Team 4’s leader, Taesan, looked at his dumbfounded subordinates and grinned broadly.
“Ahahaha! How have you all been?”
Oh Haeyoung and Yu Gi-jun responded with blank expressions.
“T-Team Leader Taesan…?”
“Am I dreaming right now?”
Taesan picked up Haeyoung’s severed arm from the ground and approached her.
“Luckily, it was cut off cleanly.”
“…R-Really?”
Taking out a bandage from his pocket, Taesan attached the arm to the severed area and began wrapping it.
Entity Name: ‘Regenerative Mummy’s Bandage’
Grade: Delta.
A bandage once used by a mummy with exceptional regenerative abilities, widely utilized by administrators for emergency treatment.
“Don’t move. If it gets attached wrong, we’ll have to cut it off again. It should be perfectly reattached in about ten minutes.”
“…Thank you.”
Haeyoung still looked dazed as she gazed up at Taesan. And she wasn’t the only one reacting this way.
“…T-T-Team Leader… L-Long time no see.”
“Oh! Assistant Manager Go Yeonghui! It has been a while. From the way you’re sobbing, you must be overjoyed to see me again. What a relief! Hahahaha!”
Tears streamed endlessly down Yeonghui’s face.
It was understandable—Taesan was her savior. When everyone except for Eunha had resigned themselves to death, he had miraculously appeared and saved them. If she could, she would have kissed his feet. Whether Taesan would appreciate that, though, was another matter.
Leaning weakly against the wall with a pale face, Eunha wiped the nosebleed dripping down and tossed two peas into her mouth.
Gulp.
Only then did colour return to her face.
“Hah… Now I finally feel alive. It’s been a while, Team Leader.”
“Yes, long time no see, Deputy Leader Eunha.”
“Judging by how good you look, you must have been living quite comfortably. Meanwhile, your beloved subordinates were suffering like dogs in a foreign land.”
“Hahaha! That’s why I came all this way!”
“At the cost of a year of my lifespan, sure.”
“Hahaha! Losing a year of life is better than crossing the Sanzu River today, isn’t it?”
Though the Jack’s Peas had enhanced her body’s recovery, they couldn’t restore lost lifespan.
As she quietly waited for her arm to be reattached, Haeyoung asked curiously,
“Lifespan? What do you mean?”
“It’s exactly what it sounds like. I burned a year of my life to summon the Team Leader here. Considering the lives at stake, it was a cheap price to pay.”
‘My Small and Beautiful Painter.’
That was the title of the novel Eunha had retuned from. A grotesque world blending fantasy and horror. The brush the novel’s protagonist wielded was now Eunha’s exclusive weapon.
Entity Name: ‘The Painter’s Brush That Draws Anything’
Grade: Delta.
The brush used by the legendary Painter Who Draws Anything. Whether it was the artist or the brush that was remarkable—or both—remained unclear, but the novel’s protagonist could truly draw anything.
The breathtaking sight of them painting in midair was still vivid in Eunha’s mind. It was the only moment since arriving in this world that she hadn’t regretted her fate. She would likely never witness such beauty again.
But the real problem was that she was the one wielding the brush.
The novel’s protagonist had been a once-in-a-century genius blessed with endless talent and opportunity. Meanwhile, Eunha was just an ordinary person who had fallen into the story. Despite barely clawing her way back to reality, handling such an overpowered artifact came with a cost.
If she pushed beyond her limits, it didn’t just drain her stamina or mental energy—it consumed her lifespan.
Compared to the Painter Who Draws Anything, she was nothing more than an insect.
Yet, as her exclusive weapon, she couldn’t just discard it. She knew better than anyone how powerful its potential was.
“I thought I’d just need to get stronger to solve this issue… but at this rate, I’m going to die before that happens.”
Haeyoung’s large eyes welled up with moisture before she finally teared up completely.
“Deputy Leader Eunha… You sacrificed your lifespan for us…?”
Startled, Eunha quickly denied it.
“No… It wasn’t just for you guys… I had to do it for myself, too. Don’t worry about it.”
Understanding dawned on Gi-jun’s face as he nodded.
“So this is what you were preparing behind the scenes, Deputy Leader Eunha. Just how far ahead did you foresee all of this…? If it weren’t for you, we would all be dead. Thank you, truly.”
Yeonghui, who had been smiling brightly, also stepped forward.
“Thanks to you… we survived. Thank you, Assistant Manager.”
As they had guessed, Eunha had prepared the painting in advance to summon Taesan in case of the worst scenario. It had just been a precautionary measure—but in the end, the worst had happened, making it the best possible decision.
Watching the heartwarming scene unfold, Taesan laughed heartily.
“Hahahaha! Deputy Leader Eunha! You’ve become a true leader now. Excellent, very excellent! But where’s manager Lee Taeseong?”
“…Sigh. Team Leader. You didn’t read my report again, did you?”
“Ah, did I? I thought I had read it…”
“I told you last time. Assistant Manager Lee Taeseong is in isolation because of the incident he caused.”
“Ah, that’s right! That’s right! I completely forgot. He’s in isolation. A shame, really. He would’ve been a great asset here.”
“Indeed. By the way, Team Leader, you did inform Chief Choi about coming here, right?”
“…Inform about what?”
“…Don’t tell me you didn’t say anything? I told you before—there was a chance I’d summon you, so you should have given a heads-up in advance.”
“…Ahem.”
Eunha held her forehead and let out a sigh.
“Oh dear, how did I end up assigned to a team like this… The team leader, the team members—none of them ever listen. None of them.”
She was referring to Taeseong and Taesan.
Scratching his head awkwardly, Taesan spoke up, trying to offer some consolation.
“Well, at least communication devices don’t work here, so there’s no way for Chief Choi to contact us! No need to worry!”
“That’s not the problem, though…”
That’s really not the problem.
Eunha parted her lips as if to argue but ultimately closed them again. She realized that saying anything was pointless.
‘Yeah, what does it matter right now? The priority is getting out of here alive.’
Although her lifespan had been shortened, with a powerhouse like Taesan joining them, they now had a wider range of options for strategizing.
“Team Leader, you understand what it means that I summoned you, right? Our situation is at its worst. If we stay here like this, we’ll be trapped in this forest and die without accomplishing anything.”
“Hmm, sounds even more serious than I expected.”
“Yes. We’ve been completely isolated from the main force. If we want to survive, we have to reunite with them somehow. That’s our only option.”
As Taesan nodded, the massive muscles on his back twitched. Looking at his broad frame, it felt like there was still some hope.
“Don’t worry. I’ll carve us a path.”
Taeseong stood in a daze, staring at the empty spot where the woman had been.
Just moments ago, she had appeared before him, but now she had vanished without a trace, like a illusion.
Someone else might have questioned whether they had been hallucinating or mistaken, but not Taeseong.
His sharpened senses told him with certainty that what he had seen was real.
‘That was definitely Yukina.’
The faint chill that had seeped from her was unmistakable.
The only difference was that it had become more intense—and that other energies were mixed into it.
The Executors had declared that Yukina was dead.
So then, what exactly had he just seen?
It wasn’t an illusion or some phantom trick. That much he was sure of.
There were two possible explanations.
One, the tree’s report had been incorrect, and Yukina had actually been alive all along.
However, this would mean the tree had made a mistake in its information, which was unlikely. The tree had even attached an entity to Yukina’s body—it wouldn’t have been careless about such things.
That left only one possibility…
For some reason, the deceased Yukina was wandering around this place.
He didn’t know why, or how, but he had a very bad feeling about it.
“It’s a relief Sooah didn’t come.”
This place was far too dangerous.
And if she had learned that her master was dead, there was no way she would have been able to handle it emotionally.
For now, he had to move.
The forest was vast. He needed to cover as much ground as possible.
His communication device was useless, and even his compass didn’t work.
That meant he had to rely solely on his map and instincts to navigate.
He walked for about an hour.
During that time, he crushed the heads of over a thousand yokai and absorbed their cores.
Perhaps as a result, the yokai, which had previously swarmed him in packs, had stopped appearing.
Maybe they had learned.
Or maybe word had spread.
Either way, it was a shame.
Most of them had seemed to be in the Delta to Gamma range, so even if their cores weren’t worth much individually, absorbing them had steadily increased his power.
Now that they were gone, he found himself missing them.
‘They won’t approach me unless I reveal more of Dueokshin’s power, huh?’
He glanced up at the sky.
There wasn’t a single star in sight.
Dark.
Endlessly dark.
It was pure, absolute darkness.
If not for the ghostly flames illuminating his surroundings, even Taeseong would have struggled to make his way through.
This place wasn’t just eerie and unpleasant—it was suffocating.
Humans tend to panic when they can’t see anything.
Even those with the strongest mental fortitude will, given enough time in darkness, begin to spiral into anxiety and despair.
And on top of that, Taeseong was completely alone.
Have you ever imagined floating all alone in the middle of a blackened ocean, with no land in sight?
Most people, upon picturing such a scene, would experience an indescribable sense of fear.
Endless solitude itself can drive a person mad.
“…A village?”
Up ahead, he spotted walls and an entrance.
Mostly constructed of wood, it had all the hallmarks of a settlement.
“What the hell? Are there people actually living here?”
Considering the sheer size of this forest, it wasn’t entirely impossible.
Perhaps there had been people who had made this place their home long ago.
But for that to be the case, they would need to have enough power to defend themselves from the yokai.
And before long, Taeseong realized that his assumption was correct.
“They do seem capable of protecting themselves.”
The village was filled with inhabitants.
Humanoid figures—with human heads, but serpentine bodies.
Taeseong hesitated for a moment, wondering whether they could really be called “humans.”
Then, gripping his sword, he spoke.
“If anyone here considers themselves human, raise your hand.”
He prided himself on being fairly open-minded.
