Chapter 3 - The Hunter Without a Blade

Family Routine – The Small Joys He Still Has

The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of fresh tea and toasted bread. Soft sunlight filtered through the windows, casting gentle streaks of gold across the wooden floor. The house was quiet, undisturbed by the outside world's weighty expectations.

Here, in the warmth of home, Kang Hyeon was just another son, another brother. No one cared about Codex rankings or dungeon efficiency rates. No one called him a waste.

He sat at the kitchen table, fingers absently tracing the rim of his cup. The tea inside had cooled, the steam long gone, but he hadn't taken a sip. His mind was elsewhere—drifting between the faint throbbing in his shoulder and the rune markings still burned into his memory.

At the far end of the table, Kang Jinhyuk, his father, was absorbed in the morning paper. The rustle of pages turning was steady, rhythmic, a familiar sound in the household. He was a man of presence rather than words, yet even his silence held weight. Every so often, his sharp eyes flickered toward Hyeon, noticing but not prying.

Across from him, Jisoo was halfheartedly scrolling through her phone, one hand absently poking at her untouched toast. She looked up suddenly, her gaze speculative.

"You ever think about getting a side job?" she mused, tapping the screen. "Like, I don't know, consulting for a guild?"

Hyeon exhaled through his nose, barely glancing up. "I already work with guilds."

Jisoo raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Doing what?"

He hesitated. He could already hear the conversation's trajectory, the inevitable punchline waiting at the end.

Jiyun, who had been flipping through a thick, leather-bound book beside them, didn't even glance up as she responded for him.

"Logging data. Studying runes. Getting underpaid."

Jisoo snorted. "Right. So basically, free labor."

"Not free," Hyeon muttered.

Jinhyuk finally spoke, voice steady, measured. "What you do is not useless, Hyeon. If it means something to you, it has worth."

The words should have been comforting. They should have reassured him. But instead, they made something in his chest tighten.

Did it mean something to him?

Or had he simply convinced himself of that? Because if he didn't believe in it—what else was left?

His mother entered the kitchen then, setting a bowl of steaming soup in front of him with effortless grace. The warmth of the meal contrasted the chill in his bones, a gentle reminder that, here, he was still seen.

Han Seoyeon brushed a stray strand of hair from his forehead, a soft, absentminded gesture. "You think too much, Hyeon-ah," she murmured.

He had to.

Because if he didn't—who would?

But a thought lingered. If home was the only place he was valued, was he really worth anything at all?

"You Should Just Quit."

The Association's lounge was as lively as ever, a microcosm of raw power and hierarchy compressed into a single building. B-rank and C-rank hunters congregated in tight groups, discussing upcoming raids, dividing pay, and boasting about recent clears. The scent of sweat, metal, and the faint chemical tinge of healing potions clung to the air.

Kang Hyeon stood at the edges of it all, unnoticed, unimportant.

Baek Joonho leaned against the counter nearby, arms crossed, a lazy smirk on his face. He was a seasoned C-rank hunter—competent but complacent, one of many who had carved a stable spot in the industry without any particular ambition. He eyed Hyeon with something between amusement and pity.

"You should just quit."

Hyeon didn't look up from his book. "I don't know what you mean."

Joonho scoffed, shaking his head. "Come on, man. You know exactly what I mean."

His voice wasn't hostile. If anything, that made it worse.

"You've been running these dungeon logs for what, a year? And for what?" Joonho gestured vaguely at the hunters laughing nearby, their conversations blending into the background noise. "You're dead weight, Hyeon. If you're not fighting, you're just slowing them down."

A few nearby hunters chuckled at the remark. Hyeon ignored them, the ink in his notebook flowing smoothly under his steady grip.

Joonho sighed, shaking his head. "Suit yourself. But don't say I never warned you."

His footsteps faded.

But his words did not.

You're dead weight.

Hyeon had heard those words before.

And yet—he still accepted the next job.

Why?

Because if he walked away now, then everything—the research, the suffering, the quiet indignation—would have been meaningless. And he refused to let them be right.

Entering the Dungeon – A World That Rejects Him

The transition from Seoul's skyline to the dungeon's abyss was immediate, jarring. The moment the party stepped through the Gate, the temperature plummeted. The air thickened with an unnatural density, pressing against his skin.

The cavern walls loomed, jagged and uneven, as though formed not by nature but by something with intent. The flickering torchlight barely illuminated the path, casting distorted shadows that seemed to shift when unobserved.

Hyeon felt it instantly.

Something was wrong.

Dungeons, regardless of rank, had a certain rhythm, a consistency dictated by the System's rigid laws. This one—felt off. The silence was too heavy. The air carried a scent that didn't belong. A whisper of something unseen brushed against his thoughts.

But when he looked up, the other hunters barely reacted.

Joo Min-seok barely glanced back as he gave the first order.

"Spread out. Watch for ambushes."

The team moved in sync, a well-practiced machine of efficiency and brute force.

Hyeon was not part of that machine.

Instead, he lingered at the edges, gaze scanning the cavern walls.

Etched into the stone were markings—not System-generated symbols, but something older. Something more deliberate.

His fingers hovered over the grooves, tracing the patterns. The markings pulsed faintly beneath his touch, a sensation just on the edge of his awareness.

A boot slammed onto his book.

Hyeon barely flinched as the impact smudged ink across the page, but inside, something snapped.

Jung Tae-ho stepped past him without care, barely sparing him a glance. "Keep up, Scholar. You want to die staring at rocks?"

Hyeon's grip tightened around his pen. He wanted to say something. Wanted to demand they look—just once—at what he was seeing. But he didn't. Because he knew the answer.

No one cared.

Another hunter snorted, voice filled with mocking amusement. "Wouldn't be a huge loss."

Laughter followed.

Hyeon exhaled slowly.

He lifted his book, brushed the dirt off.

And kept writing.

The First Battle – A Spectator, Not a Hunter

The dungeon stirred before they could go much further. A guttural growl echoed from the darkness ahead, deep and primal. Then—movement. Shadows twisted unnaturally as creatures emerged, their eyes glowing a sickly yellow against the cavern's gloom.

[Crypt Fiends - C-Rank]

The first attack came fast. A figure lunged from the shadows, serrated claws slicing toward the nearest hunter. Min-seok reacted first, his blade flashing in the dim torchlight. The creature's head rolled before its body even hit the ground.

The battle erupted around Hyeon, but he wasn't part of it. He never was.

The battle erupted into chaos. The crypt fiends, though classified as C-rank, moved with unnatural speed, their jagged claws striking with lethal precision. Hunters countered with well-practiced efficiency—Min-seok's blade flashed through the darkness, Tae-ho's spear impaled two creatures at once, and fiery projectiles illuminated the cavern walls.

Hyeon, as always, stayed at the periphery.

He wasn't part of the formation. He wasn't calling out enemy movements. He wasn't doing anything except watching—documenting the skirmish with precise, controlled strokes of ink against paper. The hunters fought with instinct and muscle memory; Hyeon processed with analysis and caution.

He noted patterns. The fiends moved in a coordinated manner, almost tactical. Their screeches weren't just mindless noise—they were signals. When one fell, the others adapted, adjusting their attack formations.

His fingers tensed around his pen. Something about this wasn't right.

But no one cared what he thought.

A sudden impact knocked him off balance. A hunter had been thrown backward, slamming into him, sending his notebook flying. Hyeon barely caught himself before his head hit the rocky ground.

The injured hunter groaned, clutching a gash on his side. Blood seeped through torn armor. Hyeon scrambled to retrieve his notebook, but another fiend was already rushing toward them.

No one was close enough to intervene.

For the first time, Hyeon felt genuine fear—not just the distant dread of irrelevance, but the sharp, immediate realization of how fragile he was. No sword. No shield. Just his wits and his useless knowledge.

The fiend lunged.

And then—the runes pulsed.

A surge of light, faint but undeniable, crawled across the cavern walls. Not just a flicker, but something alive. For a second, Hyeon swore he heard a voice—a whisper, indecipherable but urgent.

Min-seok's blade intercepted the creature mid-air, slicing through its throat. The monster crumpled, its yellow eyes dimming as dark ichor pooled around its twitching body.

Hyeon gasped, chest heaving. But his mind wasn't on the near-death experience.

The runes had responded. To him.

This wasn't coincidence. This wasn't just some ancient inscription.

This was power.

And for the first time, Kang Hyeon had proof that he wasn't worthless. That knowledge—his knowledge—had value.

He steadied his breath, forced his fingers to stop trembling, and flipped to a fresh page.

And then—he kept writing.