The instant dungeon (4)

Thinking about who I had to kill was the kind of thing you only do when there's no other choice left.

And guess what?

That's exactly where I was.

Doyun and I had searched the woman's body.

Found nothing.

No badge, no ID, no symbol… nothing to link her to anything or anyone that could serve as a concrete lead.

But I didn't need concrete leads.

I knew exactly who was behind the Kwang-Oh Massacre.

Kim Sukho. President of Korea.

Chae Joochul, chairman of Daehyun.

Yoo Taeho, from Essence of Strait.

Monsters. Not metaphorically.

And even then… they didn't do the dirty work themselves.

They just pointed fingers.

And others did the killing.

The Chameleon Troup.

Those lunatics from the central command.

The bruiser with the fists. The woman with the knife. And others—so many others who barely even showed up in the original novel.

"This way!"

We were sprinting through the narrow streets of Kwang-Oh. Dim houses, shattered windows, distant barking.

Doyun followed silently, trusting my orders more than he probably should.

I vaguely remembered the path to the city center. But I stopped before we reached it.

The pieces were falling into place.

"Doyun."

"Yeah?"

"Where's the designated invasion-protocol shelter?"

He furrowed his brow, trying to recall.

"About four blocks south of the center. Basement of an old school. Why?"

"Change of plans. Take me there."

He hesitated. But only for a second.

Then nodded, picking up the pace beside me.

Two things had led me to that decision.

First: the man with the fedora.

That guy radiated the kind of presence you didn't want anywhere near your dreams, let alone your reality.

And if that was Yoo Taeho or Chae Joochul… well, I'd rather not find out today.

Second: the brute. The same one who—technically—killed me before.

Facing that thing again with a borrowed body, even with temporary buffs?

Didn't seem like the brightest move in the world.

Especially considering that I (well, the "real" me) had been taken down without much effort last time.

But the shelter?

Maybe no one would expect me to go there before the city center.

Maybe it was still a place where I could actually make a difference.

It was a gamble.

Risky. Stupid, even.

But luck was my highest stat, right?

…

Or had that been altered when I became Hyeon-U?

Before I could spiral too far into that paranoia, the shelter came into view.

It was massive.

A reinforced gate. Emergency lights still on.

Everything looked like it was in full alert mode.

And right out front…

Two enemies.

Low stances. Steady steps. Blades gleaming in their hands.

Standing over the body of one of my men.

One of the heroes I was supposed to protect. Down. Cold.

The last two survivors under my command were breathing hard. Faces pale. Blood trickling from their arms. Surrounded.

But the assassins… didn't seem in a rush.They watched.

Measured.

Their magical energy wasn't explosive like the previous woman's. Not suffocating like the brute's.

But it was sharp. Focused.

They knew exactly what they were doing.

I didn't give them the chance for anything else.

It was now or never.

My boots struck the stone floor. Mana surged into my arm.

It was much easier when the weapon itself helped shape the shot.

The bow glowed. Crystalline mana gathered in my palm like electricity solidifying into matter.

One. Two.

Three arrows fired in sequence.

Vwoosh. Vwoosh. Vwoosh.

They sliced the air like blades of wind.

Each shot angled differently. Each arrow aimed at a distinct point.

They weren't as brutal as the ones I'd used before. But even so—

BOOM.

The first hit one of them square in the chest.

He was thrown against the wall. The impact cracked the concrete.

The second passed just beside the other's flank, forcing him to dive, roll, and spin with near-inhuman agility.

He pulled two slim silver daggers, one in each hand.

Expressionless face. Predator's eyes.

I was already drawing another arrow when he lunged forward.

"Tch!"

I dove to the side.

The dagger sliced through where my neck had been half a second earlier. Drew blood, but nothing serious.

I recovered, dropped to one knee, fired.

The arrow hit the ground behind him and burst into mana shards.

Blue light. Sparks. Dust in the air.

They didn't hesitate.

Moved in zigzags, crisscrossing, messing up my timing.

One feinted. The other attacked for real.

Their movements were almost choreographed.

"They're professionals," I muttered.

My eyes followed the closest one.

Bow raised in record time.

Blocked his dagger with the reinforced shaft.

The impact rattled up through my entire arm.

He stepped back, forcing me to open my guard.

The other was already behind me.

I spun.

Elbow strike. A kick to push him back.

Another point-blank arrow.

It struck his shoulder, tossing him two meters back.

"You guys don't quit, huh?"

One of them smirked. The other showed nothing.

Two more steps. Two more strikes.

I rolled sideways, used the momentum to spin across the ground, reloaded, and fired lying down.

The arrow flew low and tore into the leg of the one who was already wounded.

CRACK.

He staggered.

"Ad hoc formation!" I shouted. "You two — front line! Doyun, cover the rear!"

"Understood!"

The wounded heroes moved into position, even if they were barely standing.

Doyun charged in, sword drawn, cutting off one assassin's escape path.

I took the center.

It made the most sense — that's where I, an "archer" (heavy quotes), shined most.

More firepower. Better vision.

Tension on the string.

Arrow nocked.

The two charged again, confident. But I was ready.

One shot. Another. Then another.

One slash, two dodges, three parries.

They danced between shots.

Infuriating enemies, dodging with spins and rolls that blended martial arts with acrobatics.

But they didn't know I was already one step ahead.

Behind them, Doyun crossed his arms mid-air and came down hard.

A feint. He landed with a diagonal slash.

The strike was clean. One assassin dropped to his knees.

My final arrow was already drawn.

"It's over, motherfucker."

I loosed it.

Time to end this mission.

But—

It didn't hit.

It didn't explode.

It didn't pierce.

It was caught.

With a single hand, that is.

Standing between the two assassins now… was another figure.

Small. Fragile.

Like a child was supposed to look.

She wore all black.

Bare feet. Short hair. Eyes with no defined color.

On her right wrist, a tattoo: a four-leaf clover.

She slowly lifted her head.

And declared:

"You were doing so well, Mr. Target."

The arrow cracked in her fingers like it was made of paper.

My heart froze.

Because that girl… wasn't just anyone.

And my brain screamed in unison:

The future Black Seat.

A living legend — born of blood, shaped in darkness.

The silent nightmare of the Association's elite.

The most powerful among the leaders of the Chameleon Troup.

A child.

Small, fragile… and capable of turning cities into craters.

The world didn't know her name yet. But one day, they'd all fear it.

I didn't stand a chance.

Even so, a dry laugh slipped out — bitter like poison on my lips.

Because my next arrow was already drawn.

And I fired.