Hyung-woo drifted through the guild hall like a man trying not to look lost, but very much was. Boots scuffed lightly against polished boards. Adventurers laughed, bragged, sharpened blades, drank thick foamy ale. The air smelled of sweat, parchment, steel, wood-oil, and roasted meat—a proper adventurer den.
He found the request board—towering, patched with paper slips like battle scars. Every parchment held someone's plea, coin promise, or threat from the wilderness.
His fingers hovered over high-reward hunts. Too dangerous. Bigger escort jobs. Too risky. Escort a lord's daughter. Absolutely not.
Then—simple ink. Straightforward. Almost humble.
[Gathering Herbs]
He exhaled through his nose, expression flat, then reached up and tore the slip off cleanly.
Start small. Build. Climb. Survive.
He brought it to the receptionist's desk.
She barely glanced up—expression neutral, tone efficient, fingers tapping quietly across a crystal panel behind the desk.
"Request assigned to your card. You may check your adventurer card to track it."
"You cannot take more than one request at a time. Good luck on your adventure, sir."
Her voice was monotone, clearly having recited the line thousands of times.
Hyung-woo nodded quickly, stiffly polite—his default panic-politeness.
He tucked the card away like it was fragile, precious, flammable even, then turned and slid out the doors.
Outside the guild, sunlight kissed his face. He blinked—eyes adjusting. His shoulders lifted slightly—like the air here was easier to breathe than the blood-soaked one he left behind.
And somewhere far beyond that scene—
"Don't take too long, boy."
Lamentia's voice rolled into Wolf's spirit like silk dipped in thunder.
Wolf—floating like a quiet spectator in the dream-memory—tilted his nonexistent head in annoyance.
Don't take too long?! What am I supposed to do? I don't control the pace.
How exactly am I supposed to hurry this up? Fast-forward his life like some fucking cheap isekai slideshow!?
He huffed—not truly sound, but irritation echoing inside himself—and kept watching.
Hyung-woo wandered the streets again, eyes flicking between signs and people.
The kingdom pulsed with life—stone streets, open stalls, smithy sparks, cry of vendors, creaking carriage wheels, laughter and gossip over warm bread.
Then a sign swung lazily on iron hinges:
Inn
Warm lights. Soft chatter inside. He stepped in, voice tentative:
"A room for the night, please."
The stout, bored-looking innkeeper looked at him. "That'll be twenty gold coins upfront."
The innkeeper gave him a quick once-over.
Clothes dusty. Eyes tired. No pouch clinking at his hip.
A silent equation solved instantly.
Hyung-woo blinked—remembering too late.
…I have no money!
The innkeeper's face immediately soured.
"Out," he barked, his voice laced with sudden hostility. "We don't get beggars in here. Go on, outside!"
Hyung-woo was unceremoniously shoved out the door and onto the cobblestones. He felt a fleeting moment of frustration—a deep, internal burn—but he suppressed it instantly.
There was no time for anger. He simply sighed, the sound a soft expulsion of air, accepting the new reality with cold pragmatism.
A passing woman snorted. Someone muttered "rookie."
He sighed, hand dragging down his face.
This is pathetic.
He dusted himself off and walked again. No direction—just motion to avoid thinking.
Soon—city gates. Thick armored guards leaned lazily, spears grounded, bored expressions like statues paid too much to do too little.
Hyung-woo approached timidly, showing his card.
"Um—excuse me, sir. Where can I gather this herb?"
The guard, a burly man with a slight beer belly, barely glanced at the card before giving him directions, his face contorted in a sneer of disdain for the low-ranked errand.
"It's on the left, near the road, the herb field. Just follow the main road a bit, you can't miss it."
Hyung-woo nodded, ignoring the obvious contempt, and walked out of the gate.
The next hour was spent methodically scouring the field, his hands moving with efficient precision as he identified and plucked the correct herbs.
He returned to the Guild, delivered his meager bounty, and received his reward: 4 gold coins.
Not enough to afford a room.
The thought process was immediate and crushing.
Four gold coins... I must earn at least five times this much.
The first night in the new world, Hyung-woo slept on the street, tucked into an alleyway, covered only by the harsh, starless sky.
This routine became his life for a full week.
He ran back and forth, taking three to four low-level resource-gathering requests a day, ignoring the pain and exhaustion, driven only by the single-minded need for stability.
Finally, after seven days of ceaseless grinding, he had enough.
He rented the cheapest room at a lesser inn, walked in, and simply collapsed onto the stiff, rough mattress.
The room, small and smelling faintly of mold and old wood, felt like a sanctuary.
He lay down and slept, the deep, dreamless sleep of the truly exhausted.
The new day came, and the same routine began.
Grinding. Repetition. Determination quiet but steel-hard.
Wolf continued to watch, silent, seeing the world through Hyung-woo's eyes, hearing every thought, feeling the dull ache of his muscles.
The years compressed into flashes of memory: the repetitive rhythm of the hunt, the cold calculations of efficiency, the relentless pursuit of growth.
Days became weeks. Weeks wore into months.
Then, during one particularly bloody dungeon exploration, a crucial internal thought flickered through Hyung-woo's mind, a quiet observation that caused a monumental, internal shockwave in Wolf.
They don't have a system.
the interior of a damp, earth-scented underground labyrinth. The gloom was barely dispelled by the light from a glowing orb Hyung-woo held.
He moved with conscious, clinical precision, every step calculated to avoid unseen traps and potential enemies.
Finally, Hyung-woo reached a large chamber scarred with bloodstains and claw marks—the lair of the dungeon boss—a massive, heavily-armored lizard-like creature with furious red eyes.
The battle was swift and brutal. Hyung-woo moved like a well-oiled machine, leveraging the information only he could see to exploit structural weaknesses: the gaps in the scale armor. the precise cooldown timers of his own skills.
The moment Hyung-woo's blade drove cleanly through the boss's softer throat...
A translucent light-blue window jerked up abruptly to fill Hyung-woo's entire field of vision!
It was blindingly bright, and even he was unprepared for the sudden notification.
[You have acquired the title: Dungeon Boss Slayer]
Wolf, watching, felt an intense, internal mental shockwave from the loud, clear alert. It was undeniable evidence of what Hyung-woo possessed.
While the window still hung prominently in the air, Hyung-woo didn't look at it immediately. Instead, he slowly turned his head toward the two other adventurers who had reluctantly joined his party: a stocky middle-aged man who was laboriously raising his shield, and a panting female mage with trembling hands.
Hyung-woo looked at them... looked past them.
Neither of the two had any reaction to the brightly illuminated system window.
The mage's face was still etched with fear over the enormous carcass of the boss, and the shield-wielder was cautiously sweeping his eyes across the empty chamber. They were clearly looking at Hyung-woo and the boss's corpse, but not the flashing system window.
Hyung-woo's internal thoughts, colder and sharper than before.
They don't see my window notification?
They... don't have a system.
So… only the chosen humans have system.
Wolf's spirit stiffened, eyes widening like shock could punch through memory.
…So that's how it is.
Hyung-woo calmly sheathed his sword.
The system window finally faded away. Outwardly, his demeanor was perfectly composed, but inside Wolf's mind, the quiet observation fueled a storm of analysis and cold calculation.
The memories continued to fast-forward, blurring into rapid montages of successful quests, promotions, and gear upgrades.
Finally, a year after stepping out of the camp, Hyung-woo stood taller, his body hardened, his face etched with a colder resolve.
He had become a famous adventurer—recognized on sight, known for his speed and lethal efficiency.
His status was now confirmed by the flash of a adventurer card: Adventurer Rank: Vanguard.
Vanguard. The fifth of the eight ranks: Beginner, Scout, Journeyman, Warden, Vanguard, Master, Hero, and the ultimate, strongest rank, Pioneer.
The fast-forwarding of Hyung-woo's memories continued, a blur of successful quests and increasing renown, culminating in his Vanguard rank.
Wolf, trapped in the passenger seat of this past life, watched with an intensity that bordered on obsession.
The next pivotal moment in the memory occurred years later, when Hyung-woo accepted a high-stakes request—a desperate plea for help.
The scene shifted to the muddy main square of a small, isolated agricultural village, its wooden palisade walls already bearing fresh claw marks. The air was thick with tension, fear, and the distant, low growl of the approaching monster horde.
Hyung-woo arrived, his posture lean and confident, his gear meticulously maintained.
He wasn't alone.
Waiting for him were four other adventurers, all radiating the disciplined competence of those who had faced true danger and prevailed.
Wind rolled over the village's battered palisade like a tired sigh, rattling loose planks and stirring dust from the blood-dark earth. Smoke still hung thin in the air, ghosting up from smoldering piles of monster corpses — a feral stench of iron and bile sinking into every breath.
Lanterns swayed from wooden posts, casting long trembling shapes across worn soil and weary faces, as though the world itself still quivered from the violence hours prior.
Hyung-woo wiped his blade across a torn scrap of cloth, his breath misting faintly in the cool night. His arms trembled not from weakness, but from the echo — the aftershock of slaughter, the weight of adrenaline withdrawing like a tide leaving stones bare.
He exhaled, slow, steady, forcing his shoulders to drop. His heartbeat beat like dull drums in his ears.
Footsteps — light, precise — approached.
Jasper Throne. His cloak fluttered in a gentle wind, shimmering where stray sparks from the bonfires caught in silver-thread sigils. His face was composed but lively, the calm calculation of a leader paired with an almost boyish glint of triumph in his gaze.
"That was… impressive," Jasper said, voice warm yet controlled, each word measured. His fingers absently brushed dust from his sleeve, his posture tall, chin lifted slightly as though addressing not just Hyung-woo, but destiny itself.
Hyung-woo dipped his head. "You too. All of you."
His voice was tired but steady, the kind of tone that came from enduring chaos until calm felt earned rather than granted. He glanced at the others gathering behind Jasper — Cassian wiping monster ichor off his gauntlets, Willow whispering a soft healing chant to close small cuts along her arm, Mayumi adjusting the string of her bow with methodical focus.
They were strong. Coordinated. Familiar with power.
Jasper extended a hand — palm up, elegant, confident, carrying intent like a banner.
"You should join us, Hyung-woo." A small smile. "Someone like you shouldn't walk alone out here."
Hyung-woo, watching through his own eyes, felt a wave of profound relief wash over him—an emotion Wolf was forced to experience with him.
Hyung-woo blinked, surprised at how much that offer stirred inside him.
The loneliness of silent training, sleeping under unfamiliar roofs, talking only to his own thoughts — it all surfaced in a crushing wave before he forced it back down with a quiet swallow.
His fingers curled slightly as if to test whether they still remembered what acceptance felt like. Then he nodded and clasped Jasper's hand.
"Hell yeah. I'd like that."
A cheer burst from Cassian — loud, impulsive, clapping Hyung-woo's back.
"Knew he'd say yes! Guy fought like he had gods chewing on his ankles!"
Willow laughed soft and airy, brushing stray strands of hair behind her ear.
"Welcome," she murmured with small but sincere warmth. Mayumi only gave a curt nod, but her gaze lingered — respect layered with appraisal.
And so it began.
Days bled into weeks — steel against fang, spellfire lighting midnight sky, dirt roads stretching like veins between villages whispering danger. Their footsteps etched into history in quiet strokes — not yet legendary, but unmistakable. Jasper's voice always the rally call, steady as an oath:
"Forward. We don't break."
They carved through threats like a rumor of heroes — storms of claws, corrupt nobles plotting rebellions, subterranean beasts rising from forgotten tunnels. Their names spread first in frightened whispers from grateful mouths, then proud declarations from drunken tavern bards.
The Zenith Quintet.
Hyung-woo adjusted quickly — laughing around campfires, training alongside equals, sharing glances of mutual ambition. The ache in his chest that used to be solitude slowly cooled, replaced by something like belonging.
He marveled — sometimes secretly, sometimes openly — at Jasper's certainty, his leadership. At Willow's patience. Mayumi's lethal calm. Cassian's brute-will laughter.
He found himself thinking, If there's anyone I can talk to as equals… it's them.
And the world noticed.
Master rank — earned not by fluke but by relentless ascent, by undeniable presence carved into the era like a scar. Taverns chanted their title; nobles gave them wary respect; even guild officials stiffened their posture when passing them by. Their shadow stretched long, promising future greatness.
Yet history had its ceilings. The age was peaceful — no collapsing kingdoms to save, no tyrant warlords to cleave down. People whispered with both admiration and pity:
"They would already be heroes if they were born just decades earlier…"
Hyung-woo's internal thoughts, colored by a touch of shared disappointment.
The requirements for advance from Master to Hero are clear: Stop regional wars or disasters that threaten the kingdom and have their name recorded in history...
Many people have the same thought: if this were the old times, during the wars, they would already be Hero rank.
The next rank, Pioneer, was an entirely different league. The requirements were almost godlike: Make a big difference to the world, like discovering a new continent, slaying an ancient being, or solving a global problem that others cannot.
Hyung-woo ran a mental list of the four Pioneers recorded in history.
Nova Leminton, The Prime Axiom:
He achieved Pioneer rank at age 90.
He created The Logic of the Wind, a song with a special frequency used to permanently record the correct history of the world, remembered by all who hear it.
Aurora Malice, The Dark Sun of Justice:
She achieved Pioneer rank a hundred years ago at age 30.
She linked the fate of every corrupt politician to their oppressed people—if any citizen was hurt by the government's actions, the leader would immediately feel the pain, both physically and mentally. While a Pioneer, she also completely erased the names and identities of irredeemable criminals from all records and memories of all living beings on Earth.
Flynn Carnal, The Absorber of Deeds:
A controversial figure.
He Created artificial lifeforms, the Hedonia Mega, capable of achieving Hero-level achievements from birth, effectively devaluing the efforts of others.
Lady Blur, Map's Refusal:
The most mysterious. No one knew her true name.
She announced she had hidden the world's greatest treasure at a clearly marked location on a map, but when someone reached it, the chest would warp to other points on the map at her whim—an endless, frustrating puzzle.
The Quintet's fame was enormous, but the wall to Pioneer seemed insurmountable in this era of relative calm.
These legends were mountains; and though the Zenith Quintet climbed, the air at the top remained thin, unreachable.
And the world murmured — respectful but resigned:
"Even with their potential… the Zenith Quintet will never reach Pioneer."
Hyung-woo tightened his grip on his sword one evening as he listened to such talk drifting from a tavern door — jaw tense, breath quiet, fingers twitching with hidden irritation.
A flicker in his eyes — ambition flaring, resentment simmering, pride bruised yet burning.
Never?
His chest rose, steady but sharp, like a man inhaling to swallow the entire sky.
The road stretched ahead, muddy, uneven, illuminated by flickering lantern-fire. His shadow dragged long behind him — not echoing defeat, but stubborn promise.
He walked.
Step. Step. Step.