Retire 533

533 Foreword

Two years later.

A hand pushed through the dense, overgrown jungle. Branches snapped beneath its feet, but the sound was barely audible. The boots, military-issue, seemed to tread not on earth but on air, so light was their step.

The screen shook. A hand clad in a black glove shot up and made a quick gesture. Then, catching the sound of voices between the trees, it swiftly climbed up into the branches.

The perspective shifted.

Cautiously, it moved among the thick leaves. The light, almost floating movement remained unchanged, but the thin branches still rustled beneath the weight. Yet in a jungle teeming with all manner of life, such sounds were easily ignored.

The screen froze. Looking down, a man could be seen limping through the leaves and vines below. He was clutching a radio, spitting out a string of curses.

The hand appeared on screen again. This time, instead of the complicated hand signals from before, it made a simple, unmistakable sign.

Just as the man set down his radio, the camera’s owner dropped down onto him from above. With practiced ease, legs locked around the man’s head and twisted, bringing him crashing to the ground. The camera’s view jerked wildly, but not so much that the scene became unrecognizable.

The radio hit the ground. The man lay motionless. The camera’s owner gave a thumbs-up, the fallen man in the background.

The screen stopped there.

“…You remember I told you not to kill him, right?”

And then I asked.

—Did you see everything?

“I told you not to kill him.”

—I didn’t! He’s alive and well!

“Alive and well?”

—…He’s a bit roughed up, but nothing’s broken and his tongue works just fine. He’s still making a racket, asking if we know who he is. Just a minute ago, he tried to bribe me to let him go.

I pressed my fingers hard between my brows.

“Alex.”

—Hey! No names in the field! Call me Agent Bonnie!

“Enough with the nonsense.”

A childish laugh rang out from the other end of the line. He was always the same. I really needed to keep him further away from Han Taekyung….

—Well, that’s all I have to report. It’s confirmed this guy was involved, and the data he tried to destroy is safe. Just tell me who to hand him over to.

The options were all much the same. But the consequences of each would be entirely different.

“What’s your judgment?”

—Ahhh… If we hand him to the Americans, we’ll catch Henry faster. But.

“The Ark?”

—The Ark. They’re not obsessed with Mont Saint-Michel like some people, but they’re still crazy about the New Humanity. These days, they’re even trickier than Henry. Why do mages fall for that kind of nonsense?

“Because they’re mages.”

—Must not have enough to do.

As always, Alex grumbled about the Ark’s research lab. I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed at the Ark’s research itself, or at the fact that Noah Michel’s mess was still ongoing. Probably both.

I still couldn’t be sure what Michel had been trying to accomplish at the lab. Now, I never would. Yet, strangely enough, his research into artificial Awakeners and his attempts to connect the dungeon and the outside world had ended up helping us reach our final goal.

In hindsight, it made sense. The research Michel had attempted, however abstractly, was on a similar track to the ultimate project of the Pharos Lab, part of Guild Mimi, whose goal was to close dungeons without direct contact with the dungeon core.

“…Hand that guy over to this hunter. Bring the data back yourself. We’ll need to check it here.”

—What about Henry?

“We’ll look at the data and send anything useful to the Americans. Or go after him ourselves. He’s the last one, anyway.”

—Got it. Then book me a plane ticket.

“Which airport is closest to you?”

—Hang on….

The call with Alex continued a little longer, then ended. I sent a message to Sandra, letting her know Alex would be returning to Korea soon. Considering where he was now, it would take him at least three days to get back.

At the same time, a message flashed on my screen.

Han Taekyung. As soon as I opened the chat, a photo appeared. He was holding some enormous, unidentified bulbous plant. And that straw hat—why…?

[Senior!!!]

[I got what Mr. Kim asked for!! But I probably can’t just carry this through the airport, right??]

[Will it be okay if I declare it at quarantine? I’m not going to get detained again, am I? I get bored if I have to stay at the airport too long]

After some thought, I messaged Kim Chaemin.

[Han says he got the plant you asked for. Handle the paperwork yourself. Don’t dump it on me.]

He always tried to push these things onto me, even though his own name carried more weight in matters like this. He’d end up doing it himself anyway… Sometimes I thought I should help out just once, but then I’d get stubborn, too.

Besides, I had a feeling that if I did it once, it wouldn’t be the last time.

Kim Chaemin replied with a lazy, grinning emoji.

I looked over the other documents on my desk.

The urgent one… I picked up a single sheet. A budget request from Pharos… Were they out of their minds?

I was beginning to understand why Henry Lehmann hated Noah Michel so much. If someone kept taking all the money you worked so hard to earn, of course you’d want to kill them.

The only reason I hadn’t rushed straight to the lab, unlike with Noah Michel, was that at least Pharos managed to bring in enough money to cover their own expenses.

At last.

Three months ago, the first mana meter was unveiled. It was far cheaper than the first mana meter I remembered.

It still didn’t meet all of Sandra’s requirements, but as a first step, it was excellent. We even had to collaborate with Dayeon to meet the order volume. Honestly, if it weren’t for her, production would have been impossible.

But that was that, and this was this.

I said I wasn’t running to the lab, not that I wouldn’t go have a word with them.

I stood up from my chair, budget request—no, budget demand—in hand, not even in the proper format.

The path from the faculty office to the lab was so familiar I could walk it with my eyes closed. Sunlight poured in through the corridor windows. There were still plenty of empty classrooms, but it was better than when the Academy building had first been constructed.

The school curriculum had stabilized, and though the student body wasn’t large, it was well-balanced. On weekends and holidays, graduates often returned to train. I could understand those who’d gone on to university, but I never understood why those fledgling hunters from Daseon kept coming back here.

On a whim, I glanced out at the field. Usually, the first-years would be running laps at this hour, but today they were nowhere to be seen. I hadn’t heard anything about graduates visiting, either. My father had only just returned from an overseas trip, so he was at school. If even he, who’d normally be busy working the third-years to the bone, wasn’t around…

The mystery was quickly solved. As soon as I stepped outside, I heard the sound of a piano coming from the direction of the greenhouse.

Our pianist must be holding another impromptu concert.

Sure enough, the students who’d been missing were gathered in the greenhouse. My father, some school staff, and a few Daseon hunters were there as well. Since Kim Abel had started going out for field practice, his piano performances had become rare. He’d be graduating soon, so everyone wanted to listen while they still could.

As I approached the greenhouse, the students spotted me and greeted me. A few excited first-years waved their hands wildly. I’d seen them earlier, but they acted as if it had been ages.

Just then, Kim Abel finished his piece. He spotted me standing by the greenhouse door and smiled softly, nodding in greeting.

“The next piece is an original. I was inspired during the last dungeon fieldwork….”

“…That one you did with Han?”

“Yeah.”

“So it’s not going to be a proper piece, then….”

“Are you insulting me, or Han?”

“Both?”

Kim Abel gave a wry smile, and the other third-years burst out laughing. Their laughter grew even louder as Abel’s original composition began in a gloomy, frenzied tempo.

I left the greenhouse behind and walked on.

The lab was as chaotic as ever. If anything, it seemed neater in the old days. As soon as I entered, I was greeted not by the beautiful piano music from the greenhouse, but by raised voices.

“I’m telling you, it’s too unstable!!”

“That’s why we need the corn here!”

“That damned corn… Do you know how expensive it is? And it only grows in certain dungeons in Mexico—how are we supposed to get it?!”

“Let’s just see if it works first! We’ll figure out the rest later!!”

In the middle of the lab, Director Sandra Gamble and researcher Park Seohyun were locked in a heated argument, their voices strained with emotion.

It was a common sight these days. I walked over to the group of researchers huddled on one side. Kim Chaemin, ever the pro, handed me a cup of coffee.

“What is it this time?”

“What else? It’s about the next version of the mana meter.”

“Still not settled? I thought you’d agreed to try expanding the range.”

“We did, but…”

“It’s my fault, sir.”

“Huh? When did you get here?”

“Yesterday.”

Choi Jinwoo smiled tiredly.

“I asked if changing the mana meter’s core array might help me find my way in a dungeon… and then this happened.”

“So that’s how it started?”

“Yes.”

“…I won’t ask for more details.”

“Huh? You probably should.”

Kim Chaemin grinned mischievously, pointing at the budget demand in my hand.

“That’s what that’s about.”

“…Corn?”

“Yeah. Tenochititlan corn.”

I checked the amount written on the budget demand.

“…Is this really necessary?”

“Well, I’d say the odds are fifty-fifty. That’s pretty high, right?”

“Is it worth trying?”

“Yes.”

Kim Chaemin answered firmly. At least it was a more reliable opinion than Sandra and Park Seohyun’s shouting.

Choi Jinwoo nodded in agreement beside him.

It was earlier this year, after much discussion, that I told Park Seohyun and Choi Jinwoo about the situation at Mont Saint-Michel. I didn’t share all the stories tied to that dungeon. Even without them, Mont Saint-Michel was dangerous enough. I asked them to help research ways to close such dungeons. Especially since the unique magic Jinwoo had learned would be a great help. Even if we couldn’t find a way to close it, it would be useful for tackling the dungeon itself.

Now, as guest mages, they split their time between hunting and research.

Neither was my student anymore; we had a proper contract as fellow mages.

There were no more mages trembling with anxiety over their abilities. Only mages who did not doubt their own skills, who were unafraid to raise their voices, who claimed what they wanted with confidence.

…I could still clearly remember them bawling at graduation. Why did kids grow up so fast?

Having finally bested Sandra, Park Seohyun stomped over to me.

“Sir!”

She snatched the budget demand from my hand and made a correction with her pen.

Next to the quantity, she wrote ×2.

“…Even so, this amount is a bit much.”

“We can split it up if we have to.”

“You really need it?”

“Yes.”

Sandra approached, her face having grown noticeably more tired in just five minutes.

“If it works, it’ll be amazing.”

“How?”

“It’ll only be usable once… The cost is so huge, there’s no way to make more. But.”

Sandra pursed her lips.

“If all goes well, Jinwoo’s magic could resonate with it and strike at the dungeon core.”

It took me a moment to fully grasp Sandra’s words. My eyes widened.

To close the dungeon without ever having to face that infernal fairy again?

“It’s still just a theory! Only in theory!!”

Sandra hastily added, but that was more than enough.

Wasn’t this the best possible dungeon-clearing method, one no one could argue with?

I laughed with delight and called my father.

Clearing this expense would take more than running a dungeon or two.

He’d been going on lately about handing the guild over to me, about focusing on his job as principal and retiring from hunting.

“I’ve got a big expense coming up….”

As his son, I couldn’t just sit by and watch him retire for good.

It’s not that I can’t take a break.

Really, it’s not.

Honestly.

It’s not.