I deny it, but people say I’m good at politics.

I’ve said it over and over like an excuse to various people, but it’s not like I was consciously trying to play politics.

I was just a model student, and after entering society, I kept doing what model students tend to do.

That said, I won’t deny that I was born with a knack for political calculation—or, to put it differently, a natural talent for weighing gain and loss in my head.

“I see.”

I quietly steered the conversation toward an end, then tested the waters with Im Jae-hyeok.

“But is there really anything to gain from publishing a finding like that?”

I looked him in the eyes as I asked.

“Honor?”

Honor is a tempting trophy.

But having had a taste of it myself, I also know what a mirage that honor can be.

People say it all the time, don’t they?

“You can’t eat honor.”

“Well, that’s part of it, sure. Yeah. Honestly, I do want to make a big discovery with my name on it. I wouldn’t call myself a scholar, but I’ve worked at a lab, so there’s that.”

“...Is that so?”

A moment of silence settled between us.

And it ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) wasn’t a light silence.

Fortunately, it was Im Jae-hyeok who broke it first.

“Actually... my family is a big reason too.” 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

“Oh? Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a wife and two sons.”

He sighed before continuing.

“She keeps bringing up Jeju.”

“Jeju?”

“Yeah. Says she misses how it was back in Jeju. You know the kind of whining women do, right? Using the kids as an excuse. I mean, I know badmouthing my wife is like spitting in my own face, but what can I do? It’s Jeju this, Jeju that every damn day. And these days, things don’t exactly feel safe around here.”

Someone like Im Jae-hyeok would know.

He’d know what kinds of dangerous undercurrents are flowing through New Seoul.

Sure, all you see are the busybodies scrambling to expand the class divide within New Seoul, but the ones with real power? They’re stockpiling resources and scouting out other places.

Park Penguin. King. Even the U.S. military standing in front of my bunker.

They’re all exploring any and every path to survival.

Im Jae-hyeok might not be at the center of it, but he’s at least seen it in passing.

“There’s a major research center in Jeju. One where they’ve gathered only the brightest minds.”

“Eden, you mean?”

Im Jae-hyeok looked startled.

“How do you know about that?!”

“I worked near there when I was stationed in Jeju.”

“Ah... right. That makes sense. Yeah, that’s what I mean. I think heading there would be better. At the very least, I wouldn’t have to worry about getting killed by a monster.”

I felt a similar kind of relief.

Though of a different flavor.

“......”

It just means I’m not so clean either, doesn’t it?

*

Im Jae-hyeok’s hypothesis is deeply intriguing.

Someone like me—a person who can’t be seen.

The strange hunger that person felt.

The process of satisfying that hunger, and then the return of it, leading to death.

That said, there are some discrepancies between his claims and the facts.

With elevated clearance, I looked into it myself—Sergeant Gu was recorded as having sustained brain damage and labeled a psychiatric case, with supporting medical documentation to match.

As for the unknown monster attack he supposedly experienced—that’s also listed as delusion in documents only I can access.

At the supposed site of the monster attack, investigators found the bodies of his team, but they had all been killed by friendly fire.

Summary: The cause of CASE #883 is presumed to be internal conflict among the soldiers—possibly a breakdown in discipline or deliberate violence—rather than an unidentified monster attack.

The only reason Gu wasn’t charged was that no bullet casings were found linked to his weapon.

Investigators believe Gu fled while his teammates turned their guns on each other.

So yes, there are factual inaccuracies in Im Jae-hyeok’s account—but I don’t plan to refute his hypothesis.

Because it’s true that I remain invisible to his third-person perception, and it’s equally true that this unrelenting hunger is real.

As I returned to Room 803, I requested strengthened information protection.

“You’re serious? You want Level 3 protection?”

Room 1301.

Also known as the Sky Lounge, that division oversees all hunter-related departments—including our Room 803.

Naturally, they operate as a subordinate branch of the Jeju Committee, prioritizing organizational interests above all else.

Ever since the battle with the Nemesis-type, they’ve repeatedly come to me under the guise of being concerned for my safety, asking me to agree to stricter information controls.

Currently, I’m under Level 2 protection.

Level 1 means only authorized personnel within the intranet can access data. Level 2 goes further—providing a fake identity and shelter, limiting database access, and implementing proactive countermeasures.

But even that isn’t enough.

The train incident made that clear.

At first, most people didn’t know I was Skelton, but word eventually spread, and by the end of the trip, everyone on board knew.

Pyo Won-sang’s team tried to keep up appearances by banning recordings or leaks of my image, so I didn’t end up online—but I painfully realized that you can’t shut people’s mouths.

Level 3 goes one step further.

It takes the Level 2 baseline and adds falsified data—fabricated Skelton lore, strategically planted online leaks, made-up rumors, and what they call viral disinformation campaigns.

I had previously rejected Level 3 protection because I was afraid that my unique identity—Skelton—would be diluted by third parties.

But now, things are different.

Our board is dead. Nobody knows when or how the new board Foxgames is developing will go live.

More than anything, I need to keep my identity hidden.

Especially with the fall of Seoul fast approaching.

Even fellow hunters who admire me might soon turn, coming to take my head. Or maybe it’ll be strangers, ones who just want to kill Skelton for the thrill of it.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Yes. Please do it.”

Skelton doesn’t matter much anymore.

Sure, it’s a legendary part of my life, but with everything coming to a close, it’s not worth clinging to.

I met with Yoo Yang-seo.

People call her “High Priestess of the Kang Han-min Cult,” “the hidden power behind the throne,” “Kang Han-min’s mistress”—but the fact remains, she holds the highest authority within Kang Han-min’s inner circle.

“Ah, Captain Park Gyu. Long time no see. I got your email.”

Still as beautiful as ever.

But her eyes are as hollow as a monster’s soul.

I’d sent her several emails, texts, and even made phone calls asking to meet Kang Han-min.

Each time, she gave the same high-pitched, coolly restrained reply: Kang Han-min was inside a rift, carrying out a classified, critical mission, and could not be disturbed.

In short: I would never be allowed to meet him.

From the moment today’s meeting was set, her mind was probably laser-focused on one objective—not letting me see Kang Han-min.

“So where is the Savior Kang Han-min now? Haven’t heard from him in a while. I’m pretty sure I made a meeting request quite some time ago.”

But today, I wasn’t here for Kang Han-min.

“I’m sorry, but the Savior is still on assignment.”

Yoo Yang-seo had no idea.

“How long am I supposed to wait?”

I let some irritation slip.

“I met with Jeong Dae-kyung like you asked. Do you even know what I went through?”

I threw a little fit.

I’m not usually like this.

I prefer being blunt—stating my purpose and walking away if things don’t go my way.

“I mean, seriously—how long are you going to make me wait? I don’t want to brag, but I’m the Golden Fleece holder here. Who took down the General-type, huh?”

This wasn’t my natural way of speaking. Just something I’d picked up from my old mentor, Jang Ki-young, who taught it as “smart consumer negotiation tactics.”

“I’m sorry.”

People started to appear behind her.

She hadn’t called them, but with our voices rising, they probably came on their own.

I glanced at them, pretended to calm down, and sipped my water.

Once they’d left and the air settled a bit, I asked, as if in passing:

“...Any research positions opening up in Jeju?”

Because today’s real objective wasn’t Kang Han-min—it was Im Jae-hyeok.

I had to send him to Jeju.

Before he completed a hypothesis that might hurt me, I needed him gone.

The odds were in my favor.

The Eden facility that Im Jae-hyeok was targeting was under Kang Han-min’s faction. Yoo Yang-seo had the authority to place someone there.

And what she wanted to block wasn’t a researcher slot—it was my meeting with Kang Han-min.

“A researcher?”

Of course she wouldn’t give in easily.

That’s what my little performance earlier was for.

“A favor.”

She let the word out with visible displeasure.

Her whole face scrunched with the annoyance of having to say it.

She didn’t ask further.

Instead, wearing that mysterious little smirk of hers—the one that pretends to know everything—she softly asked:

“Who should I recommend?”

“Someone named Im Jae-hyeok. He’s a researcher in the records division, I’m told.”

Im Jae-hyeok was sent to Jeju, and not long after, Yoo Yang-seo herself called to inform me of the transfer.

A clean ending, I think.

She might dig into his background out of curiosity, but I’m not worried.

Im Jae-hyeok already told me what kind of person he is.

A man who wants to own his research discoveries completely.

Sure, he’s been sidetracked a few times due to his inability to say no—but it’s also made him really good at protecting his own interests.

He wouldn’t carelessly give away information that could benefit his career.

The person who inspired me is now gone.

Only one thing remains:

To carry out the hypothesis he gave me.

“What? Why are you doing something like this, sunbae?”

I dragged Cheon Young-jae out of his El-Miris stream.

Our destination: near Dongducheon.

A bunch of scavenger-types—calling themselves an “expedition force”—had put out a monster suppression request.

It wasn’t a strategically important area, just some greedy group’s turf. The government had ignored the request.

But it suited my purposes.

Because a Spider-type was nesting there.

These fortified Spider-types usually require a lot of personnel and gear to deal with—but this time, I believe it will be different.

I have to believe that.

“Young-jae. Anyone nearby?”

Which is why we came alone.

The military and that infamous Defender’s Skull Brigade had passed through here recently. There wouldn’t be any cultists left—maybe not even amateur raiders.

“Nope. Not a soul. Come on, even scavengers are all holed up in Seoul right now.”

“Good.”

Click.

Aside from a rifle, I only brought one thing today:

Monster Killer 2.

An upgraded version of the Monster Killer I used in the Nemesis fight.

With improved propellant and launch mechanics.

More reliable—soon to become Seoul’s main line of defense. The people’s monster weapon.

Best part: no more frantic pumping like before.

“You’re going alone?”

I slung Monster Killer 2 over my shoulder and moved forward with my rifle in hand.

“Yeah.”

“Are you serious? It’s a Spider-type. Not a necromancer. And it’s been nesting for at least a year!”

“That’s why I brought this.”

“?!”

“Wait here, El-Miris.”

With light steps, I walked into the dark.

Familiar now, like an old friend, the darkness wrapped around me.

Rustle–rustle–

Sounds reached my ears.

Spiderlings—minions of the Spider-type—moving in formation on patrol.

Still near the entrance, but this is the most critical turning point.

I check my fire selector and close in.

Step–

30 meters.

Rustle–rustle–

25 meters.

Step–

20 meters.

Rustle–rustle–

A pale blur began to gather.

Close range.

Normally, this is where they’d notice and either confirm or attack.

I stood still, rifle aimed at them.

Rustle–rustle–

They passed by.

About 18 meters away. No, 17.

“......”

The sound faded.

They ignored me and walked on.

I took a deep breath and stared at their backs.

Then—

Step–step–

I moved forward.

Gun raised, ready to drop them at any moment.

Step–

10 meters.

Step–

8, 7, 6...

Shing–

5 meters.

Axe in one hand, bracing the gun with it, I aimed.

Rustle–rustle–

And confirmed one thing.

Monsters.

Humanity’s predator—cannot see me.

And one more thing.

“......”

I looked up at the monster frozen in the dark.

Distance: 10 meters.

Even if it were deeply asleep, that distance should be enough to trigger recognition—but like its minions, it acted as if nothing were there.

I pulled out the Hunter weapon and hit the button.

[ Mixing – Caution! Use only immediately before firing! ]

The separated charges inside began to combine, forming a volatile compound.

Takes about ten seconds.

Cheap design.

But good enough for now.

I aimed my arrow at Sleeping Beauty.

And fired.

Fsssshhhhh—

Not so much a fist as a spear-shaped rocket soared into the monster and exploded.

BOOM!

One hit—and the monster staggered, then disintegrated into particles of light.

Part of the rocket pierced through and blew a hole in the ceiling, letting a shaft of light pour down into the darkness.

Amidst that dust-filtered beam, the monster disappeared like an ascending angel—leaving behind shimmering motes of light.

At the center of that fading death, I stood with arms spread and eyes closed.

“......”

I am filled.

With something I can’t name.

Sergeant Gu once called it hunger.

But I’ll frame it differently.

This is fuel.

To feed the flames of my hatred—so I can erase monsters from this world forever.

The thousands of stray spiderlings left behind are my witnesses.