I took the red core out of my bag.
A core obtained through Kyung-soo’s sacrifice.
I should get it appraised.
Honestly, when a core has a high chance of being a dud, sometimes it’s better not to bother appraising it.
If you request an appraisal as a private individual, you have to pay a fee.
Hunters get that fee waived as a perk, so they can submit them freely, but postmen don’t get that kind of treatment.
The probability that this core contains negative effects… as expected, I can’t see it.
I can’t see the probability.
Even though a core meets all the conditions for my ability to work well.
It’s familiar, inanimate, and small, and I can even touch it like this, yet I still can’t see the probability.
Of course, there’s also the condition that the structure has to be simple.
Maybe cores are just too complex in structure for my ability to work on them.
But my ability doesn’t require every single condition to be met.
Usually, if just a few conditions line up, I can see the probability.
It’s an ability that can even gauge the chances of treating an injured person.
That says it all.
Conclusion: cores are beyond the reach of my ability.
Anyway, even without seeing the probability, anyone who’s handled a few cores could tell this one is terrible.
It’s red and even glossy.
Nothing but bad signs.
Still…
I should get it appraised.
Otherwise, I might end up losing sleep again tonight.
Core appraisals are conducted in a separate annex.
There’s a risk of explosion if using a core fails, so it’s dangerous.
The various annex buildings filling Yeouido are, like the main complex, pure white, to the point that they’re dazzling to look at in the daytime.
Whose taste even is this?
“It’s obviously a dud, and you still want to appraise it?”
He was an appraiser I’ve been seeing for years, but he doesn’t recognize me.
Even back when I was a hunter, he used to forget things often, but now he can’t recognize me at all.
It was dementia that came to him in his seventies.
Fortunately, he hasn’t lost his ability to appraise, so he’s managed to keep his position at headquarters and stay alive.
“Yes, just in case.”
“What do you mean ‘just in case’? You’re a postman, so you don’t get to see cores often. You can’t even tell shit from soybean paste, can you?”
“I’ll pay the appraisal fee properly, so please just take a look.”
“Young people these days don’t know the value of resources, do they? Appraisal denied! I won’t do it. Go back!”
It was advice telling me not to waste anything on something that was obviously a dud.
I know he means well, but his kindness always ends up being a hassle.
“Appraiser.”
“Appraisal denied!”
“Old man Heo.”
“Hmph, nothing you say will change my mind. Appraisal denied! I won’t do it. Not changing my mind, so go on back!”
“Your daughter.”
I had no choice but to bring that up again.
“…What about my daughter? Did something happen?”
“Did you forget? You asked me to deliver something to her. I was the one who handled it.”
“Th-That’s right! Of course I remember!”
“It was delivered safely. She asked me to thank you.”
“Hmph, thanking me for something like that…”
Whoosh.
Old Man Heo snatched the core right out of my hand.
“Today’s appraisal is free.”
“No, it’s fine. I should pay the fee properly.”
“I said it’s fine!”
I appreciated the gesture, but taking it for free didn’t sit right with me.
I’ve never even met his daughter once in my life.
“Just take it.”
“Ah, fine, fine…”
In the end, Old Man Heo reluctantly accepted a few rounds of ammunition.
He doesn’t have a daughter.
It’s not that she died.
She was never born.
Old Man Heo has never been married, so he doesn’t have any children at all.
But at some point, he started talking as if he had a daughter.
It began around the time he started failing to recognize my face.
At first, people around him wondered if he had some hidden family.
But after looking into it, it seemed that wasn’t the case.
Still, people figured it was better to go along with it, so everyone played along with the story of his imaginary daughter.
But then Dr. Myung caused an incident.
– I’m telling you, you don’t have a daughter.
Maybe he believed doctors shouldn’t lie to their patients, but he ended up telling the truth.
On top of that, he presented all kinds of evidence to the furious Old Man Heo.
Everyone tried to stop him, but—
– I see… so I don’t have a daughter… no wonder my memory hasn’t been what it used to be…
By then, Old Man Heo had already faced reality.
That was probably the first time anyone had seen him cry.
He sank to the ground and wept silently, his shoulders shaking.
I still can’t forget the look on his face back then.
It wasn’t the expression of someone pitying himself for being old and sick.
It was the face of a father who had lost his daughter.
After that, no one ever saw him cry again.
The very next day, he was smiling again, casually bringing up his daughter like nothing had happened.
He didn’t even know why his eyes were so swollen.
Dr. Myung didn’t say anything further either.
He simply handed over the role of Old Man Heo’s attending physician to someone else.
“Tsk, just as I thought…it’s a dud. Haven’t seen such high-purity crap in a while.”
Just as expected.
“How bad is it?”
“There’s a 99.99% chance it’ll ruin your life.”
Old Man Heo’s ability is to see the probability of failing when using a core.
In my case, as long as certain conditions are met, I can see probabilities for anything except cores. But his ability applies only to cores.
With an ability like that, you can work as an appraiser and stay stationed at headquarters.
It’s a pretty cushy position.
A 99.99% chance it’s a dud.
Even I’ve never seen a number that high before.
“So, you’re not curious about the failure effect, are you? What’s the point? You’re not going to use it anyway.”
The appraiser next to Old Man Heo has the ability to determine what happens if using a core fails.
From explosions to plagues to summoning monsters.
Only when someone breaks through that failure probability and succeeds in using it does the core finally reveal its hidden nature.
Things like communication cores used in communication devices, or power cores that can function as high-efficiency batteries.
Among them, the most valuable by far are “ability cores”.
Cores that grant special abilities to the user.
Without exception, these have high failure rates.
At least 95% or higher.
The problem is that the higher the failure rate, the more devastating the consequences of failure.
If you use a core with a failure rate of over 95% and fail, it means you either die or end up on the brink of death.
In the end, gaining an ability means risking your life.
And only after gaining an ability can you finally become a hunter.
“I am a bit curious about what the failure effect is, though.”
“Ahem.”
“I’ll take your advice this time, sir.”
“Good, that’s the right call. Then I’ll take this to the incinerator—”
“No, please give it back.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll keep it as a souvenir.”
A core that might kill you with a 99.99% probability if used.
If this were an ability core, it would probably grant an incredible power upon success.
Usually, the higher the failure rate, the rarer the ability inside.
But taking that gamble would be insane.
It really is a useless core.
Still, I don’t want to burn it.
“You’re keeping trash like this as a souvenir? Hmm, must have a story behind it. A keepsake from the deceased?”
Seems like this kind of thing happens often.
“You could say that.”
“Tsk, you won’t listen no matter what I say. Just be careful not to use it by accident.”
“If I were careless enough to make that kind of mistake, I’d have died long ago.”
“Anyway, this sticker.”
Old Man Heo casually stuck a black sticker onto the surface of the core.
“This has to be attached, you understand?”
A prohibited item sticker.
Now this core can’t be brought into any government-owned building.
The unmanned scanners would trigger an alarm.
“Yes, I’ll take care of it.”
Later, I should bury it somewhere with a nice view and plenty of sunlight.
“Alright then…”
“I’ll get going, sir.”
“Yeah…”
Old man Heo clearly seemed like he wanted to talk a bit more, but now wasn’t the time to linger.
After going through another body search,
Clank.
At last, the main gate leading to the outside world opened.
The guards, rifles in hand, stood rigidly in place, watching me with only their eyes moving.
Beyond the gate lay the ruined world.
In the distance, huge pillars were embedded in the ground here and there.
It looked like a graveyard.
After spending a few days at headquarters, the ruins feel unfamiliar again.
I found myself glancing back for no real reason.
A civilized world of pure white buildings standing close together.
But when I look forward again, there’s no trace of civilization.
Cunk.
The moment I stepped out, the gate shut behind me.
I was cast back into ruin.
***
The envelope given by the explanation enthusiast had a neatly written name and address in small, cute handwriting.
Did he really write this himself?
It didn’t match his stiff impression at all.
Even the envelope was colorful.
Maybe he had someone else write it for him.
Sometimes you can infer hidden details just from what’s written on an envelope, and this one was like that.
– Sender: New Government Complex / Jo Yong-han –
Technically, it should have started with “Seoul” as part of the address.
But many of those who send mail from headquarters just write the complex and leave it at that.
A kind of sense of privilege.
As if they live in a different world.
You can also tell two things from the name section.
First, that the person doesn’t want to reveal their affiliation or rank.
Second, that they have an unusual name.
Recipient: Namdong-gu, Incheon…
Incheon is an area with intense power struggles.
Because the owners of each settlement change frequently, it’s difficult to keep track of the situation.
Just having to go to Incheon already makes this a high-difficulty job, but this one is on another level.
Incheon, Namdong-gu, AAA.
AAA.
A settlement that has cut off all contact with the outside world.
They don’t even accept mail.
On top of that, the delivery condition this time is “to be handed directly to the recipient in person.”
Most heavily guarded settlements inspect mail.
After all, there’s no way to know what might be inside or what it might say.
But this time, that process has to be skipped and it must be delivered straight to the recipient.
There are a few methods for handling situations like this, but none of them are easy.
Especially when the destination is AAA.
Even so, the goal is to finish two days ahead of the deadline. Of course, successful delivery is a given.
That’s the only way that bastard will acknowledge it without any complaints.
By the time the evening glow set in, I was able to leave Seoul.
It took time since I detoured along the safest route possible.
Still, up to this point, it was a route I usually took, so it wasn’t too difficult.
The real problem starts now.
It’s been way too long since I’ve been here.
After deciding to pass through Bucheon and entering the city, the sight that greeted me was nothing like what I remembered.
The settlement I used as a landmark was gone.
It had been a fairly large one, but now only faint traces remained.
In its place, a huge pillar was embedded in the ground.
It’s nearly impossible to keep track of every piece of air raid information.
Even the maps shared by headquarters are only updated frequently for high-traffic mission areas, and places like Incheon are updated slowly.
On top of that, I’ve always avoided jobs with destinations in Incheon, so I’m even more in the dark about this area.
It used to be one of the few settlements you could reason with.
The plan to use this settlement’s activity range to move safely toward Incheon had fallen apart.
Just as I was about to think up a Plan B,
“That’s way too expensive!”
“Then what do you expect me to do? You want us both to die?”
“If you’ve got that many resources to spare, you pay it and go that way! I’ll go alone!”
At the sound of arguing, I immediately hid myself.
Looking around, I spotted the source of the voices in the distance.
“Let’s split up here! I’m not making that kind of deal!”
“Ugh, you’ve got no sense of how valuable your life is.”
The voices belonged to two postmen.
They’re fellow postmen like me, but since I don’t work within a department, every face and voice is unfamiliar.
Next to the two arguing postmen stood a group of people watching them.
Each of them carried heavy-looking bags, except for a single child who looked about five years old, the only one without any luggage.
It seemed they had proposed a deal to the postmen, but the postmen were split on it.
“You government guys are pretty fearless. We can guide you safely and reliably, you know?”
“You said our price was too high, but no matter how expensive it is, could it really be worth more than your life?”
Guide us safely and reliably, huh.
If the price is right, it’s not a bad deal.
Passing through dangerous areas without enough information could easily lead to a fight.
And that means wasting something, whether it’s ammunition, medical supplies, or my own stamina.
You’d end up burning resources while still getting lost.
I should try to get in on that deal myself.
“You’re actually going to trust people like them? Ha, guess it’s about time you kicked the bucket, Kim-ssi. I’m leaving, so do whatever you want!”
As I approached them, one of the postmen rejected the deal and walked off first.
But the group, reluctant to lose a customer, quickly tried to persuade him.
“Mr. Postman!! We’re truly peaceful people.”
With that one line, they ended up losing another potential customer as well.
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