I don’t know what happened between you two, but if my brother did something wrong… could you maybe give him just one more chance? I can try to mediate. He’s stubborn, but he’s not a bad person.”

“That’d be difficult.”

“Ah… I figured. There must be something big I don’t know about…”

“I don’t know the reason either.”

“…What?”

“He was the one who drew the line first.”

One day, without warning, Kwon Haeju had rejected Nam Shinhoo’s mentorship and put distance between them.

It was sudden. Nam Shinhoo didn’t know if there had been a misunderstanding, or if there was something he’d done to disappoint him. And he hadn’t asked.

If someone treated him as an enemy, he responded in kind. That was how Nam Shinhoo had survived his life. He had no intention of showing leniency to a junior who not only turned hostile but even formed a new guild and pointed a blade at him.

Part of him had thought it was bound to happen eventually.

Teaching an S-rank Hunter in the first place had been unreasonable. Hunters were born as beasts. And beasts, in the pursuit of strength, eventually bit the throats of their parents and went independent.

That was why he never asked Kwon Haeju for an explanation when he left.

“Don’t dwell too much on the past. Epic’s doing well enough now.”

Nam Shinhoo stood up.

“I’ll accept the greeting. But I’ve got things to do, so I’ll be going.”

The half-finished cup of coffee was left alone on the table.

Perhaps because he’d dredged up old memories, Nam Shinhoo’s mouth tasted bitter. Even after leaving the café and entering the guild building, the unpleasant bitterness of the coffee lingered on his tongue.

Choi Kanghyun, who had been working on the first floor, noticed Nam Shinhoo and walked over.

“How’d it go?”

“It’s done. Nothing serious.”

“I didn’t know you had ties with Kwon Shinju.”

“It’s not anything grand. He just wanted to say hello, so I went.”

“Hello?”

“There was a reason.”

Nam Shinhoo hadn’t told Choi Kanghyun about what happened in the Gyeongju dungeon. Kanghyun had already opposed him going alone; if he heard Nam Shinhoo had gotten injured there, he would have sent a formal protest to Epic Guild immediately.

“Hm.”

Choi Kanghyun studied him closely. Before his sharp friend could sense anything, Nam Shinhoo quickly changed the subject.

“By the way, what’s going on downstairs?”

“Oh. There was a bit of a disturbance earlier. It’s settled now.”

“A disturbance?”

“Just one of the applicants acting strangely—”

“Hey!”

A loud shout rang out from behind them—outside the guild building.

“Please, just think about it one more time! I’m begging you! I have to get in there! I really need to make money!”

The impact was so violent it made the dungeon-material glass windows tremble. A man outside slammed his fists against the glass, kicking at the security guards rushing in as he shouted through the window.

“You accepted B-ranks too, didn’t you?! Why not me?! What’s wrong with my ability, huh?!”

“…That must be the disturbance,” Nam Shinhoo said.

“Haah…”

Choi Kanghyun rubbed his forehead.

“He’s a B-rank Hunter who applied this round. His rank’s fine, but his ability doesn’t fit the guild, so he was cut during document screening.”

Rejected at the paperwork stage. B-rank wasn’t low. He was good enough for an interview. Likely someone who awakened with an awkward ability—neither suited for combat, gathering, nor crafting.

Watching the man continue to make a scene, Choi Kanghyun rolled up his sleeves.

“I’ll go deal with it.”

“Wait a moment.”

Nam Shinhoo stopped him. Kanghyun frowned and shook his head.

“Shinhoo. If you deal with small fry like that one by one, it’ll never end. Everyone will cause a scene asking for a chance. The longer this drags out, the worse it gets.”

Nam Shinhoo watched the man flailing weakly against the guards through the glass. He swung his long, thin legs, his body so frail it was hard to believe he was a Hunter, his resistance pitiful.

The face looked familiar.

“Kanghyun. That guy’s skill—acidic poison, right?”

“What?”

“It’s probably not a toxin that works on living beings, but one that melts or dissolves the surroundings. Low efficiency in dungeons, so it was categorized as a bad skill.”

“…I don’t know how you know that, but you’re right. It only works on objects he touches directly, so he can’t attack from a distance either. But how did you know?”

“I happened to see his résumé earlier. It stood out.”

Nam Shinhoo’s eyes lit up as he looked at the man.

He knew him. Not from a résumé photo—but from the news.

“I’ll go talk to him.”

Ignoring Choi Kanghyun calling after him, Nam Shinhoo headed outside.

The man, pinned face-down on the ground by security, continued to struggle weakly. His cheek pressed to the pavement, he muttered miserably.

“Sniff… I really… need money. Fuck… I really need to live properly. Please…”

Nam Shinhoo approached the sobbing Hunter and lowered himself to meet his eyes.