“This is the prototype for now.”

Outside, wind as fierce as a typhoon was howling through the city.

According to the meteorological department, this wasn’t a typhoon but a phenomenon caused by an extremely developed temperate low-pressure system—something that usually occurred between April and May. This time, however, it had appeared unusually during the summer season.

The wind was violently strong, and the rain lashed against the ground without pause.

New Seoul’s main residential zone had flood countermeasures implemented from the beginning, so there was no risk of inundation. But for those who had settled elsewhere, many were forced to abandon the homes they had painstakingly built and climb onto the rooftops of nearby ruined buildings, waiting for the storm to pass.

Seven contacted me.

The matter concerned the reinforced exoskeleton—the exo-suit I had ordered previously.

“It’s a component of the K-Warrior platform. We call it the ‘Heavy Gunner.’”

The Heavy Gunner was an exoskeleton designed with a pair of robotic arms attached along a fixed mechanical spine centered on the waist and back. It supported the wearer’s arms and weapon weight.

As evident from the emphasis on supporting weapons and arms, its intended use differed from mine. I wanted something suited for gripping and swinging melee weapons, not for this.

Moreover, the mechanical spine was heavy, the wearing experience stiff, and movements sluggish.

As the name suggested, it was equipment for a machine gunner moving on foot, aided by a computer-controlled high-precision firing support system.

“This isn’t what I had in mind.”

Regardless of battery type or reliability, the purpose itself was different.

It wasn’t usable.

Then, one of Seven’s colleagues presented another piece of gear.

“What’s this?”

The second exoskeleton was for the lower body.

A mechanical, ergonomic kind of riding gear, so to speak.

You wore the mechanical parts over your legs, adjusted to your leg length while still wearing your combat boots.

“It’s called ‘Sseureppa.’ It’s technically an Israel-Korea joint project, but in reality, it’s just a localized version of Israeli tech.”

Israeli equipment had a reputation for reliability.

Perhaps it wasn’t just the tech, but also the accumulated data from being in a country that sees bloodshed daily—that might be the true foundation of that reliability.

The problem was the name.

“That’s a strange name.”

“It’s apparently a word used in Hebrew during fire emergencies. The actual utility is also optimal in situations like that. In Korea, we just call it ‘Jumper.’”

The Jumper’s primary function was mobility support.

It was meant to reduce fatigue for soldiers on long marches and to transfer the load of heavy gear to the mechanical system.

Though its rigid structure and slightly slower reaction compared to a human body made it less ideal for combat requiring agility, it was said to have a special function that could be used in emergencies.

That was shock absorption and dispersion when landing from high altitudes.

“A soldier weighing around 70kg, carrying 40kg of full gear, can drop from a 10-meter height onto bare ground and receive zero shock.”

“Really?”

It was an intriguing feature.

I decided to test it on the spot.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Let’s do it.”

Still, jumping from a height of 10 meters while carrying 40kg was risky even for me, so I jumped from 3 meters with only a rifle in hand.

Thud—

Unlike what they said, there was a bit of impact.

But only a bit.

The mechanical joints wrapping my knees and the suspension system on the contact surface, worn like shoes, absorbed the impact smoothly.

Leaving aside the feel and foreignness of the exoskeleton, the functionality was impressive.

It expanded my options—combat routes, melee tactics against mid-size monsters, and more.

The sense of unfamiliarity and slightly delayed responsiveness were issues I’d have to resolve over time.

As long as I held the rank of Commander in New Seoul, I could afford to create at least one custom weapon for myself.

Of course, I could also request additional functions.

“Excuse me, I’d like one function added here, if possible.”

“A function?”

“Is there any way to enable a single explosive leap?”

“Like... a rocket axe?”

“Yes, something like that. Actually, much weaker than that.”

“Hmm. Let me think about it. It won’t be easy.”

“If possible, I’d prefer a non-explosive mechanism. You remember the compressed air we discussed? Something like that.”

I didn’t expect the perfect gear to be made or obtained in one go.

This was my own customized equipment for long-term survival.

I was prepared to go the distance.

“If the opportunity arises, maybe check out the Gwangjang Market?”

“Gwangjang Market?”

The once-famous tourist attraction in Dongdaemun had been thoroughly destroyed during the war and stripped bare during the lawless looting afterward.

What Seven was referring to was a different market with the same name.

I knew the name well.

To put it simply—it was a black market.

A so-called black market.

“Here’s a letter of introduction. Go find a man called Master Gil.”

Seven introduced me to someone.

*

Even now, the United States remained one pillar of the trilateral alliance formed under its Northeast Asia strategy alongside Japan.

But as the war subsided, Japan—as always—stepped away through its usual underhanded tactics. To be exact, it excluded only Korea.

So now, the only remaining ally of the Republic of Korea was the United States.

While it was good for sovereign nations to maintain friendship, the reality before my eyes told a different story.

Some “rogue” U.S. soldiers were killing Koreans, stealing supplies, raping women, and mutilating corpses. Conversely, Koreans were also attacking American units to seize supplies and valuable weapons. These incidents happened everywhere.

In that massacre, the so-called SOFA agreement was meaningless.

Even Rebecca and I once tried to kill each other—and I had seriously considered killing her and stealing U.S. military supplies.

According to rough and speculative statistics—not 100% accurate—the initial casualties were mostly Koreans, but over time, Americans were overwhelmed by Koreans and pushed back into small enclaves around Daegu and Busan.

Sure, U.S. troops were formidable. But their gear was too tempting for desperate survivors. Many risked their lives to attack American soldiers.

In that wave of survival looting, small U.S. units couldn’t survive.

They were hunted like treasure goblins in an endless battle.

A grim side of reality hidden under the alliance.

But as always, there were exceptions.

One such exception was the man known as Master Gil.

“What the hell?”

A hulking man, nearly two meters tall and unmistakably Western in appearance, wore a modified Korean military uniform with Korean military gear.

His rank insignia read ‘Sergeant.’

But unlike modern NCO insignia marked only by seagull symbols, his was in the old format—four bars with three seagulls placed below, as if stacked with the old sergeant designation.

Master Gil was a former U.S. soldier.

One of the very few who had survived the treasure goblin hunts and taken root in Korea.

His real name was probably Gilbert.

“Who sent you? I don’t do business with strangers.”

He spoke fluent Korean.

Behind him, men who looked like his comrades stared at me, their hands poised as if they’d draw guns at any moment.

Master Gil was a second-wave immigrant to New Seoul—one of those murky-background individuals who surged in after the Jeju government seized control of Seoul.

New Seoul maintained control over its citizens via an electronic currency called ‘credits’ and a ration system. But not everyone followed that system.

Those who could live self-sufficiently didn’t need to get jobs or submit to regulation.

The so-called black market—Gwangjang Market—was where such independent rebels gathered.

“Everyone around here? You can assume they’re all ex-raiders,” said Defender, who had come with ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ me.

He might be right. Master Gil may have been part of a raider group that once plagued the Seoul outskirts.

Whatever the past, Master Gil held considerable influence in the Gwangjang Market.

Unsurprising. He possessed deep maintenance knowledge of U.S. military gear and stocked a wide array of spare parts.

According to Seven and other engineers, there was no one better than Master Gil when it came to repairing and servicing U.S. military equipment.

“This place has bad vibes.”

I had brought Cheon Young-jae, Defender, and two of Defender’s subordinates with me.

It had been Defender’s suggestion—and a smart one.

Judging from the tense atmosphere of the market, if we’d come with just Cheon Young-jae and one companion, we might’ve had a rough time.

As those sharp glares were directed at me, I took out the letter of introduction and handed it to Master Gil.

“Hm.”

He glanced over the note and made a hand gesture to a subordinate behind him.

The man picked up a radio and started communicating with someone I couldn’t see.

Soon, the subordinate gave Gil a nod.

“Alright.”

Gil nodded back.

“What are you looking for?”

I answered immediately.

“Do you carry exoskeleton gear?”

“Exoskeleton?”

Master Gil repeated the word with pronunciation far more fluent than mine, then let out a small chuckle.

“What are you gonna do with that toy?”

“Hunting monsters.”

“A Hunter, huh?”

He stared at me with icy blue eyes.

I nodded.

“You don’t know what happened to the American Hunter who used that toy, do you?”

“That doesn’t matter. If you have the item, I want to see it.”

Gil turned and shouted something in English.

The men behind him—who looked Korean—replied in English and gestured for me to come in.

As I tried to move with them, one of Gil’s men stopped me.

“Only one person goes in.”

“Can’t two of us enter?”

The man looked to Gil.

Gil nodded silently.

I entered the warehouse with Cheon Young-jae.

It had once been a high school gymnasium. The old basketball hoop was still intact, though rust-covered.

Judging by the polished wooden floor near the goalposts and the general upkeep, this place was still used by Gil and his men.

Various U.S. military gear was stacked on either side of the hoop, but we were guided to the farthest corner.

“Here it is.”

As the man lifted the nonwoven fabric, a thick cloud of dust rose, obscuring our vision.

Covering my nose and mouth, I stepped back and waited for the dust to settle.

Sure enough, beneath the fabric lay a variety of American exoskeleton equipment.

“......”

My requirements were indeed picky.

At a glance, none of this gear looked like it fit my needs.

I’d probably have to modify something at best.

“Wow. Is this a robot arm?”

Cheon Young-jae fiddled with one for a moment—but stopped quickly.

Sensing my vibe, he quietly moved to stand beside me.

Someone behind us was watching intently.

It wasn’t unusual in post-apocalyptic shops, but this felt different.

Rather than casual surveillance, it was outright hostile—defensive even.

I used my communicator to reach Defender.

Tap tap—tap tap—

Soon, a reply came through the receiver.

Tap—tap—

Our prearranged signal.

As always, humanity’s strongest and most dangerous enemy... is humanity itself.

Especially in a black market like this, a murder wouldn’t even make the news.

I stayed ready to draw my handgun at any moment, waiting for their next move.

Even if they were seasoned black market types, amateurs were amateurs.

I heard someone muttering.

“Hey, that guy... something’s weird. He’s faint. Almost looks invisible.”

Cheon Young-jae murmured to me.

“I think a sensory-type Awakened is watching you.”

“...Is that so?”

Something I’d always feared since acquiring my new trait.

That my special secret might be exposed.

That special secret had to stay hidden until the very end.

At least until I finished negotiations with Kang Han-min, it must remain sealed.

But to someone like Cheon Young-jae, a sensory-type, I must appear vividly foreign—like an ink stain on a white page.

Footsteps approached.

“Master Gil’s coming.”

Gil and another subordinate were approaching.

Probably to test me.

“...Let’s just play it cool.”

Perhaps I really should minimize my outside outings.

It’d be nice if there were another solution, but for now, that was the best I could do.

Na Hye-in was already in motion.

One way or another, the meeting would happen.

“Hey.”

Even without hearing the voice, I could tell Master Gil was approaching. His massive shadow even covered the product I’d been inspecting.

“Anything you like?”

Beside him stood a man with eyes that held a faint, luminous glow—staring right at me.

Cheon Young-jae subtly shifted behind me.

Overlapping.

A small trick like this might fool them for now.

I had seen everything anyway—and nothing particularly appealed to me.

“No.”

I was about to turn and leave when—

“What exactly are you looking for?”

At the same moment, one of Gil’s men moved diagonally, trying to observe me from Cheon Young-jae’s flank.

Young-jae adjusted cleverly, overlapping with me again. It’d be fine.

Still, this Gil guy...

He seemed just as curious as me.

I had no intention of killing him or his men. But if they kept pressing, I might have to reconsider.

After all, I had a very good friend named Defender.

Even if Gil was a big shot in the black market, he couldn’t stand against someone like Defender, whose very profession was killing.

Currently, Defender’s private force—Skull Brigade—had 80 combatants alone.

I stared at Gil and replied calmly.

“My job involves chopping firewood. But my swing’s gotten weak lately. You got something I can swing harder?”

I said it without much hope.

Nothing in the list Gil had shown met my criteria.

“Hm.”

“If not, I’ll take my leave.”

“Wait a second.”

Gil raised a finger to his lips, his eyes narrowing.

Just as I tried to ignore him and walk past—

He muttered something.

“Hunter’s Equip.”

“...?”

“There was something like that among the Hunter gear.”

I stared at him.

Gil gave a sly grin.

“Yeah. That toy famous for twisting a Hunter’s arm backward.”

I froze.

Looked at him and asked:

“You have it?”

He smiled oddly.

But my gaze turned elsewhere.

“Motherfucker!”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Gunshots rang out.

Not at us.

Not at us.

Toward the far corner of the warehouse.

Without flinching, I kept my eyes on Gil.

Demanding an explanation with my gaze.

“Mutation,” Gil said, forcing a bitter smile.

“Fucking rat bastard.”

“A rat mutation?”

Suddenly, a look of realization dawned on his face.

A familiar expression.

As expected, Gil made the exact offer I’d predicted—word for word.

“You’re interested in Hunter gear, so I figure you’re in that line of work. How about it? Can you kill that rat bastard for me?”

“......”

“Take it out, and I’ll give it to you for free.”

“Give me what?”

“The LBX-32 Gauntlet.”

Ah, yes.

That was the name.

The official designation of the American Hunter’s advanced exoskeleton.