At last, after a long journey of 100 days, the curtain rose on the graduation ceremony marking the finale of the User Academy.
True to their initial promise to give strong promotional support during the publicity week, the central management organization had largely kept their word. They ensured that all clans participating as instructors were given equal opportunities to promote themselves.
This principle held firm during the graduation ceremony as well. Time-wasting segments were boldly cut or shortened, and a new segment was introduced. It was called the Q&A session, designed to let trainees ask questions about the clans themselves.
In other words, it was another chance for clans to promote themselves—something the instructors welcomed.
Of course, each clan’s segment was limited to 12 minutes, so the ceremony’s overall length remained roughly the same as originally planned. Given that, it made sense to spend the time more meaningfully rather than waiting around bored.
But there was more. The central management had added a condition: the Q&A segment was approved unanimously. And that condition was…
“Yes. Our Hanul Clan may still be just an average clan. But that’s only for now. Though small, we believe we have great potential to grow. If there’s anyone here willing to help develop our clan alongside me, please raise your hand.”
In the grand auditorium, the audience—composed of central management officials and trainees—watched the stage. On the central platform stood a stout man, his face etched with a pitiful earnestness as he spoke passionately. Yet despite his fervor, the audience’s reaction was zero. Or rather, they showed no interest at all.
A subtle despair flickered across the man’s face as he scanned the crowd. But it was fleeting.
He bit his lip, straightened his posture slowly, then dropped to his knees with a solemn voice:
“Hanul Clan sincerely wishes to welcome you all!”
One by one, the users standing behind him also knelt, following his lead.
A murmur rippled through the audience.
At last, a faint reaction emerged—but it was more of disbelief than enthusiasm. The man’s expression darkened with disappointment.
In truth, regardless of his personal circumstances, his actions were a poor choice. This segment was, in essence, a chance for instructors to show off to the trainees. The users behind him were Hanul Clan members specially invited for this segment—not just instructors, but clan members joining in the promotion. This was part of the central management’s condition: “Up to eight clan members, excluding instructors, may enter the segment.”
Given that, the clan should have dazzled the audience with a flashy performance or impressive display. Instead, the man took the opposite approach, appealing sincerely to the trainees’ hearts. Perhaps he hoped to move them with genuine emotion, but it clearly wasn’t effective—the audience’s reaction spoke for itself.
In the end, the stout man and the eight other Hanul Clan members quietly left the stage. As they stepped down, a deep voice echoed through the auditorium.
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the auditorium shifted. The dullness vanished instantly, replaced by curiosity and anticipation that filled the room. The trainees all craned their necks, eyes fixed on the central stage. Their attitude was a stark contrast to the indifference shown during Hanul Clan’s turn.
It was understandable. To put it bluntly, if Hanul was a dead-end, the Mercenary Clan was considered the top clan in the Northern Continent.
Moreover, unlike other clans, the Mercenary Clan had never once promoted themselves or actively recruited trainees. Naturally, everyone was curious about who they were and how to join.
In hindsight, Kim Suhyun’s decision to ban all promotions was ironically perfect—at least for this segment.
Moments later.
Thud, thud. Thud, thud.
Thud, thud. Thud, thud.
Heavy footsteps sounded in succession, amplified by the sound system, announcing the clan’s arrival.
Eight users stepped onto the stage, led by a man at the front—three men and five women.
Was there something different about their presence compared to Hanul Clan? The trainees watched in near silence, holding their breath. The solemn stillness in the auditorium was almost palpable.
In contrast, the Mercenary Clan members turned slowly to face the trainees with calm composure. Their demeanor was relaxed, yet not arrogant. The red glowing emblem etched on their chests clearly marked them as Mercenary Clan members.
Kim Suhyun stepped forward, followed by Jung Hayun half a step behind, who cast a voice amplification spell.
His greeting was simple, without any grandiose rhetoric. That was better—there were mountains of questions to get through in just 12 minutes.
The trainees eagerly raised their hands. Kim Suhyun pointed to one, and the man stood up straight.
“Thank you for taking my question. I’m Jo Donghyun, a newly minted user as of today.”
“Yes. During the 14 weeks of training, I’ve heard the names of the Mercenary Clan and its members several times—like the Shadow Queen, for example. It might be a bit off-topic, but I’m curious: could you tell us who the people on stage are?”
Jo Donghyun spoke quickly, and Kim Suhyun immediately gave the go-ahead. He pointed to the woman on the far left and spoke calmly.
Go Yeonju smiled languidly and waved gently, even closing her eyes briefly in a teasing manner. Jo Donghyun and several other men’s hearts skipped a beat, but Kim Suhyun remained unfazed and continued.
Nam Daeun showed no reaction, simply staring coldly as if uninterested.
Both bowed politely, but their naturally stern personalities showed no further response.
The remaining four were Ahn Hyun, Ahn Sol, Jung Hayun, and Shin Jaeryong—already active in the User Academy, so no need for introductions.
Even after the question ended, Jo Donghyun didn’t seem ready to sit down. His face flushed as he kept staring at Go Yeonju. Only when a woman beside him nudged him did he hurriedly take his seat.
With the first question done, Kim Suhyun scanned the room again. Hands shot up automatically.
Then, one by one, the gazes that had been drifting suddenly fixed. A sharp gleam flashed in Kim Suhyun’s eyes as he locked onto someone. He pointed, and a tall woman gracefully rose.
“Thank you for taking my question. I’m Jegal Haesol, a new user as of today.”
“Um~. This might be a bit rude, but I’ll be direct. I’m curious about the Mercenary Clan’s membership numbers.”
Kim Suhyun’s eyes twitched slightly, surprised by the unexpected question. Jegal Haesol continued calmly.
“Yes. Membership. I understand the Mercenary Clan is currently the top clan in the Northern Continent, and that’s why I joined. But sometimes, other clan instructors say the Mercenary Clan’s biggest problem is its small size. They say it’s a clan with clear limitations…”
The auditorium stirred loudly at that statement—it was almost an accusation. But Jegal Haesol seemed unfazed, even smiling sweetly as she finished.
“So, I’d like to hear the Mercenary Lord’s thoughts on this.”
Kim Suhyun lowered his gaze.
He clearly felt the sting of the question. Some instructors who had already left the stage looked uneasy, glancing nervously between Kim Suhyun and Jegal Haesol. Probably wishing they could tear her apart right then and there.
At that moment, amid the restless murmurs, Kim Suhyun began to walk calmly forward. Jung Hayun tried to follow but Kim Suhyun raised a hand to stop her, yet kept speaking.
“Our Mercenary Clan is called one of the best clans not because of the number of users, but because so many users believe it to be so.”
Finally, Kim Su-hyun walked to the very front of the stage and spoke softly.
“There is a very significant difference here.”
The noise in the hall instantly died down.
After briefly scanning the room, Kim Su-hyun continued in a calm voice.
“Some users say, no matter how skilled you are, numbers always win. But there’s also the saying: a well-trained user is worth ten ordinary ones.”
His voice was low but filled with a potent magic. Every trainee listened intently, without exception.
“I’m not talking about secret or rare classes. Even if you gather a hundred average users who’ve gone through hardships, five highly skilled mages can wipe them out in a second. That’s reality. So, the level of core users in a clan and the equipment supporting them are what truly matter.”
Confidence radiated from Kim Su-hyun’s voice, as if he was speaking directly to anyone who doubted him.
And he wasn’t just addressing the trainees. He was speaking to those who, since the Koran Alliance days, have criticized the number of members and to clan members who always push for increasing headcount.
“That’s why the Mercenary Clan seeks users with potential—those who can reach a certain level. Not users who might die anytime, anywhere, but those who can survive anytime, anywhere. To achieve this, we teach and support thoroughly, building the clan solely with core users.”
His words were meant for all.
“Of course, having many clan members has its advantages. More available manpower is always beneficial.”
“But we will never, under any circumstances, plan to massively increase our numbers like other large clans with similar reputations. Because Mercenary has a clear founding purpose.”
“I’m not saying their approach is wrong. It’s just different. I’m sharing Mercenary’s way and philosophy.”
“A clan where one person can take on ten, even a hundred; where a small number can achieve ten or a hundred times the efficiency—that’s what ‘elite few’ means.”
As Kim Su-hyun’s words flowed relentlessly, Jegal Haesol suddenly raised her hand and opened her mouth. But before she could speak, Kim Su-hyun glanced at her and cut in.
“You’re probably wondering if that’s even possible.”
Jegal Haesol fell silent.
“Yes. It is. The path Mercenary has walked so far proves it. Mercenary has achieved more than any other clan. To put it bluntly, we’re a clan that takes on contracts and explores ruins. We don’t lack in class, finances, or equipment.”
But that wasn’t all.
“Beyond that, we have a very powerful method to train trainees into core users. This is a unique resource no other clan possesses.”
The trainees, already captivated by Kim Su-hyun’s speech, perked up even more. After all, when choosing a clan, trainees care most about reputation and support. And here, not only were those perfectly met, but there was something even greater.
Receiving the trainees’ expectant gazes, Kim Su-hyun took a steady breath. It had been a while since he’d spoken this long, and he was slightly out of breath.
After regaining his composure, he spoke calmly.
“After this graduation ceremony, you will each receive four attribute points. I assume you all understand their importance, so I won’t explain further. …To cut to the chase: Mercenary has a way to grant an additional two attribute points exclusively to trainees, that is, new users.”
Two extra points. It wasn’t a complicated concept.
But the moment he said it, a profound silence fell over the auditorium.
That silence soon gave way to a faint ripple of excitement, like the calm before a storm.
And just before the storm broke—
Kim Su-hyun smiled gently and said,
“That’s all. I hope I’ve answered your questions sufficiently.”
The graduation ceremony ended.
I instructed the clan members to wait for a moment, then pushed through the dense crowd to finally step outside. I could have left earlier, but both trainees and instructors had held me back, making it difficult.
I understood why, though. The establishment of a mercenary academy comparable to the User Academy was hard for them to believe.
Still, I was anxious. Cha Hee-young and Jin Soo-hyun were fine—I’d already spoken with both. I saw Cha Hee-young standing beside Ahn Hyun, and Jin Soo-hyun could wait.
But Jegal Haesol wasn’t around yet. The decision on whether she’d accept the recruitment offer from Istantel Row was supposed to be made after the ceremony, so by now, the result should have come out. Had she accepted? Declined? And why wasn’t she anywhere to be seen?
There were many users around, but neither Jegal Haesol nor Han So-young was visible anywhere. I stepped aside and kept my eyes fixed on the entrance. Suddenly, a worry crept in—had she used teleportation to leave? It was a plausible concern.
Recalling Jegal Haesol’s bold questions earlier, I decided to move. Waiting at the entrance was the most likely option, but something felt off. Just as I was about to scan for her magic signature—
“Hey! Kim Su-hyun! There you are!”
A familiar voice called out, urgent yet not unfamiliar. Turning, I saw a user sprinting toward me—Princess Yeon Hye-rim of the Executioners.
“Ah, finally found you! It’s been a while!”
“Yeon Hye-rim? What are you doing here?”
“Nothing much. Han So-young told me to find you and give you something.”
“The Istantel Row Lord?”
Yeon Hye-rim nodded quickly and came close, leaning in near my neck to whisper.
“Jegal Haesol’s recruitment failed.”
Then she pulled back and turned away. I immediately spoke.
“Failed?”
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I’m in a huge rush right now. It’s crazy. Anyway, did you get that clearly?”
“Wait! Then where is she now?”
“No idea! We just finished talking, so if she’s here, she’ll come out on her own!”
With that, Yeon Hye-rim didn’t look back and disappeared back into the auditorium.
Jegal Haesol’s recruitment failed? So she refused?
At that moment—
Vuuum.
Suddenly, my magic detection, which I’d activated earlier, picked up a faint magical flow. I snapped to attention. Lucky.
Following the magic’s movement, I found a trace beyond the crowded entrance, in a relatively quiet spot.
A familiar silhouette. Long, flowing straight hair and slender legs.
It was Jegal Haesol. Her teleportation was so natural that no one noticed anything unusual.
But I couldn’t just admire it. I couldn’t let her slip away. Just as I was about to run—
Jegal Haesol suddenly turned her body and, as if she knew I was there, fixed her gaze on me.
Our eyes met.
A soft, high-pitched voice echoed lightly in my mind, and I instinctively froze.
Jegal Haesol wasn’t physically nearby—she was standing still where she was before. That meant she had sent her voice across about eighty meters, only for me to hear.
Before I could even wonder how—
Then, like a princess from an old Easter egg, Jegal Haesol bowed her head and knees slightly toward me. She turned gracefully and walked away, not toward me but toward the main gate.
I watched her go, dazed.
The surrounding noise was still loud and bustling. Jegal Haesol’s figure soon disappeared into the crowd. I quietly rubbed my chin.
She said goodbye…
So, I guess there’s no need to follow her.
Honestly, I felt a bit lost. But I couldn’t just stand still. Since I anticipated this kind of situation, I had a contingency plan ready. After all, the opponent was Jegal Haesol.
With that thought, I left the entrance and headed toward a less crowded area.
Reaching into my pocket, I found a cigarette and a smooth, round crystal orb—a communication crystal. Unlike others, this one emitted a dull, dark glow. Ko Yeon-ju had given it to me this morning.
I gathered both items and pulled them out. I held the cigarette between my fingers and gripped the orb inside my palm. That way, if anyone saw me, they’d just think I was smoking.
Lighting the cigarette and bringing it close to my mouth, I simultaneously channeled magic into the crystal orb.
Fortunately, the connection was immediate.
(Ah. What now? Mercenary Lord, you can’t keep doing this. The Koran Alliance incident was supposed to be the last…)
A grumbling voice came through, and I quickly whispered,
“There are a lot of people around. Stop talking nonsense.”
My heart was pounding. I tried to calm myself, but my voice sounded serious even to my own ears.
Sensing my mood, the grumbling stopped immediately. These guys were second to none when it came to handling situations like this, so they must have understood what was going on.
I bit the cigarette and brought the crystal closer, making sure no light escaped from my hand.
“There’s no time for a detailed explanation. The mission is the same as last time.”
(Hmm. I see. But wait a moment—about that Missionary Road, the brothel we went to recently. That place was really something, wasn’t it?)
I paused briefly, then quickly caught on and replied.
“Yeah. It definitely blew me away.”
(Exactly. So I’ve been wanting to go back, but I can’t quite remember where it was. Do you happen to know the name of the place?)
“Oh, it’s a new spot, just opened up, so it’s not famous yet. The building was called Haesol, I think? That whole gagged-play scene was absolutely killer.”
(Ha. I see. Honestly, I don’t fully get it yet, but hearing you talk about it makes me want to go back. …I guess I really should. Since it’s come to this, let’s go together sometime. When would you be free?)
“Whenever works for me. I’d go right now if I could. No, honestly, I’m hoping we do.”
(…Sounds good.)
With that, the voice abruptly cut off. Just then, a noisy group of users passed by, and I took a deep drag of my cigarette, lowering my gaze.
By now, no light was leaking from the crystal sphere anymore.
---------------------------= Author’s Note =---------------------------
Phew. The User Academy arc is finally over. Well, not completely, of course—there’s still the conversation with Jin Suhyun to cover in the next chapter as a flashback, and what happens with Jegal Haesol will also be revealed then. Still, it feels good to have tied up this part somehow. :)