Chapter 18
—
“You are tools.”
Tools.
Implements used for work.
A phrase utterly inappropriate to describe someone with self-awareness. The moment those words came out of Lee Shin’s mouth, time and space froze solid.
“Oh… Lord above.”
Jeong Soon-dong, the team leader, was so stunned by the audacity that his jaw dropped.
“…Should I kill him… Let’s kill him… Let’s just kill him.”
Chae Dong-ha trembled, fists clenched with murderous rage.
The front office staff exchanged wide-eyed glances, their eyes darting nervously as if seeking someone who could salvage the situation. They fidgeted awkwardly, trying to avoid the hunters’ gazes, their movements as clunky as broken toys.
And the gathered hunters? They were worse off.
They had arrived bracing themselves for this troublemaker’s reputation. But thanks to Lee Shin’s striking appearance, their tension had eased—until that first line hit like a wrecking ball.
Confusion. Resentment. Anger…
An absolute circus had unfolded from just one opening remark.
Unfortunately for them, Lee Shin had no intention of stopping here.
This? This wasn’t even the start.
“Let’s rewind time, shall we? Back to the early days of guild raids. Strategies were simple back then. The front line defends, the back line attacks. Retreat if it’s dangerous, advance when the opportunity arises.”
“So simple even my dog Charles could understand. Oh, by the way, Charles is a five-year-old retriever.”
Yes, strategies back then were so straightforward that even a dog could comprehend them. But as time passed, things evolved.
More complexity. More layers.
“To reduce damage, we adjusted formations. To maximize attack power, we pursued efficiency.”
“Experts might chalk this up to advancements in technology, a deeper understanding of mana, or evolutionary perspectives. Blah blah. Forget the complicated stuff. Here’s what I want you to focus on.”
Position.
“In raids, a position generally refers to the roles and responsibilities, the optimized behavioral patterns expected of someone in a specific spot.”
“As strategies diversified, so did the specialization of positions. Naturally, the expectations for hunters increased.”
Lines that used to be split into front and back evolved into first, second, and third lines. Tanks weren’t just about blocking anymore—they attacked. Ranged dealers were expected to provide utility beyond damage output. Even healers, once revered as “aristocrats” of the raid world, had started learning attack magic.
“So, what does all this tell us?”
Diversity.
Multi-role.
“This is the trend of modern raids!!”
Lee Shin thrust his hand into the air, shouting with the enthusiasm of Archimedes screaming Eureka! in his bathtub.
But the hunters’ responses were colder than ice.
“…”
“…”
What’s your point?
Diversification of strategies, specialization of positions—it wasn’t what they wanted to hear.
“And? What does this have to do with us being called tools?”
“We have other, more important things to discuss—”
“Exactly! That’s it!”
Lee Shin cut them off, pointing emphatically.
“That inability to grasp the context, even when I’ve spelled it out for you—that hopeless lack of comprehension, intelligence—is why you are tools.”
“…!!”
Modern raids demanded hunters capable of adapting to various roles, versatile individuals equipped with essential qualities: high comprehension, quick judgment, and intelligence.
But the hunters gathered here?
The ones Lee Shin personally selected?
Intelligence 34, Wisdom 41.
Intelligence 28, Wisdom 29.
Intelligence 39, Wisdom 30.
They lacked the brains.
They weren’t versatile.
Their judgment was lacking.
“You are one-trick characters, completely opposed to the demands of modern raiding. You only do what you’re told, and no one can expect any creative play from you.”
Predictable input, predictable output. Passive characters.
“And that’s why I call you tools.”
That was Lee Shin’s reasoning behind the label.
Whether or not the hunters agreed was another matter entirely.
“What kind of nonsense is this?! Just because you’re the leader doesn’t mean you can say whatever you want!”
“This is insulting. I’m going public with this.”
“This lunatic! How could you say this to your own guildmates?”
Being called tools was humiliating enough, but stupid? Lacking judgment? They were certified hunters, recognized by the nation. At the very least, they had pride. Faces red with anger, they hurled accusations at Lee Shin.
But here’s the thing.
The man before them was Lee Shin.
“Quiet. Should tools be talking back?”
He was not the kind of man to care about the complaints of people who didn’t even understand their limitations.
“You people have clear limits. The moment you try to use that thing above your shoulders, you fall apart.”
Expecting versatility or creativity from them would lead to collapse. They’d break. To use them effectively, you had to keep it simple.
“Simplify… Forget it.”
Why waste breath explaining things to people who’d break the moment they started thinking?
“I’ll just show you.”
Don’t think. Don’t doubt.
Let me fill your heads and guide your actions.
Shut up and do as you’re told.
“Then you’ll naturally come to understand.”
That you shine brightest when you’re nothing but tools.
* * *
Mir Guild Representative’s Office.
“Hahaha! It’s a masterpiece, an absolute masterpiece!”
Kim Jong-pil laughed heartily.
“Calling them tools—on their first meeting, no less! I’ve met many people in my lifetime, but I’ve never encountered someone as audacious as you.”
Lee Shin, enjoying the aroma of his coffee, casually replied,
“Well, it’s not like I said anything untrue. The truth is always harsh, isn’t it?”
“Listen here, young man. There’s something called basic human decency.”
“Decency? I believe being brutally honest about reality is the greatest courtesy I can give them.”
Who spearheaded their recruitment?
It was none other than Lee Shin himself.
Characters with hardware so impressive yet software so appalling that their physical capabilities, which should have been strengths, were utterly undermined by their hopelessly flawed judgment.
“Those types are the most frustrating. If you look at their physical potential, they shouldn’t even be playing at this level. But they’re constantly held back by this—this head of theirs. It must be maddening for them.”
“Haha, why is that?”
“Because they feel like they’re always so close to making it. Have you ever been to Noryangjin?”
“Noryangjin? Isn’t that where all the cram schools are?”
“Exactly. If you visit, you’ll see students shuffling around in slippers, studying for years on end.”
Students who are always just one step away from passing. They feel so close, like they’ll finally make it if they try just a little harder. But in the end, they remain chained to Noryangjin, eternal repeaters.
“That’s what these guys are like. Intelligence isn’t something you can see unless they acknowledge it themselves, right? ‘If I work harder, I’ll make it.’ ‘If I try just a little more, I’ll succeed.’ They cling to that false hope, trapped in this guild world.”
They don’t realize it, but over half of them will bounce around lower-league guilds, eventually struggling as freelance hunters in makeshift raiding teams.
And then, without anyone noticing, they’ll quietly retire.
───That is their inevitable fate, just a few years down the line.
“They’re pitiable in a way. Born in the wrong era. If they’d been born a hundred years ago, they might’ve made quite a name for themselves—back in the days when hunters were lauded as saviours of humanity. In terms of pure ‘hunting,’ they’re not half bad.”
“So, they’re not suited for the league?”
“This is a league where scores are given, and results are recorded. With optimized routes and complex strategies, these guys aren’t what the modern league wants in hunters.”
“Interesting. So, they’ll all retire within a few years. You’re certain?”
“It’s not certainty—it’s the only truth.”
“Haha. Fascinating, truly fascinating. To be so sure of another’s future, as if you’ve seen it yourself…”
Kim Jong-pil rested his chin in his hand, studying Lee Shin intently.
What an intriguing young man. His sharp, clear eyes seemed to draw distinct lines wherever they looked. Just how far could those eyes see?
Kim Jong-pil tried to decipher the enigma of this mysterious young partner but gave up once again.
“So, all of this is to make me the ‘protagonist,’ isn’t it? Even recruiting those ‘tools’ was part of the plan.”
“That’s right. The protagonist.”
Crunch.
Lee Shin bit into an ice cube as he casually walked over to the bookshelf.
“As I’ve said before, you’ve never once been the protagonist. Do you remember why I said you weren’t?”
“Because of Jang-dong and Han Jeong-do.”
“That’s right. The Combat King and the All-King. Whatever the reasons, they stole the spotlight from you.”
“Well, if you call it stealing… But honestly, back then, putting those two in the limelight was the ideal choice.”
“No need to explain. I completely, one hundred percent understand.”
The Combat King Ma Jang-dong was an SSS-tier super-ultra-mega-king-emperor-level gorilla. Any commander who didn’t use him would’ve been a failure.
As for the All-King… Lee Shin didn’t like the guy, but he couldn’t deny his abilities.
Why?
Because he had dealt with him extensively.
“Frankly, there are few ‘perfect’ tools in the world as exceptional as the All-King.”
“Oh? Quite a generous assessment, considering you used to say he couldn’t tell left from right.”
“A professional acknowledges what deserves acknowledgment. The reason you spotlighted the All-King was precisely because he was such a perfect tool. A commander wouldn’t pass up something that guarantees results.”
“Hahaha! You’ve got a knack for command, don’t you?”
Lee Shin’s words struck at the heart of the matter.
Under Kim Jong-pil’s leadership, the Combat King shone as an unmatched force, while the All-King shone as the most reliable key card Kim could play.
The Combat King shone on his own.
The All-King shone through Kim Jong-pil’s hand.
“Realistically, I can’t find you an all-purpose tool like the All-King right now.”
“Oh? The way you emphasize ‘now’ makes me think you’re confident you can later.”
“Confident? Of course! There are tools out there so brilliant that the old All-King doesn’t even compare.”
Anyway, for now.
Lee Shin returned from the bookshelf, documents in hand.
“That’s why, realistically, I’ve prepared the best tools we can use—ones that are good enough.”
He handed over the file.
Kim Jong-pil, still smiling, glanced at it.
Then his smile disappeared—the first time it had vanished since he entered this office.
“This is…!”
“An instruction manual.”
It goes without saying: this world isn’t a game.
There’s no way to confirm one’s stats or traits, except during the initial awakening process.
Even then, guilds work tirelessly to objectify and quantify individuals’ talents, but no matter how much effort they put in, it’s impossible to perfectly understand every aspect of a person.
But.
There is one man in this world who can answer with a resounding yes.
Lee Shin.
With just one glance at a “Status Window,” he can see it all—current abilities, potential, stats, and traits.
The documents Kim Jong-pil held were transcriptions of the “status windows” Lee Shin saw—profiles of the newly recruited hunters.
“Low intelligence. No multi-role potential. Barely capable of active decision-making in operations. It’s horrifying, honestly. But I’m the one who brought them to you.”
“If they were truly hopeless, would I have offered them to you as a gift?”
No.
Lee Shin’s recruits had potential—potential to overcome their dire limitations.
“So? Do you like my gift?”
.
.
Time passed.
At last, the first raid day for the Mir Guild arrived.
【 Minimum required members have been met. 】
【 The ‘Manager Status Window’ is deactivated. 】
【 The ‘Growth Management Window’ is deactivated. 】
【 Proceed with the first league match. 】
—
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