HACKED 90

“Hmm?”

The old man furrowed his brows. He felt a strange sense of heterogeneity coming from his comrade. It wasn’t quite enough to pin down as definitely strange, but it was a bit too bothersome to simply ignore.

“Hey. You!”

He moved out of the area he had been searching and ran toward the Sharpshooter. The Sharpshooter stood before the closed door with unfocused eyes. The old man saw that door as well.

“Did you find the exit? If you found it, you should have said so, instead of just whisking off alone like a person who lost their soul…”

“…….”

“Are you even listening?”

The Sharpshooter said nothing. Even if he wasn’t a talkative person, he wasn’t one to be this reticent; had he perhaps lost heart upon realizing they had been toyed with by the enemy’s trickery?

“I’ve seen it all now, what a dull fellow.”

The old man tried pulling the doorknob on his behalf. It did not budge. Even after he applied force and shook it a few more times, it remained the same.

Whether a bar was set, a chain wrapped, or a lock fastened. It could not be like this if it were locked in a general, physical manner. The gap of the door is bound to rattle even a tiny bit. But for it to be this sturdy.

“The Compiler of this place has locked it using his authority.”

The old man immediately grasped the situation and clicked his tongue. He thought they had luckily found the back door, but it was a wasted effort. Does this mean one really shouldn’t hope for a stroke of luck?

“It can’t be helped. Let’s return to the door we first entered… what are you doing?”

The Sharpshooter had shown no reaction for a while now. The heterogeneity the old man first felt grew even larger. Suppressing an ominous feeling, he looked toward the Sharpshooter.

The Sharpshooter did not budge, as if he had turned into stone right where he stood. With an awkward expression where all the muscles of his face were stiffly frozen and only his two eyes were wide open, he barely moved his mouth to produce words.

“The tiger is coming down.”

“What? You, what are you…”

The Sharpshooter was a middle-aged man dressed in typical medieval Northern European hunter’s attire. His fierce features, characteristic of Westerners, were covered halfway by a rough, untrimmed beard, and he was armed with armor made by joining metal and leather.

A murmur without intonation, as if reciting scripture, leaked from him.

“The tiger comes down. The tiger is coming down. Down into the deep valley of the pine forest, a beast comes down. Shaking its silkworm head, its two ears are torn wide, its body is mottled, its tail is well over a foot long, front legs like jars, hind legs like quiver-holders, with claws like iron sickles…”

“This man, really!”

Unable to bear it any longer, the old man grabbed the Sharpshooter’s shoulder and spun him around roughly. The body was strangely hard. It felt like grabbing a tree stump or a block of rock rather than a living being.

The Sharpshooter’s eyes, which had turned cloudy and unfocused like a rotten fish, were not looking at the old man. Not just the old man, they were not looking at anything at all.

No, actually, he was looking. At a presence that wasn’t here. Not here, but beyond that firmly locked door…

While still maintaining that strangely frozen expression, the Sharpshooter opened his mouth abnormally wide. A howl like a scream burst from him.

“San Gun-nim is making his entrance!”

Immediately after, the surroundings were plunged into a chilly darkness.

The Library District was originally dark. However, it was a ‘normal’ level of darkness. Although dark, if there were a fire or lighting, one could brighten the surroundings, and once adjusted to the dark, the outlines of surrounding objects were dimly visible even without a light source.

However, the current darkness was ‘abnormal’. An artificial darkness where one could not even see one’s own hand raised before one’s eyes. Even the sun would not be able to emit its light within this veil.

Active Skill ‘Changgwi: Gulgak(倀鬼) : Meat Soul’

: If a tiger eats a person three times…

The casting target hears an auditory hallucination of their ‘name’ being called. This hallucination is heard only by the casting target. The ‘name’ is called a total of three times, and if the target answers even once out of the three times, they lose mental initiative to the caster and fall into the status ailment ‘Puppet’.

“Uh, uuh…”

Only then did the Sharpshooter, who had been standing tall like a log, move again.

“Ugh, ahh… I, I, I am.”

While blocking his ears with both hands, he looked around while his whole body trembled like an aspen leaf. As if, surely… as if he had heard some sound within this thick and silent darkness.

At that same moment, a sound occurred. It was from the direction of the door.

The door that should have been impossible to open from the outside or the inside because it was locked with the Compiler’s authority. Something just now passed through that door smoothly, like a snake crossing over a wall. It was an impossible feat unless supernatural power was involved.

The darkness surrounding them became even colder. Slowly, carefully, and with murderous intent, the sound of stepping on the carpet rang out.

Rustle, rustle…

Perhaps it wasn’t the sound of stepping on a carpet. The sound of stepping on wet fallen leaves in a forest thick with mist, or on moss beneath an ancient old tree. The sound of a giant beast prowling and circling in an invisible place, eyeing the moment to pounce.

“I wondered what was going on.”

The old man let out a hollow laugh. His stubborn face, where deep wrinkles were engraved like tree rings, burned with—far from fear… fighting spirit and competitiveness.

“The tiger has been using tricks. It must have stayed for well over a thousand years.”

“I, I, my name is, my name…”

“Aha, for a gentleman who doesn’t even look sixty yet, why are you reciting prayers like a deceased person riding to the afterlife!”

Thwack!

The old man mercilessly struck the Sharpshooter’s back. His hands, covered in callouses and scars, were as stinging in reality as they appeared on the outside. The Sharpshooter, some focus returning to his eyes, staggered.

“Huh? This… why am I here?”

“Tsk tsk. You were thoroughly possessed, you. If it weren’t for me, you would have already been dead several times over.”

An old man armed with a wooden bow and a spear. This old man is an Incarnation more suited for tiger hunting than anyone else here.

During the early Joseon period when Ho-hwan was rampant, a military organization was selected by the King’s order for the sole purpose of wiping out tigers. Hunters of unyielding spirit who, with human bodies, faced beasts as large as houses and finally cut off those beasts’ breath.

They were called…

Passive Skill ‘Chakho Gapsa(捉虎甲士)’

: There is no king in the mountain. There is only the King’s prey.

Attack power increases by 15% when facing an enemy with the ‘Beast’ trait, and specifically, attack power increases by an additional 10% when facing a ‘Tiger’. Possesses immunity to all mental-type debuffs from tigers.

“No matter what wicked sound you hear, never answer.”

“Chakho Gapsa sir. I thank you for the help.”

“I’ll take the thanks later. They say even if you are bitten by a tiger, you’ll live if you just keep your wits about you. Steel your heart.”

The old man expertly prepared for battle while responding to the Sharpshooter’s words. Waiting for the prey that would soon reveal itself.

Before long, the extremely low throat-growl of a beast echoed all around. The sound, which began as a snarl, gradually grew louder, soon becoming a roar filled with rage.

Active Skill ‘Ho-hwan(虎患)’

: To the children of old, Ho-hwan, smallpox, and war were the most terrifying disasters…

Stiffens the casting target and, with a certain probability, causes the status ailment ‘Fear’. The casting targets are everyone within range, including allies. The skill’s effect lasts for the duration of the battle and does not stack.

However, the old man, <Chakho Gapsa>, was not affected by that roar at all. Instead, he shouted loudly toward the other side of the darkness.

“How dare a mere beast mock a human!”

No answer came to the shout. Instead, a pair of bright yellow pupils flashed once in the darkness. Following that, something sharp flew in.

Clang!

A blade that was flying in, aiming precisely for the Sharpshooter’s neck. The old man extended his spear and blocked that blade.

The opponent beyond the darkness slowly caught his breath and adjusted his posture. The edge of a fluttering black dopo was briefly visible.

“Have you donned a human skin, for a tiger? A very cunning fellow, this one.”

<Chakho Gapsa> said as he readjusted his grip on the spear.

“I shall subjugate you by the order of His Majesty the King! If you are prey, then die quietly like prey and let your skin be flayed.”

The old man gripped his spear firmly and charged. His gaze was calmly settled with the composure unique to one experienced in hunting beasts. From behind, the Sharpshooter provided supporting fire.

That wasn’t all. Another unit member who had rushed over after sensing the energy of battle added their strength. It was an old man holding a sharply ground bamboo spear.

“Are you also a defeated general? I shall strike off that lofty neck of yours!”

This old man’s name is <The Silver Grass Flower of the Warring States Period(戦国時代)>. Here, the ‘Warring States Period’ is not that Warring States period of ancient China. It refers to the Sengoku period, specifically the late Muromachi Shogunate of Japan.

To think, ‘Silver Grass Flower’. Why was such a poetic name given to this old man who looks like nothing more than a shabby peasant militiaman? That is because…

Passive Skill ‘Ochimushagari(落ち武者狩리)’

: A defeated warrior is frightened even by the heads of silver grass(落ち武者は薄の穂にも怖ず).

Attack power increases by 15% when facing an enemy who uses a ‘Longsword’ as their main weapon, and if the enemy has the ‘Samurai’ trait, attack power increases by an additional 15%.

It is because he is a human hunter specialized in ‘Warrior Hunting’.