Surviving Restructuring

Tick—

The wind that wrapped around Eun-Ho’s wings slowed. His teammates, who had been locked in fierce combat, froze mid-motion. Even the shadows stretching across the darkened sky came to a halt.

Flying without even a single wind is harder than I’ve expected, Eun-Ho thought as he folded his wings and stepped lightly onto the grass. Finally, it’s somewhat quiet.

To be able to move freely within time slowed fortyfold, he had raised Acceleration to level eight. Yet, within what should have been frozen time, he felt a sticky gaze sweep over him from head to toe.

“Hmm... I am well aware of your little tricks.” The director’s revolting face curled into a grin as he stepped forward. “But when one reaches a position such as mine, moving slightly faster than others can hardly be called an ability...”

Each step blackened the grass beneath his feet to ash. Soil that had once been firm rotted into something like a festering swamp. Everywhere he passed, decay stained the earth.

Facing that approaching embodiment of death, Eun-Ho answered calmly, “I figured as much.”

“You don’t look surprised,” the director observed.

Of course he had expected this. Cheong Ryeon-Hwa, the Research Center director, and the VIP gambler had shown similar resistance.

“Or have you resigned yourself to despair?” the director asked.

You know, I was never aiming for that in the first place, Eun-Ho thought.

“Well who cares,” the director declared. “You may deliver your final words once you are inside my stomach!”

Fwaaaash—

The undulating Death Hand swelled, surging toward him. It was fast, but still slower than before he had activated Acceleration.

Within that slowed torrent, Eun-Ho moved.

“Your futile struggle ends here!” the director roared.

A small opening was all Eun-Ho required since exploiting it was simply a matter of thinking faster.

[You have consumed a Potion of Swiftness.]

[Movement speed has increased by 30%!]

[You have consumed a Potion of Swiftness.]

[Movement speed has increased by 30%!]

[You have consumed a Potion of Swiftness.]

[Movement speed has increased by 30%!]

...

[Movement speed has reached the maximum your strength can withstand.]

[Further consumption will trigger the status effect Drug Intoxication.]

He emptied the large bottle of movement-speed potion in one breath, before retreating to a distance the director couldn’t reach, yet remained within view.

Wow, I’m incredibly fast!

He was so swift that his footing nearly tangled. It was a sensation he had never experienced before.

But not too fast to handle.

Then, the clawed hand shot toward him, fingernails sharpened like blades.

Fwaaaash—

Three meters.

He launched himself aside. The towering tree behind him took the blow in his stead, instantly reduced to cascading ash, like rainwater pouring off an eave after a storm.

“How persistent,” the director muttered.

“That’s one of my better qualities,” Eun-Ho replied lightly.

He came to a stop beside an enemy soldier.

Five meters.

Would the director spare his own subordinate from being devoured by death? The answer was no. The Death Hand missed him by a hair’s breadth and crushed the soldier’s skull instead.

“You don’t even make exceptions for your own men?” Eun-Ho asked.

Pzzz—

When the acrid smoke cleared, nothing remained but charred ash. Armor shattered and bones and flesh reduced to powder. Then, the Death Hand flicked outward, scattering the evidence like dust.

“What are you doing?!”

“You think I would leave traces?” the director sneered. “No one will notice even if one or two disappear.”

“What if I saw it?”

“It is of no consequence. You will look the same soon enough.” His gesture was cruel, indifferent to friend or foe alike. “A ruler has methods befitting his station.”

Eun-Ho ignored the nonsense, waiting akin to a hawk observing prey. He would strike only when he saw the opening.

Ten meters.

Eun-Ho pushed himself back with everything he had, widening the gap.

“Abandon thoughts of escape,” the director warned. “The pain is but a moment. The rest will be eternal peace.”

The black Death Hand cloaking him dispersed like spilled ink.

“I’d like to return that line to you,” Eun-Ho said quietly.

The Death Hand’s activation range is ten meters. Beyond that, he has no choice but to teleport, Eun-Ho thought.

Then, the director’s form would dissolve to the molecular level before reassembling again. Eun-Ho watched the process without blinking.

One... two... three... Just as expected.

Eun-Ho had found a three-second opening.

***

“Still a pathetic forest,” Seung Gi, the director of Personnel Bureau, muttered softly.

It had been a hundred years since he last set foot here, and the place displeased him just as much as before. Greenery had stubbornly taken root in what should have remained a forsaken land, and insignificant lives still clung together in desperate clusters.

“We may as well wipe it clean this time,” he said.

“Will that be acceptable?” a subordinate had asked.

In fact, that was why he had personally come to this wretched place. He had intended to end it swiftly and wipe everything clean, ensuring no vermin would ever crawl from this land again.

Yet, the director could not comprehend what was happening. Just as he was about to seize Eun-Ho by the throat and claim his long-awaited revenge, a sword drove through his heart.

[Warning!]

[Foreign substances have been detected in your body.]

[Attempting absorption.]

[Fail!]

[There is no vitality available for absorption.]

[Remove foreign substances immediately!]

“Who cares if you can keep up in terms of movement speed?” Eun-Ho said coolly.

“What?! What in the world—” the director muttered.

His form, once hazy like smoke, began to solidify as if color were seeping into it. His tongue moved stiffly.

“The teleport activation time didn’t change,” Eun-Ho continued.

Shock flickered in the director’s stormy eyes. “What?!”

Teleportation activation time indeed was separate from his movement speed. Though the interval could not be shortened, it was less than a tenth of a second.

Wait.

A remark Eun-Ho had made earlier surfaced in the director’s mind.

“I’d like to return that line to you.”

Until then, Eun-Ho had done little but evade, hence the director had assumed it was fear of the Death Hand’s overwhelming power. What if that was not the case?

The man’s face had been calm. His posture had been far too steady for someone facing an unexpected threat. He had gradually widened the distance between them, almost as if luring him.

No way, the director thought.

“You were aiming for that gap from the start?”

The corner of Eun-Ho’s mouth lifted.

“B-but how?”

“You’re wondering how I knew you’d come here?” Eun-Ho asked, shrugging as if it were nothing. “If you had teleportation, why didn’t you use it when you were trapped in the storm?”

“That’s because—”

“First, it consumes a lot of mental energy,” Eun-Ho said.

The director stiffened.

“Second,” Eun-Ho continued, locking eyes with him, “you can only teleport to where your gaze lands.”

His eyes were so clear they reflected the director’s own smoky form like a mirror.

The director flinched.

“I noticed how you always glanced first before teleporting.”

“You damn bastard!”

Refusing to fall like this, the director desperately manipulated his energy. However, teleportation had already been triggered. No matter how he struggled, the scattered gray smoke began to gather layer upon layer, regaining color.

Damn it!

The black sword vibrated within his chest, embedded where his heart should have been. If he teleported in this state, he would simply be impaling himself mid-transfer.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!

Suppressing the urge to scream, he held his breath. He halted his blood flow, slowed the smoke’s circulation, and delayed the teleportation until nausea surged up his throat.

“Your futile struggle ends here!” Eun-Ho said.

As he moved like a ripple, the threads of blue energy shifted like intricate machinery. One by one, they repositioned, opening spaces and then filling them again with precise alignment.

It was a level of control the director had never witnessed. “How can you manipulate sword energy like this?!”

Though many mastered Sword Aura and a few even grasped Sword Force, all were obsessed with channeling greater power into their swords. None divided perfectly even strength into countless thin threads, nor mastered such microscopic control.

The director tried to speak, but no words came. The thin strands extending from Eun-Ho’s sword wove densely from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet.

Tick—

Time resumed its proper flow. He knew he couldn’t delay any longer nor use teleport. Besides, he knew all too well the crackling sword energy eager to consume him could not be stopped.

“Think carefully!” the director forced out, his voice strained. “After causing an incident like this, do you think you can remain with the company?!”

His tongue scraped against the razor-sharp Sword Thread embedded through him, yet he went on. “I will grant you a division chief position! I also swear I will never touch this land again. What do you say?!”

“Well,” Eun-Ho replied, tilting his head slightly. “And how do I know you won’t toss me into the Arena afterward?”

The director’s eyes widened.

“Aren’t you the one who proposed and operates the Arena, Director?”

“How could you possibly know that?!”

The arena was top-class classified, untouchable by mere team leaders like Eun-Ho. Yet not only did Eun-Ho know of it, he knew who ran it.

“You must have many questions,” the director said hurriedly. “I will answer them all in due time—”

Eun-Ho smiled not with his lips, but with his eyes. They were clear, almost translucent, as if washed clean of all doubt. “No need.”

They seemed gentle, even warm at a glance. However, to an enemy, that same clarity felt as sharp and merciless as winter light.

“No need?” the director repeated, his voice trembling.

Eun-Ho’s gaze coiled around him like a serpent. Was it because the director had exhausted too much mental energy delaying the teleportation? Or was it the overwhelming pressure emanating from the man before him?

“I never liked waiting for the enemy to finish transforming,” Eun-Ho said.

“What are you talking ab—”

The black sword embedded in his heart trembled violently. His flesh, nearly reformed, clung desperately to the blade.

“You must have many questions! I-I can answer th—”

“I can dig through your history at my leisure.”

There could be no hesitation, not from Eun-Ho, nor from the director’s organs pinned by the black blade.

“Wait!”

He understood then that he was going to die. The man and the sword within him decreed it.

Fwaaash—

The next moment, the blue sword energy surged through his veins. It was so pure, it felt like something born in the heavens before time itself.

Is this energy from Rebel? the director thought bitterly.

The concentrated mass of power was so immaculate that it stirred greed in anyone who sensed it. Even at full strength, he could never have fully absorbed such purity.

How laughable.

He had dismissed this man as a mere pawn based on appearance and shallow reports.

If I had absorbed him outright, it would have backfired.

That was his final clear thought.

“Bolt from the Blue.”

Then, the quiet incantation burrowed into his ears, piercing his already failing mind and shaking his organs. A tingling sensation spread through his body, burning as though he were being incinerated from within. Then, all sensation vanished.

“Keugh!”

The sword energy filled every blood vessel, vaporized his blood, tore through flesh, and burst outward.

Pzzzzzzzt—!

It shot skyward, unstoppable.

“Farewell,” Eun-Ho said.

The sound and the scenery faded..

[Eternal time has reached its end.]

[Accumulated death exceeds permissible limits.]

[The Wheel of Fate rejects re-entry.]

...

Thus, a long life came to its end, leaving everything behind to the rebel he had so deeply despised.