From the shadows ahead, a storm of writhing tentacles lashed through the air. More than ten of them came crashing down, each strike powerful enough to crush a seasoned fighter. For an ordinary person, such a sight would have left them paralyzed in terror. Even most hunters would have faltered before such a monstrous assault.
Yet Kim Joo-yeon did not flinch.
His stance held steady, his sword cutting arcs of steel light that clashed against the tentacles. Each movement was precise, calculated, and unyielding. He was an A-rank offensive hunter, a warrior bred for the frontlines. With his mastery, he could have escaped easily—his agility and speed techniques alone made retreat possible. But instead, he chose to stand his ground.
He knew the frontline had collapsed. He knew staying meant death. Still, he fought.
The monster's tendrils struck relentlessly, ripping through the air with deafening cracks. Each blow chipped away at his mana barrier, and soon the first streaks of blood carved across his arms, legs, and torso. Wounds piled upon wounds, yet his eyes did not waver.
Behind him, the magicians of the raid team were already fleeing in panic, their robes fluttering as they sprinted without looking back. Survival was their only concern. Kim Joo-yeon must have known this too, and so he fought harder, shouting for them to keep running, to escape while he drew the monster's wrath upon himself.
Blood flowed freely as he howled, forcing the monstrous creature's attention onto him. It was called Muastan—a terrifying behemoth, feared for its massive body and countless tentacles. Though classified as a herbivorous monster, its aggression was unmatched, its natural instinct to eradicate anything that dared step into its territory.
Kim Joo-yeon fought like a wall of steel. Each slash of his blade forced back a tentacle, but the storm would not end. The air trembled as the monster raised more than a dozen tendrils high into the air, preparing to crush him in one overwhelming strike. His mana shield flickered weakly, cracks spreading like shattered glass. He could no longer run—both legs had already been crippled.
Still, he straightened his back and faced the sky of writhing death above him. A bitter smile touched his lips as if mocking his own fate. He whispered his final words—not in fear, but in resignation.
And then the tentacles pierced through him all at once.
His body was run through, his vital organs shredded in a single devastating strike. Blood poured onto the battlefield as his sword slipped from his trembling hand. With a strangled groan, he collapsed to his knees, and the light faded from his eyes.
Kim Joo-yeon, the man who refused to retreat, had fallen.
The monster withdrew its tentacles and dragged its massive body away, uninterested in the corpse it left behind. Even in death, Joo-yeon's bravery had bought precious time for his comrades.
Lee Siwoo, who had witnessed it all through the resonance of his sword, felt his chest tighten. In this brutal era where survival ruled above all, could there still exist someone this righteous? Someone who would throw away their own life for others?
But grief was short-lived. Something about Joo-yeon's final murmur—"I was deceived."—gnawed at Siwoo's thoughts.
Soon, the truth unfolded.
The very hunters who had fled returned once the monster retreated, feigning sorrow as they surrounded their fallen captain. Their expressions flickered with shame, guilt, and hidden calculation. Among them, a man named Seo-il quickly took charge, ordering the recovery of Joo-yeon's body and instructing the team to gather his belongings. Yet their actions carried an unnatural edge, as though rehearsed.
When the others left, Seo-il and Gwak Cha-ryeong whispered in hushed tones. They spoke of abandoning Joo-yeon on purpose, of feigning injuries to collapse the defense line, all to set him up as a sacrificial shield. Their words revealed a greater plot, with someone named Director Yeon pulling the strings.
And through his blade's lingering memory, Siwoo bore witness to this treachery.
Returning to reality outside the gate, he clenched his fists. Kim Joo-yeon's death had not been an accident—it was a carefully staged murder. The hunters had exploited his unshakable righteousness, knowing he would throw himself into the flames to save others.
As fury boiled within him, Siwoo's sword began to tremble, shedding its crimson aura. He remembered the words of his friend Do Min-jun: a sword retains fragments of its previous master's will. When that memory is fully understood, the lingering spirit fades, and the blade acknowledges its new owner. At that moment, the wielder must bestow a name upon it.
Siwoo gazed at the trembling blade. He had already chosen.
With steady conviction, he named it Arondight, after the legendary sword wielded by Lancelot, the loyal knight of King Arthur.
At once, the blade shone brilliantly, the trembling ceased, and a bond far deeper than steel was forged. Siwoo could feel its emotions pulsing through his palm, a wordless connection between man and weapon.
Arondight had accepted him as its true master.
Later that evening, Siwoo dug through hunter records, searching for the names he had heard. Gwak Cha-ryeong and Seo-il were both members of the Light Speed Raid Team under the Galaxy Guild, the fourth-ranked guild in the nation. The name of Director Yeon surfaced too—Yeon Jeong-seok, chief secretary to Kang Myeong-jun, Siwoo's sworn enemy.
The threads connected seamlessly.
Kim Joo-yeon's "accident" was no accident at all. It was tied to the Galaxy Guild, to Yeon Jeong-seok, and perhaps even to Kang Myeong-jun himself.
Siwoo's pulse quickened. His quest for strength and vengeance had just unearthed another layer of conspiracy.
Arondight at his side, he rose from his chair, determination sharpening in his eyes. He would unravel this web of deceit, one thread at a time.