Chapter 32: Home

Saon, as flashy as last time, wore a garish outfit of yellow and black prints, like a loan shark thug.

“Hey, Onon-i. Big bro’s here,” Saon said, grinning and waving.

Ion, staring intently, replied, “Shed Skin again.”

“How’d you know?”

“Once you’ve seen it, you can tell.”

“As expected from my sharp little brother.”

Saon pulled a chair to the bedside. Ion, frowning, moved a plant pot away from him.

“Onon, am I that dirty? You don’t even want your babies near me?”

“What’s your business?”

“Our Onon flipped a year’s worth of buzz from me and Sis in one day.”

“…”

“Last time, didn’t you say trash should stay quiet like trash? Your actions don’t match your words.”

“…”

Ion Interrogation Round 2 began. Ion had no defense for this. Saon, lips curling, shrugged.

“Well, couldn’t be helped. I get it. A desert terrain, a Giant appearing—who’d expect that? Plus, mana depletion.”

Saon’s expression turned serious.

“You know how worried Sis and I were? Are you okay now?”

“Just say why you’re here.”

“Onon, we were really worried. We’ve seen how much pain mana depletion causes you.”

Back when they had no names, Teacher used various methods to build Ion’s pain tolerance. Solving novel problems during mana depletion, punishing orphans for each wrong answer, or whipping them for every groan Ion let slip.

Saon and Ilon were among those whipped.

When Ion, writhing in a pool of his own blood, couldn’t hold back a groan, the whip struck Saon. Teacher, a robust old woman, swung with full force, collapsing Saon’s frail body.

After each “training,” Ion always apologized.

“Sorry… I should’ve endured. Sorry.”

“Not your fault. Don’t apologize. You okay?”

Saon never once blamed Ion, even after the beatings. His eyes, watching Ion struggle, were just like now—deep purple, burning with anger not directed at Ion, even young Ion could tell.

Ion met those same eyes now and said, “…My mana’s full. I’m fine.”

“Good. Rest as long as you want. We’ll cover the costs.”

“…”

No need for thanks. Saon smiled, as if he didn’t expect it.

“Now, shall I tell our Onon what he’s dying to hear? I’m curious about what happened when you killed that S-rank.”

He meant Park Yujik.

“Now you’re curious about that?”

“We’ve been busy. Time to hear about the third party there.”

“…”

The third party—the Hahoe-masked Hunter protecting Park Yujik.

“Hahoe mask, butterfly mask… lots of groups involved. Tell big bro about it.”

Saon and Ilon knew about the two secret factions.

“If I tell you, got something to share with me?”

“Of course. Our guild’s Korea’s top, you think we lack intel? I’ve got something you’ll want.”

Equivalent exchange. Saon was shady but wouldn’t lie about this. Ion spoke.

A rainy, dark night in a quiet alley.

A black-masked figure vaulted a low wall of an old three-story house, landing silently and moving stealthily toward their target.

The basement of the house had two units.

[Seoul, Gangseo-gu, Hwajin-dong 234-1, B02]

The masked figure headed inside. No delivery boxes or mail, just thick dust and spiderwebs from the low ceiling to the doorknob. It looked uninhabited.

The registered address is definitely here.

The figure pulled a small square detection item from their inventory. Attaching it to the door, a blue screen showed no one inside.

Using a prepared device on the keypad, they unlocked the door with a few buttons. The beep was drowned by the rain.

An old-school studio apartment. The kitchen sink held one cup and two trays, nothing else. The fridge was unplugged.

Slide. Opening the partition door to the room kicked up dust.

The tiny room had only a mattress and a clothing rack. No TV, computer, desk, or storage.

Zip. The rack held two thick winter jackets. Checking their pockets yielded nothing. The figure knelt, brushing the mattress—dust.

They searched every corner.

No one lives here.

Concluding, the figure tore off their mask.

“Ugh, damn it. Wasted effort.”

A young girl with a youthful face tousled her hair and flopped onto the mattress. Irritated, she pulled out her phone for a video call. A Hahoe-masked figure answered.

“Semi, why’s your mask off?”

“It’s stuffy.”

“What if someone sees?”

“Leader, this place is empty.”

“Of course. Ion’s in the hospital.”

“No, I mean no one lives here. Look at this dust—three months at least. Just a dusty mattress, a cup, two trays, and two jackets. No soap, no shampoo, even the faucet’s broken. No trace of life!”

“…”

“That jerk gave a fake address. He’s hiding something!”

Semi stomped. Unlike her, the Leader spoke calmly after a pause.

“Show me the kitchen.”

“The kitchen? Just a cup and trays.”

Puzzled but obedient, Semi showed the trays. The Leader said, “Not trays—plant pot saucers. This is Ion’s place.”

“Wow… he uses this as just a place to crash? No blanket, no pillow! What a bum. Even low-paying rural dungeons would earn better than this.”

“There’s a reason.”

“Whatever it is, it’s pathetic. Since it’s his place, I’ll dig deeper.”

“If you don’t find anything, come back. We’ve got a Japan dungeon.”

“Send Tuna.”

“Tuna’s busy guarding.”

“Oh, right, Hong Insu’s brother… Okay, I’ll search and go.”

Hanging up, Semi rummaged again.

They knew exactly what Ion said to the Giant in the Moshi dungeon. How he knew about Giants led to one conclusion: Ion knew the future.

Not some volatile foresight skill, but precise knowledge of what’s coming. That’s how he mentioned the “key” to send the Giant away.

It had to be the “Butterfly Mask” group.

But this house had no butterfly traces.

Must be a third faction.

Semi’s face twisted.

This sucked.

The thought of others in their same predicament was infuriating.

Finding no evidence, Semi restored everything to avoid suspicion when Ion returned.

Closing the front door, one question lingered.

If this was Ion’s home, where did he actually live?

Yawn.

Ion stretched, shivering from the AC in the muggy night. Without it, he’d be miserable in a different way.

Checking the time—05:58. No alarm needed; he woke naturally.

Grabbing his Sansevieria bag, he hung a “Do Not Clean” sign on the motel door and left the shabby hallway.

Discharged two days ago, he hit a Gangneung dungeon and stayed here.

In Seoul, he’d go to his usual sauna, perfect for eating, washing, and sleeping. He prepaid six months, and the staff knew him—two boiled eggs and seaweed soup on sight.

That soup’s so good.

Long-term sauna stays made him familiar. At first, his youthful looks drew questions—student? Runaway? No parents? Some punks tried to pull him into trouble, but after a private chat, they fled the sauna, not even claiming refunds, or so rumors went.

Skipping breakfast, Ion got in his car, greeted his two new plants, and turned on the tablet for news.

Talk of levels and Giants still dominated.

Filtering out irrelevant stories—

At 05:18 Korean time, the U.S. federal government confirmed a 12m S-rank dungeon in Daisytown, the 31st S-rank in the U.S. since the Cataclysm. Federal policy manages S-rank and above, but major guilds like Hegis, Green Realist, and Hercules push for Korea’s bidding system. For Daisytown…

The news Ion awaited.

This dungeon’s byproducts, mere monster scales now, would become valuable years later.

Per the novel…

The Daisytown raid team, after the first clear, returns to regroup and analyzes a new byproduct. An analysis skill holder names it “Solminium,” with S-rank potential.

Jipyeong Seop, an A-rank crafting specialist, goes all-in, creating a Moshi dungeon measurement system.

The U.S. buys his prototype before he hands Moshi to their government, using it in Daisytown. They learn the dungeon’s overflow date is December 2.

No need to clear it within a month or two.

The U.S. gets greedy, repeatedly entering and exiting without clearing, harvesting all S-rank Solminium, thinking they can clear before overflow.

Can’t blame them for greed.

Any nation would maximize gains.

But the raid fails, and Daisytown is erased by overflowing monsters.

The cause? System Age, the cult worshipping monsters as divine envoys. They infiltrate the final raid, kill everyone, and trigger the overflow.