Back on Earth-0, the transition was anything but gentle.
Han slammed onto the wooden floor of his apartment with a heavy thud, the impact rattling his bones. The familiar scent of detergent and instant ramen rushed back into his senses as though reality itself had been forcefully stitched together again. For a brief second, he could not breathe. His lungs spasmed, struggling to readjust to air that did not reek of blood and ozone.
He was still wrapped in his towel, The morning light streamed through the narrow window, peaceful and ordinary, as if nothing had happened, Han slowly pushed himself up on his elbows. His gaze fell to his hands.
They were intact.
No charred flesh, no blisters, no blackened skin, yet the memory remained.
The sensation of blue flame gnawing at his nerves, the smell of his own skin burning—those impressions lingered vividly in his mind. His fingers twitched involuntarily, phantom pain crawling beneath the surface like insects trapped under skin.
"…So it wasn't a dream."
His voice sounded hoarse.
He reached for the void-black book lying beside him. It felt the same as before—cold, ancient, unfathomable. When he opened it, the once-blank page now bore writing.
"The Graveyard of the Unsung."
The words were inscribed in jagged, aggressive crimson ink, the strokes sharp and uneven, as if carved by a blade rather than written by a pen. The letters almost seemed to pulse faintly, carrying a trace of the wasteland's oppressive aura.
Han exhaled slowly.
His entire body felt as though he had just survived a car wreck. His muscles ached, his nerves buzzed faintly, and a deep exhaustion lingered in his bones. Yet when he rose to his feet, he noticed something strange.
His grip tightened unconsciously.
The book's spine creaked faintly beneath his fingers.
His vision sharpened as he looked around the room. Details that once blended into the background now stood out—the thin crack near the ceiling corner, the subtle discoloration in the paint, even the faint dust particles drifting in the air.
He understood immediately.
Vanguard Callousness, even in its raw, unrefined state, it had changed him.
It was subtle, but undeniable. His body felt… denser. Harder. As if something within him had been tempered in battle.
After a few moments, Han sat back down on the floor and placed the book on his lap. He stared at its dark cover, studying the faint swirling patterns that seemed to move only when he wasn't looking directly at them.
"What are you?" he asked quietly, half expecting some mechanical voice to answer.
Silence.
The book remained still, Its surface did not glow. Its pages did not turn
"I guess I can't communicate with you," Han muttered. He ran a hand through his silver-purple hair and gave a dry chuckle. "So it's real, then. You're not joking about killing fifty monsters with a blade, huh?"
The thought lingered in the air.
He leaned back and let his body fall flat against the floor, raising one arm toward the ceiling as if measuring the distance between himself and the life he had known only an hour ago.
"I'm hungry," he said, and this time a small, genuine smile formed on his face, strangely enough, he felt lighter.
After a short while, he stood and walked to the wardrobe. He changed into casual clothes—a pair of blue jeans and a fitted black shirt that accentuated his broad frame. He grabbed his wallet and took the keys hanging neatly on the holder beside the exit door.
The metal felt colder than usual in his hand.
Outside, the city greeted him with the familiar noise of Monday morning. Cars flowed steadily down the streets. Pedestrians hurried along the sidewalks, some dressed in suits, others in casual wear. Life moved forward with unwavering indifference.
As Han walked, his gaze was drawn upward.
A massive digital screen was mounted atop a nearby building, broadcasting the morning news.
"The S-Rank Hunter Min-jun has successfully cleared another Red Gate—the 'Wyvern Nest'—which had remained active for several months."
The reporter's voice was filled with admiration.
Footage rolled across the screen.
Min-jun stepped out from the secured gate zone surrounded by guild members. He had shoulder-length brown hair that framed a confident face, tanned skin, and sharp green eyes that reflected both strength and composure. His tall, muscular figure was clad in radiant golden armor engraved with intricate patterns. The crest of his guild shone proudly on his chest.
Strapped to his back was a massive axe forged of gold and silver, its blade gleaming even beneath the harsh daylight.
Cameras flashed.
Civilians cheered behind barricades.
Min-jun smiled—a bright, reassuring smile that seemed to promise safety, stability, and hope.
Han stopped walking for a moment, watching the screen in silence.
Once upon a time, he had imagined standing there.
Awakening at eighteen. Being recognized. Having power that mattered.
Now, at twenty-three, he had awakened—but not in the way the world celebrated.
Han's lips curved slightly.
"Wyvern Nest, huh…"
After a few minutes of walking, Han reached a small convenience store. The automatic door slid open with a soft chime, releasing a rush of cold air that brushed against his skin. He grabbed two packs of instant ramen and a bottle of water, paid without saying much, and returned to his apartment. Once inside, he changed into loose, comfortable clothes and began preparing his meal. Steam rose from the bowl as he sat at the table, scrolling absentmindedly through his phone while eating. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he was still processing everything that had happened. Halfway through his meal, he paused. "I think it's time I go to a gate to complete the mission," he murmured, voice low but firm, his expression turning solemn. The decision settled in his chest like a weight he had no intention of shrugging off.
When he finished eating, Han moved to his wardrobe. He pulled on a black compression shirt that clung tightly to his frame, emphasizing the muscles honed by years of physical labor. From a drawer, he retrieved a heavy-duty tactical knife he had bought years ago for emergencies—one he never imagined he'd actually have to use. He secured it at his waist, slung a worn backpack over his shoulders, and left his apartment, heading toward the Gwanak-gu substation dungeon.
It was a Rank E gate, officially classified as a "Green Zone." After humanity adapted to the existence of gates, they had created a ranking system based on color and danger level. This particular dungeon was considered relatively safe, the kind of place low-rank hunters or students on supervised field trips entered to grind for basic mana stones. It wasn't glamorous, nor was it particularly dangerous—at least not by hunter standards.
Before entering, Han stopped near the gate entrance and summoned the Traveler's Soul Book. The air rippled faintly, and the void-black tome materialized, hovering before him. Blue holographic text unfolded from its surface.
[ Skill: Vanguard Callousness ]
Type: Passive / Growth-Type
Status: Locked (Raw Essence)
Current Effect: Minor physiological adjustments.
True Potential: Upon full awakening, grants "Absolute Physical Composure." The nervous system becomes partially desensitized to pain. Muscle fibers no longer tear under extreme strain, allowing the body to exceed normal human limitations at the cost of severe post-combat fatigue.
Evolution Quest: "The Path of the Butcher."
Progress: 0 / 50 kills with a bladed weapon.
Han's gaze lingered on the text. "So basically," he muttered, tightening his grip around the knife's handle, "I have to be a madman to survive fighting monsters."
He entered the gate.
The air inside the substation dungeon was humid and smelled faintly of rust and wet copper. The tunnel walls were lined with pulsating blue veins of mana, faintly illuminating the path ahead in an eerie glow. The light wasn't natural; it felt cold, sterile, almost artificial. Most hunters present were in small parties of four or five, laughing, chatting, and casually hunting iron-toothed rats—low-level monsters often farmed by beginners. Their voices echoed lightly through the cavern.
A few of them noticed Han.
A lone man. No party. No visible armor beyond simple clothing. A knife that looked too small for his height. Silver-purple hair that stood out sharply against the dull colors of the cave.
One of the hunters snickered. "Is he a suicide jumper? Look at that gear. Probably an F-rank trying to play hero."
Another shrugged. "Either brave or stupid. Probably both."
Han ignored them. He continued walking, pushing deeper into the tunnel. The laughter faded behind him as he left the relatively safe zones and entered a darker, quieter stretch of the dungeon. It didn't take long for him to find what he was looking for.
A nest of shadow wolves.
Rank E monsters. Faster and far more vicious than the rats closer to the entrance. Their fur was as tough as steel wire, and their red eyes glowed faintly in the dim light. Their bodies resembled oversized wolves, but their movements were sharper, predatory, almost intelligent.
The moment Han stepped into their territory, pairs of glowing red eyes turned toward him.
A low growl echoed through the tunnel.
Grrrr…
The first wolf lunged. Han didn't retreat. Instead of backing away, he stepped forward into its space, using his height and weight as leverage. He slammed his shoulder into the wolf's chest. There was a sickening crack as the beast's ribs caved under the impact. In that split second, Han drove his tactical knife deep into the base of the wolf's skull.
[ Progress: 1 / 50 ]
The other two wolves didn't hesitate. They attacked simultaneously. One clamped its jaws down on Han's forearm. Most people would have screamed. The pain was brutal, teeth sinking into muscle, blood immediately soaking into the fabric of his sleeve. Yet the moment the agony bloomed, something deep within him stirred. The Vanguard Callousness responded—not eliminating the pain, but dulling it just enough to keep him moving, just enough to sharpen his mind rather than paralyze it.
"Is that all?" Han growled.
Instead of yanking his arm away, he used the trapped limb as leverage. He pulled the wolf closer, ripping it off balance. With his free hand, he drove the knife straight into its throat.
[ Progress: 2 / 50 ]
The third wolf hesitated. It saw a human who didn't behave like prey. Han stood motionless, blood dripping down his arm, his eyes cold and unblinking, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. There was no fear in his posture, only focus. He didn't give the wolf a chance to regroup. He chased it through the narrow corridor. When he caught it, he didn't just stab it. He mimicked the downward cleave he had seen the fallen vanguard use, channeling the motion, practicing the weight of the strike.
By the time the outside sun was beginning to set, Han was covered in scratches, bite marks, and drying blood. His breathing was heavy, but his movements had changed. He wasn't flailing or reacting blindly anymore. His steps were controlled, his attacks deliberate. He sat against the cool mana-veined wall, catching his breath. His backpack was heavy with mana stones he had collected from the slain wolves.
"Guess I don't need to work at the warehouse anymore," he muttered, a faint, weary grin curling at the corner of his mouth.
He summoned the book again. The text floated before him.
[ Evolution Quest: "The Path of the Butcher" ]
[ Progress: 42 / 50 ]
"Eight more," he whispered, voice hoarse.
He pushed himself to his feet. His tall frame cast a long, distorted shadow against the glowing cavern walls. He moved to the narrowest part of the tunnel, positioning himself in the only viable exit route. There, he waited, effectively blocking the escape route for the pack. He didn't feel fatigue in the way he used to. Pain lingered, but it no longer slowed him the same way.
[ Progress: 43 / 50… 45 / 50… ]
The tactical knife in his hand was chipped and dulled from striking bone repeatedly, but Han's grip remained firm, almost unbreakable. He stopped thinking in terms of simply "stabbing" the wolves. Instead, he focused on threading the blade through them—finding the gaps between bone and muscle, angling the blade so that it cut deeper with minimal resistance.
48. A downward thrust through the skull, 49. A brutal horizontal rip across the throat.
The fiftieth wolf was the largest. The pack leader. Scars marked its snout, its body larger and more muscular than the rest. It lunged with a desperate, hungry snap. Han didn't dodge. He stepped forward, taking the bite to his shoulder, and used the monster's own momentum to drive the dulled knife deep into its chest.
[ Evolution Quest: "The Path of the Butcher" — Complete ]
A shockwave of cold energy erupted from the Traveler's Soul Book. It raced up his spine like ice water injected directly into his veins, spreading through his limbs, knitting torn muscle fibers and numbing the pain in his shoulder.
[ Skill Evolved: "Vanguard Callousness" (Rank E — Permanent) ]
Effect: Pain receptors are suppressed by 70% during combat. Physical fatigue accumulates at half speed. Body is now "tempered." Skin and muscle density have increased.
Han exhaled slowly, the breath forming a pale cloud that almost looked like silver vapor. He wiped blood from his eyes with the back of his hand and began walking back toward the entrance, ignoring the shocked stares of other hunters who saw an F-rank walk out of the tunnel drenched in blood yet still upright.
He made his way to a small shop near the gate entrance—a place that bought dungeon byproducts and sold weapons. When he pushed the door open, a small bell chimed. The old man behind the counter looked up, startled by the sight of a blood-soaked figure standing in his shop.
"I'd like to sell these low-rank mana stones," Han said evenly, placing a heavy pouch onto the counter.
The shopkeeper's eyes widened slightly at the weight of the pouch, but he didn't comment on Han's appearance. He simply counted the stones, then said, "That'll be three million won."
Han nodded. The money was transferred directly to his account.
Just as he was about to leave, a thought struck him.
"Hey," Han said, pausing. "I need a sword. Something sturdy. Not too long, not too short. I don't mind if it's heavy."
The old man rose from his chair and reached beneath the counter. He placed a sheathed blade on the countertop.
"It's 120 centimeters long and weighs about three pounds," he explained. The sword was made of steel, with a leather-wrapped grip and a clean, functional design. "It's 750,000 won."
Han studied the blade for a moment, then nodded. "I'll take it."
He paid. The shopkeeper handed him the sword along with a simple leather sheath, offering the latter as a free extra.
Han took the blade, feeling its weight settle comfortably in his hand. Something about it felt right.
Then, without another word, he left the shop.