WPRAF 22

Chapter 22

When I told them I was going to open the skill book, the prompt popped up.

[Would you like to use the skill book?]

That message blinked, and without hesitation I answered.

“Of course—go!”

“Please!”

“Good one! Good one!”

Cheered on by the team, I waited for the skill book to be unsealed.

“…!”

Suddenly a blinding light burst from the skill book, filling the living room, and a notification appeared.

[Congratulations! You pierced the ‘indescribable’ probability and acquired ‘Mugeuk Heart Method’!]

[Mugeuk Heart Method (武極心法)]

• Category: Internal Energy Heart Method

• Rank: 1★ (0%)

• Effect: +0.1% Mugeuk Attack per day

• Description: An internal-energy heart method devised by Yelu Heok (耶律赫), who reached the pinnacle of martial prowess; it is efficient and stable in its accumulation of qi.

So the name sounded flashy and the contents were profound — I had actually gotten a deep, mysterious skill.

“’Indescribable’ probability… that means this is a good one, right?”

PU answered my dazed question.

[Player Han Sehyun’s seventh video ‘I opened a skill book… Is this actually good?’ has been uploaded.]

Right after learning the [Mugeuk Heart Method].

“‘Indescribable’? Does that mean it’s so extreme it can’t be described in words?”

“We have to open other skill books to know for sure, don’t we?”

“Hey, Choi Kyung! Don’t steal the spotlight on a good day.”

“As expected, senior! Your luck is as great as your skill!”

The team cheered at the rare skill we’d obtained through absurd odds.

But I couldn’t be fully happy.

“So this energy I feel below my navel — that’s internal energy?”

Something the size of a bean had formed in my dantian (the energy center below the navel). It had taken root without me realizing it as soon as I learned the skill.

I really had no idea what was what.

So I asked Jeong Somi to look online and see if anything public was written about it, then we went into operation.

After fiddling with her phone for a while in the passenger seat, she spoke up.

“According to a blogger who’s read martial arts fiction their whole life, internal energy means concentrating qi into the dantian. Each of the Five Great Sects, the Nine Schools, the Black Path and Dark Cult, and so on — every martial faction has its own way of storing qi and its own character. Among the Nine Schools, the shamanist school’s internal energy is said to be calm and pure…”

I had no idea what blog she was reading, and as she dragged on into more and more tangents I waved her off and cut her off.

“What I mean is: what can you actually do with this internal energy? I don’t care about its history.”

“Hmm… according to the blogger’s research, internal energy can make your body stronger, let you handle sword qi…”

And then, in grandiose terms, they went on about techniques that could split sea and mountain.

“Enough.”

They made nonsense sound convincing for a second there. Split sea and mountain? Come on.

“Stop reading that and hand me a bottle of water.”

“Ah, sure.”

I was so anxious that I downed the water she handed me in one gulp.

Why so anxious?

Because the skill I’d earned from the book wasn’t responding.

Skills like [Microloan] or [Stealth] in my set would respond the moment I called them, but [Mugeuk Heart Method] gave not a single sign.

And even when I tried to move the internal energy sitting in my dantian, it wouldn’t budge.

At that moment, Seon Woojin in the backseat offered an opinion.

“Approach it as a passive, not an active.”

I’d heard that from Hwang Hyeju before. Active skills must be used to get effects; passives maintain their effects without being actively used.

“Of course more research seems necessary, but if it’s a passive, there should be an active skill that links to the heart method,” he continued.

“For example?”

“A skill that lets you channel internal energy, like a sword-qi skill. Or maybe there’s a separate skill to pull internal energy out of the dantian.”

“Hmm…”

So to make full use of [Mugeuk Heart Method], we’d need another skill — either obtain another skill book or get one as collateral.

[Loan Shark] doesn’t give points when it levels up.

‘Damn…’

I knocked back another gulp of water. Then Jeong Somi pointed ahead.

“We’re here.”

‘Goyang City Restricted Zone.’

This area was where monsters that had spilled from the gate were active; players called it a hunting ground. It was a place to level, earn money, and gather items — a classic hunting ground.

But our reason for coming wasn’t the same as the players’.

We weren’t starting a main mission; we planned only reconnaissance and scouting.

‘Those goblins’ recent behavior has been odd, right?’

Also, even if the defense forces had promised support, it would take time for them to pull troops and prep supplies.

Screech—

We parked roughly by the roadside and got out. President Choi arrived right behind us. He’d brought Choi Kyung and Hwang Hyeju; he was taking his gear and supplies out of the trunk.

This operation would run three nights and four days, so the load was substantial.

After we split and shouldered the gear, we got the passage permit from the guards and stepped into the restricted zone.

Then Jeong Somi updated us on the changed guidelines.

“Team leader, as of yesterday the hunting ground is split into three zones.”

The goblin villages around the gate were Zone A. From Zone A out to a two-kilometer radius was Zone B. The rest beyond that was Zone C.

They divided it into three levels because casualties were mounting, and for the same reason single licenses were graded.

“C Zone is accessible only to players with Level-3 licenses or higher; B Zone only to those with Level-2 licenses.”

The distinction between Level-3 and Level-2 came down to combat experience — front-line combat players were considered Level-2.

“Finally, Zone A is allowed only for players with Level-1 licenses, like team leaders or deputy team leaders.”

To reach Level-1 license you needed the Level-2 conditions plus extra requirements: over five years of military service or five+ years in a national intelligence agency, or a combined martial arts rank of 10 dan or higher.

‘They also ask for overseas deployments or actual combat experience,’ I thought.

There were many additional requirements and disqualifying factors, such as mental and physical health, and whether the person had serious criminal convictions.

Only by clearing these strict hurdles would a license be upgraded to Level-1.

Also, if a player with a Level-1 license accompanied you, up to five Level-2 players could enter Zone A together.

“We’re almost there. Everyone, hang in there.”

“No enemies visible ahead.”

“No enemies following behind either.”

We edged forward warily and reached the outer edge of Zone B safely. We’d been moving for roughly ten minutes and I wasn’t worn out.

Except for Jeong Somi and Hwang Hyeju.

Those two were still only Level 2, so compared to the rest of the team on the cusp of Level 10, their stamina lagged. The rest had experienced big battles from ogres to elite troops and assault captains, not leveling hunts.

‘I guess I hogged a lot of the party experience and didn’t party properly,’ I admitted.

President Choi, oblivious to that, asked in bewilderment.

“Hey, Director Han, what the hell have you been doing this whole time?”

Exactly — what had we been doing?

He continued, incredulous. “It’s not right for the team leader to be lower level than his team. Especially if his team members are Level 2. Let’s postpone Zone A until tomorrow; today we’ll hunt in Zone B.”

With President Choi’s suggestion, we stayed in Zone B for the day. We set up base camp in a second-floor billiards hall in a commercial building and decided to eat lunch.

The meal was meager: boiled eggs and combat rations packed by Elder Park Cheolhwan, to keep baggage light.

‘If necessary, we could rob a restaurant or a market,’ someone joked.

Legally sanctioned by the national mobilization order, it was technically farming, not looting.

“Finish up and get ready.”

We finished quickly and cleared up. “Already?”

“You guys ate too fast. You’ll get indigestion.”

“Yeah, Director Choi, let’s let people eat at their own pace. No one’s chasing us…”

As our team exchanged glances, President Choi signaled for them to keep eating. Then a piercing scream tore through the air.

“Eeeeeek—!”

“Run! Elite troops!”

The shout outside froze Choi Kyung mid-spoonful.

“Sounds nearby. Who’s coming with me?”

At the leader’s call, one by one people stood.

As we hurried down the building, thin smoke rose at the far end of the road — the same direction as the scream. We dashed toward it.

After about five minutes of sprinting…

“Did I hear things?”

“Why is no one here?”

The scene was already subdued, tidied up. I didn’t answer Jeong Somi and President Choi; I just scanned the area.

From the meat restaurant to the arcade, cosmetic shops to izakayas — it was hard to find any intact shop. Glass shards, pieces of flesh, and blood stains littered the street.

There were clear signs of combat, but no goblins in sight, which was suspicious.

Could that be related?

“In the Gwangju Metropolitan Defense Force’s report two days ago, they noted anomalous goblin behavior.” Hwang Hyeju said.

“I read that report too,” someone added.

Usually goblins would eat their kills on the spot. But the report said that recently goblins weren’t eating their prey; they were carrying it somewhere. The reason and destination of that transport were questions to be addressed during this operation.

“Team leader, there’s blood here,” Hwang Hyeju called, signaling me.

We found a trail of blood like the crumbs Hansel and Gretel left behind. We decided to follow it.

“If you spot them, don’t engage. It looks like a squad that includes elite troops.”

While Choi Kyung and Hyeju nodded, Jeong Somi looked at me with suspicion.

“Are they moving corpses back to their village?”

“Probably. Maybe they’re stashing food without the higher-ups knowing,” I said, uncertain.

Seon Woojin chimed in: in a strictly ordered group, insubordination wouldn’t be tolerated.

“Well, we’ll find out if we follow the trail.”

An empty intersection.

Three large wheeled carts stood aligned in the center, and all sorts of corpses were piled on them: bodies mangled from being eaten, player corpses only a few hours old, even goblins of their own kind. Even a rough count showed dozens.

Near the carts, a goblin twice the size of an elite soldier was giving orders.

“That must be the transport captain they talked about,” President Choi muttered. I nodded.

“Yes, the transport captain. He looks different from the assault captain we fought earlier. The assault captain was huge and looked like a demon. The transport captain’s a bit smaller and looks calmer.”

Both were grotesque, but comparatively that was the difference.

“If a unit is led by the transport captain… they’re probably a supply unit.”

“Likely. If they’re mobilizing supplies….”

A supply unit’s appearance suggested the goblins were preparing for medium- to long-term operations. This meant the situation would change — no longer just simple kill-or-be-killed skirmishes.

To relay this to higher-ups, Seon Woojin started filming as evidence. While he did that, I paused to think.

‘It feels wrong to just scout and leave.’

I could see twenty-one enemies in total. Besides the transport captain and three elites, the rest were soldiers.

‘This is doable.’

But since this was Party Polaris’ first coordinated fight, we hadn’t had time to harmonize. Drafting a tactic is one thing; executing it is another.

President Choi, with a mischievous tone, teased me from the side.

“Why, are you itching to fight?”

He knows me too well.

“What do you think?”

“Why are you asking me? You’re the leader. I’m just a deputy. You decide. I’ll follow.” Of course he would follow — that’s the kind of person he was.

Buoyed by his support, I looked over the team and spoke.

“We’ll change the plan.”

The team seemed to anticipate what I was about to say from my exchange with President Choi. Jeong Somi looked tense; Hwang Hyeju and Seon Woojin were resolute. Choi Kyung looked excited, his face flushed as if eager to fight.

“…Woojin, is he okay?”

“He’s fine. Don’t worry. It’s because of [Avatar]. According to Kyung, it’s like the character identity syncs with you…”

“You mean the character Brize is hot-headed?”

I glanced at Choi Kyung, who hopped and paced like he’d become Brize even without activating the avatar.

“Well… I prefer that to him being nervous.”

After a quick look at Choi Kyung, I sketched the precise tactic in my head and continued.

“From now on, we’re going to cut off the enemy’s supplies and give proper rest to the innocent citizens who died.”