Chapter 291: Infernus (1)
Inside the detention center, there were passages used only by the guards, and special areas not shown on official maps.
These served various purposes.
Most of these special areas were located outside of CCTV and defense systems.
Typically, these were used to viciously torture or assault detainees, and same-sex sexual assault was rampant.
In some cases, guards would even call in their lovers or wives to spend several hours in secret trysts.
To facilitate such uses, secret paths existed, naturally beyond management jurisdiction.
– Once the D-Day is confirmed, I’ll let you know. I think it will be within three or four days.
“Yes, please contact me.”
– My heart is pounding.
“Mine too.”– I’ll be in touch again then.
The call ended shortly thereafter.
Just like Jeon Se-hyuk said, Kang-hoo’s heart was pounding as well.
Bringing an end to Cheongmyeong Detention Center symbolized a definitive break from his dark past.
And since it was something he would achieve with his own hands, it seemed to carry even greater meaning.
‘And if we secure the mana stone mine, it’ll reinforce the power of Jeon Se-hyuk and Lee Ye-rin’s faction. As long as mining proceeds properly, it’s as good as guaranteeing a stable stream of pure profits.’
Mana stone prices normally remain stable, but in times of heightened conflict in each region, they soar.
In fact, with the Battle of Dongducheon turning into a prolonged fight recently, mana stone prices had been on a constant rise.
Especially since The Abyss had been buying them up like crazy.
Their sniper unit, “Jeokho Unit,” sometimes used a hunter’s own mana to fire magical bullets.
But they preferred linking it to mana stones for steady, reliable volleys. That was the trickiest part.
It was also the reason Jang Si-hwan and Chae Gwanhyeong couldn’t recklessly charge the Jeokho Unit.
Because the barrage of magic bullets never stopped.
Particularly, The Abyss possessed unique technology in the field of mana-powered firearms.
In the original story, this technology fell into the hands of the Jeonghwa Guild after The Abyss collapsed.
It had been a windfall for the protagonist, Jang Si-hwan — but that’s not happening this time.
“I should get some proper sleep, then focus only on training. There’s nothing else to do anyway.”
Kang-hoo immediately closed his eyes.
Resting well would make the post-sleep training easier. And tonight, he felt like he could sleep to his heart’s content.
It had truly been a day of hellish exertion.
Afterward.
For two days, Kang-hoo focused solely on personal training.
There was no need for anything fancy or noisy.
When exercising alone or checking his skills, he simply recalled the words of Celestial Assassin.
He recalled his master’s teachings in every action and process.
To remain honest with his emotions.
When hungry, feel the hunger; when hot, focus on the heat; when angry, fully embrace the anger — that was the way.
He also used a wooden mannequin as an imaginary enemy and repeatedly evoked pure malicious intent toward it.
Not everything changed at once, but with steady effort, it felt like Celestial Assassin’s teachings were beginning to become ingrained in him.
In the meantime, an email arrived from Takashi containing compiled dungeon information.
The moment Kang-hoo clicked and opened it, he couldn’t help but let out a silent gasp.
The content detailing the currently known internal data was practically at the level of an academic paper.
There were self-produced example videos, illustrations, even mathematical formulas used in route analysis…
At that point, he could only think — this guy is truly insane. Takashi was genuinely obsessed with dungeon and pattern analysis.
Of course, the content wasn’t boring.
Kang-hoo, too, had a twisted pleasure in creating frustrating patterns and monsters as the original author.
Beyond that, as a gamer, he had a strong penchant for high-difficulty challenges.
Put simply, he was like a mild version of Takashi. That’s why they subtly got along.
Meanwhile, while Kang-hoo was immersed in personal training, Celestial Assassin was training elsewhere.
From what Kang-hoo had glimpsed once, he was training Ju Haemi.
He had her repeating the same move for hours—a high-leg stretch pointing to the sky.
To Kang-hoo’s eyes, her movements looked perfect every time, yet Celestial Assassin scolded her each time, saying it was still off.
Maybe because he had witnessed her struggle firsthand? He felt oddly comforted, thinking he had found a comrade in hardship.
By the night of his second day of personal training—
Kang-hoo had been waiting for a message, but even if it came late, he didn’t really mind. Then the message arrived.
It was from Kang Bok-hwa.
It stated that the bereaved family who owned the Grade-1 talisman “Infernus” would finally be entering Busan from Vietnam.
It was a kind of talisman lottery—a one-time “experience” opportunity costing 49 billion won.
If you failed, you’d lose the 49 billion.
But if you succeeded, the talisman would become yours, and the profit would exceed ten times your investment.
Grade-1 items, regardless of the type, had a minimum price of over 500 billion won.
Since Kang-hoo had promised to keep Celestial Assassin updated on his schedule, he immediately received permission.
Celestial Assassin, knowing that Kang-hoo would occasionally have personal matters, didn’t make a fuss.
He simply left Kang-hoo, who was briefly leaving the villa, with a nonchalant yet caring reminder to stay safe.
Thanks to K’s thoughtfulness, he was able to board a secure limousine straight to Busan.
K must have felt the need to pay extra attention, thinking Kang-hoo was going to meet his wife.
Kang-hoo wasn’t surprised by the limo itself — what shocked him was that the driver was Moon Hyeong-seo.
He had assumed there would be a regularly hired driver, but Moon Hyeong-seo was behind the wheel.
That the man who was practically K’s personal bodyguard was personally driving spoke volumes of K’s consideration.
Thanks to that, he was comfortably en route to Busan in a limousine with excellent ride quality.
The weather was sunny, the road conditions good — everything was going smoothly.
Roughly 30 minutes of silent driving, with not a single word exchanged.
Kang-hoo, while sitting in the back seat, looked at Moon Hyeong-seo and noticed a new constellation had been added to him.
It seemed he had grown recently.
The constellation was one that enhanced his spear skills, creating a great synergy.
Though they weren’t exactly on friendly terms, Moon Hyeong-seo was K’s trusted aide, so his growth was undeniably beneficial.
It was a welcome development—Kang-hoo was just thinking that when Moon Hyeong-seo broke the silence.
“I envy you.”
“Hm? Envy what, exactly?”
“You are receiving teachings from Celestial Assassin. That’s something I truly envy.”
The look in Moon Hyeong-seo’s eyes, visible through the rearview mirror, was filled with sincere admiration.
It carried the desperation of someone who longed for something they could not attain—such was the value of Celestial Assassin’s tutelage.
“Have you ever asked him for training?”
“Of course. But I was immediately rejected.”
“Hmm…”
“Celestial Assassin told me this—my skills were good, but I lacked the talent to change the world.”
So his abilities were acknowledged, but not the potential beyond that.
What did Celestial Assassin mean by “changing the world”? It was something Kang-hoo had never heard him say.
Perhaps worried the conversation would turn into empty lamentation, Moon Hyeong-seo shifted the topic.
“I didn’t mean to rehash his evaluation. I just admire you. It seems you’ve truly earned his recognition, and I respect that.”
“No need for respect.”
Kang-hoo waved his hand dismissively.
In terms of level, Moon Hyeong-seo was much higher, and his skills were good enough to be acknowledged by K.
Even Celestial Assassin had said his skills were “good.” That made him someone above average.
“In any case, I hope you gain a lot from his teachings. More people are watching Shin Kang-hoo than you think. Myself included.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And next time we meet with more time on our hands… you remember, right? The sparring match we promised.”
“Yeah. I haven’t forgotten.”
“I’d really like to have a proper match. If I hadn’t chosen the spear, I think I’d have gone for daggers.”
“Great. I’m not an expert, but if you ever need tips on dagger use, feel free to ask.”
“Thank you. Then… I’ll get you safely to Busan.”
Whirrr—
Moon Hyeong-seo then fully closed the divider between the front seat and the back.
It was to give Kang-hoo a private space.
Kang-hoo welcomed the noticeably softer tone in Moon Hyeong-seo’s voice, different from when they first met.
He had no real reason to be hostile toward Moon Hyeong-seo, so the latter’s subtle antagonism had always felt awkward.
He vaguely suspected it had something to do with Jung Yuri.
If someone you secretly liked seemed to care about another person, it would naturally bother you.
But right now, the relationship between Kang-hoo and Jung Yuri was merely that of a close brother and sister.
Maybe Moon Hyeong-seo had come to terms with that and opened up a bit.
‘Maybe I’ve underestimated Moon Hyeong-seo’s feelings. Yeah, that wasn’t fair. I should show some respect.’
He decided to accept Moon Hyeong-seo’s goodwill at face value. That way, unnecessary misunderstandings wouldn’t arise.
Then it happened.
A message finally came in—Kang-hoo had been wondering why it hadn’t yet. It was from Park Dong-jae.
It had become such a routine that he didn’t think much of it anymore.
In truth, every day, Park Dong-jae would send messages reminding him to eat properly, be careful, and so on.
The messages were always so predictable that Kang-hoo would just glance and reply with a short message.
Yet every time he saw them, it felt like watching a parent checking in on their child daily, and it gave him a strange feeling.
At this point, not receiving a message from Park Dong-jae would feel oddly incomplete.
“Hey, Dong-jae.”
– Hyung! I’m not calling to nag, I swear!
“So you do know your usual stuff sounds like nagging.”
– I mean, I do it because I care about you… should I stop there?
“That’s perfect. Stop right there.”
– Haha. Anyway, the Myeongga Guild contacted me! The master specifically wants to see you.
“Specifically?”
– Yep. Thanks to the tip you gave us, we completely severed the ties to the Haeyeong Guild.
Even the security contractor around the dungeon had links to Haeyeong, so we canceled that contract too.
“Sounds like the Haeyeong Guild had their influence deeper than expected.”
– Yeah. It was pretty much embedded. Felt like they had 90% of it locked down already?
“I really appreciate the master wanting to meet. But the issue is, I’m so busy I can’t really schedule anything.”
It wasn’t an excuse—it was true.
There was the Infernus matter, the dungeon strategy with Takashi, and ongoing training with Celestial Assassin.
On top of that, Kang-hoo was preparing for an operation targeting Cheongmyeong Detention Center, making time even tighter.
Then Park Dong-jae responded.
– He asked me to pass this on, no matter what. He’s truly grateful to you, hyung, and considers you a benefactor who opened his eyes.
“Alright. Then pass this back for me. I’m glad things wrapped up without issue, and I wish the guild continued success.”
– Got it! The Myeongga Guild said they’re open to meeting anytime, so just pick a day that works for you.
“Will do.”
– And one more thing, hyung. About Ishihara Yuji. There’s something I need to tell you about him.
“So here’s the main course.”
Kang-hoo’s eyes glowed red.
The true subject of the conversation was none other than Ishihara Yuji.