Chapter 37: Don’t die on me

Cheon Areum stared down at what remained.

The body—no longer recognizably human—lay crumpled in a grotesque heap of compressed meat and splintered bone. Ribs had folded inward like crushed tin; limbs twisted at angles that mocked anatomy; skin stretched thin over unnatural contours, mottled purple-black where capillaries had burst under impossible pressure. A faint, wet gurgle still rose from the wreckage every few seconds—the last stubborn rhythm of a heart refusing to quit.

He may have gone too far.

The realization hit like cold water dumped over fevered skin. He had been losing his temper so easily these days. Just because the rage answered his call didn’t mean every foul-mouthed fool deserved to be pulped into paste, reduced to something even a mother wouldn’t recognize.

“Haa…”

A long, weary exhale escaped him, fogging briefly in the night air. He tilted his head back, eyes lifting to the vast, indifferent dark sky above. No stars pierced the heavy overcast; only endless black. The thick, black veins that had spiderwebbed across his forearms, neck, and temples began to recede—fading thread by thread as he forced the leaking energy inward. It resisted, coiling sullenly like smoke dragged back into a bottle, but he clenched his core and dragged it down anyway. Every ounce conserved mattered right now.

He knelt beside the ruined form, one hand hovering for a heartbeat before settling gently—almost tenderly—on the battered, blood-slick chest.

[Healing Hand has been activated.]

[You are currently using the skill: Healing Hand. Your ability to heal will be enhanced during its activation.]

Crushed ribs creaked back into rough alignment with muffled pops; torn muscle fibers knit with wet, reluctant pulls; skin puckered and smoothed where it could. The energy flowed in careful pulses—he rationed it, prioritizing the vital: heart, lungs, the fragile thread of life still clinging inside that broken shell.

But the left eye socket remained a dark, empty ruin—jagged edges crusted with dried vitreous and blood, the optic nerve long since severed and pulped. No light reached there. No regeneration sparked. That kind of loss demanded more than his limited reserves could muster. Only Yoo Jihyeon, with his impossible cellular rewrite, or Lee Nari’s raw regenerative flood could rebuild what was truly gone.

His hand lingered a second longer before withdrawing. The man’s breathing steadied—shallow, ragged, but present. He was still alive. He sat back on his heels, staring at his own blood-streaked palm, fresh blood over his own dried blood.

“Hey, stop being a weakling. I healed you up real nice. Now wake up—we have to clear this dungeon before you can even carry out your evil plans to take over the world.”

Cheon Areum nudged the man’s lolling head with the toe of his boot—gentle at first, then firmer. The skull rolled sideways with a sluggish thud. The eyelids fluttered once, then drifted shut like heavy curtains, sealing the remaining eye in darkness.

“…”

The silence pressed in thicker than the dungeon’s damp air.

“Shit…you can’t die on me after I just burned my energy to use the healing skill on you!”

He dropped to one knee, hands shooting out to grab the man’s head in desperation.

“I have to face Yoon Seoyul… what the hell am I supposed to tell him? I’m gonna be grounded forever, permanently benched, if word gets out I killed the new awakener.”

His grip tightened involuntarily. Then loosened.

…There aren’t any witnesses here, are there?

He glanced around the dungeon. Besides them, no one else had entered. He could just say that the new awakener died in the dungeon—panicked, got sloppy, took a bad hit from a mid-tier mob before he could reach him. Guy wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed; overconfident rookie shit. He stared at the unconscious man for a moment before slowly—carefully—letting the head slip from his hands.

The man’s heart was still beating, though. Maybe he could clear the dungeon before he truly croaks and save him.

“Don’t die on me, alright? It’d be real convenient if you woke up right now, snapped out of it, and helped me mop up the monsters and the boss. Rookie redemption arc, the whole cliché. But if you are really about to enter hell soon, then just stay here while I clear it.”

Cheon Areum spoke softly to the man with sincerity—or more like to himself—since the new awakener seemed to be unconscious, barely breathing.

“Fine. Play dead. I will be back sooner or later.”

Somewhere in his mind, he was expecting an S+ Class to be more resilient than this. As he thought more about it, didn’t this new awakener have more energy than him when he checked outside the dungeon? Why did his energy bar suddenly lower this much just after coming out here?

Cheon Areum’s boots scuffed to a stop in front of the massive silver gate that spanned the far wall like the front door of some ancient manor—easily the length of their entire house back in the city. He was definitely not underestimating an S+ Class awakener. This man was hiding his true power; he would have entered an S+ gate either way if he wasn’t confident he could clear it out himself after killing Cheon Areum. To preserve his energy, Cheon Areum used his hands instead, pushing the silver metal gate open.

The gate groaned open with a deep, resonant thrum, heavy enough that the effort pulled at the fresh scar tissue on his palm. Beyond it: perfect stillness.

“Just great. I love swimming. It’s the perfect dungeon for me to clear by myself, isn’t it?”

Well, at least there weren’t any bugs around here…

“System, can I still use mind corruption?”

[Due to limited energy reserves, you cannot activate any skills at this time.]

Healing truly drained all his energy. This was more on him. He should’ve used mind corruption the moment they’d stepped into the dungeon together—the instant the gate had closed. If he was going to squander his reserves like this anyway, dragging things out had been nothing but a mistake. Cheon Areum exhaled slowly, irritation curling inward as he gazed at the map of the dungeon.

The water lay unnervingly still, stretching without end, mirroring the moonlit sky so perfectly that it was impossible to tell where the surface ended and the night began. One more step and Cheon Areum’s foot would break that reflection. He couldn’t tell how deep it was—whether it would swallow him whole or barely reach his ankles. Stone walls rose around the lake, sealing it in, their curves eventually reconnecting with the gate behind him. Far ahead, barely visible through the haze, another gate stood in the distance.

Does this dungeon have stages too?

Last time, he had sent other hunters to clear the other paths. This time, there was no one. No lifeguard to shout a warning. No buffer between him and whatever lurked beneath that glassy surface. He hadn’t spread his energy to map the dungeon either—every reserve he had was better spent on whatever monsters would come next.

He could clear the dungeon by himself, right?

Well, even if the new awakener regained consciousness now, Cheon Areum doubted the man was finished trying to kill him. In that sense, it was better that he stayed out cold. Gripping the body by the arm, Cheon Areum hauled the unconscious body across the narrow stone lip and stopped just short of the waterline—close enough that if the exit manifested somewhere on the far side, there’d be no chance for the awakener to wake up, stagger off, and vanish without waiting for his return. If they were moving forward, they were doing it together. Whether the other man liked it or not.

Cheon Areum lowered the body carefully to the ground, propping the head against a low outcrop so it wouldn’t roll into the lake on its own. The reflected moon painted the unconscious face in ghostly silver; the remaining eye stayed closed, lashes dark against pale, bruised skin.

“Stay down. You wake up and try anything stupid, I’ll finish what I started earlier. No second chances this round.”

He muttered before straightening up. A thin tendril of inky shadow peeled away from his palm, twisting and condensing in the air like smoke given bones. It darkened, solidified, taking shape: a small, sleek fish no longer than his hand. He crouched at the water’s edge and released it.

The little construct hovered a heartbeat above the surface, suspended by invisible threads of his will, then plunged headfirst with a perfect, soundless entry. No splash. No ripple. The black water simply parted and swallowed it whole, smooth as oil closing over a blade.

A thin filament of energy—fine as spider silk—trailed from the fish back to Cheon Areum’s fingertips, tethering scout to master. Through it, he felt the cold rush in: immediate, bone-deep, pressing against the construct’s form like a living thing trying to crush it. The fish dove deeper—five meters, ten, fifteen—and still no bottom.

Swimming was definitely out of the options.

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