The Archmage’s Swordsmanship Is Too Strong - Chapter 21

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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21
Episode 21. A Bomb, a Woman, and a Drunkard
***
Hong Taehwa.
Those three syllables tasted of iron on the tip of my tongue.
A red-haired youth buried in a worn leather sofa, wearing a frayed Headset and nodding to the beat.
Every time his head bobbed, a torn, distorted metal shriek leaked through the gaps in the Headset.
That pathetic figure in front of me—it was hard to believe he would one day become the enforcer of the Red Blood Alliance, the Raging Demon who would slaughter thousands of Hunters and quench his thirst with their blood.
But my senses don’t lie.
My heartbeat thrashed irregularly. Not from fear.
It was the vicious revulsion crawling up my spine, and the murderous intent to twist that neck right here, right now.
Fragments of memory pricked my mind like shards of sharp glass.
Inside the collapsed C-Rank Gate, that day’s stench of blood hanging heavy in the sealed, unventilated space.
Among the layers of corpses piled on top of each other, he danced like a child at a festival. The Mana Stones didn’t interest him.
All he wanted was screams—the sickening vibration of blades sliding through muscle and scraping bone.
‘I should have finished it right there.’
But it was Taeyun who had burned with fiercer rage than I.
Taeyun—Master of the Blade Guild and Korea’s only Sword Saint.
The moment he heard that his recruits—his own children in all but blood—had been ravaged by the Red Blood Alliance, he threw himself into enemy territory without waiting for reinforcements.
That day, the Red Blood Alliance’s domestic branch was literally erased from the map.
Hong Taehwa did not run. Instead, he stamped on the severed limbs of his subordinates, drenched in blood, giggling as he charged at the Sword Saint.
A mad dog needs a blade, not a club.
A flash of sword light split the air, and Hong Taehwa’s arms traced a grotesque arc before falling.
Yet that same creature now sits before me, limbs intact and very much alive.
I lowered my gaze. The fingers visible beneath the leather jacket sleeves. Smooth hands, unmarked by callus, still holding the warmth of life.
Those hands would soon become tools for tearing through human organs, for crushing hearts.
If I snapped those thin wrists right now.
If I seized that red hair and smashed his head against the floor, that chain of horrific murders in the future would never occur.
My knuckles went white, then red with pressure. My palms burned even without a sword in my grip.
“Taehwa, you skipped Welcome Class week two again? I’ve told you a hundred times—you won’t get your high school diploma if you don’t complete it.”
Kim Daehan’s voice broke the silence.
Overly kind, and threaded with genuine affection—like an uncle coaxing a stubborn nephew. Hong Taehwa didn’t even respond.
He just tapped the floor with his toes, keeping an erratic, agitated rhythm.
His inner instability bled through in that small, restless motion.
……
I clenched my fist, then slowly released it.
In my mind, I calculated coldly. The Raging Demon Hong Taehwa would only begin his infamy two years from now.
For now, he was nothing but a proto-monster—a minor with no legal crimes to his name.
To retroactively condemn a boy for future crimes is beyond vigilante justice; it’s a logical leap.
But instinct was warning me. A beast only learns to endure hunger; it never learns to eat plants.
“Captain, let me have a word with you.”
I tapped Kim Daehan’s shoulder lightly and drew him toward the hallway.
He followed without question, confusion written across his face. By the corner of the hall, near an old vending machine humming steadily, I stopped him.
The eyes reflected in the vending machine glass were cold, even to me.
“What exactly is that kid? Why is a walking time bomb like that sitting in a City Hall office?”
“Ah, you mean Taehwa?”
Kim Daehan inserted coins with a familiar ease and pulled out a paper cup of cheap vending-machine coffee. With a soft thunk, the cup fell, releasing the scent of cheap sugar-sweetened brew.
He blew on the steaming cup and answered matter-of-factly.
“On the surface, he’s just another delinquent punk. That hair color doesn’t help.”
“He looks far more dangerous than that. Like a wild animal locked in a cage.”
“Exactly. Taehwa’s under probation. I vouched for him and brought him here.”
“Probation?”
“Yes. It’s a long, complicated story. He underwent Early Awakening in middle school.”
Early Awakening.
Normally, a human’s Mana circuits complete themselves during adulthood, once physical growth is done. But very rarely, in early adolescence, there are those whose circuits are forced open.
The problem is that the minds of children, whose sense of self isn’t yet formed, can’t handle the destructive force of such massive Mana.
It’s like a dump truck with broken brakes tearing through an elementary school playground.
“He’s from a grandparent-headed household. His parents aren’t around, and he grew up under his grandfather. There was no adult around to control that power or guide him down the right path. Eventually, an incident occurred—he detonated a classmate in a high school classroom.”
“Detonated?”
“Yes. When his emotions spiked, his Mana backflowed and vented outward. It was closer to Mana Runaway than deliberate attack. The student suffered third-degree burns over his entire body and is still in treatment. Taehwa was locked up in a specialized juvenile facility for Awakened individuals.”
Kim Daehan took a sip of coffee, his expression turning bitter. The fluorescent light in the worn corridor flickered, casting shadows across his face.
“But he couldn’t adapt there either. His temperament was too rough—he was flagged as uncontrollable and nearly transferred to a standard detention facility. As the officer handling his case at the time, I took him out after our interview.”
“Why on earth would you take such a dangerous gamble? Having nowhere else to go is a circumstance, not a pardon.”
“You’re right. But that boy—despite appearances—is truly alone. Before the world defines him as a monster, I thought he deserved one more chance to live as a human being.”
I let out a hollow laugh, shaking my head. A school violence perpetrator, a juvenile detention center alumnus, and someone with a history of Mana Runaway. A public institution like City Hall letting in such a creature.
I found myself questioning whether Kim Daehan’s goodwill had swollen so grotesquely that it had numbed his sense of reality.
“You trust people far too much, team leader.”
“Hmm?”
“People like that never change. Once a beast has tasted the absolute power of mana, it will inevitably hunt again. Rehabilitation and redemption—those are fairy tales whispered by bureaucrats who’ve never bled in the field.”
I knew Hong Taehwa’s future. How brutally he would fall, how many innocent lives he would take.
He was no lost lamb for society to shelter—he was a rogue wolf who would one day lead a pack to ravage the village.
Kim Daehan met my cold stare head-on without flinching.
“You might be right. By the numbers, your odds are far better. But I trust my gut. My nose is uncommonly sharp.”
“Is that your only reason?”
“I reviewed the victim’s statement again. On the day of the incident, that boy had been insulted by Taehwa’s grandfather—brutally, the kind of mockery you wouldn’t dare repeat. And there had been systematic harassment spanning over a year. Taehwa finally snapped.”
He drained the rest of his coffee in one gulp. The paper cup crumpled with a sharp sound that echoed down the corridor.
“Of course, violence cannot be justified. But no one ever taught him how to use that strength properly. Society only demanded he suppress it, hide it, live as though dead. What if, by teaching him the right way to channel it, we could change his life entirely?”
An incurable idealist.
He had no idea what calamity his goodwill would become in time. Or perhaps he knew but chose to look away.
“I must seem like a strange person to you, Do Jin.”
“Very much so.”
“Just trust me this once. My instincts have rarely failed me. And······.”
Kim Daehan gave my shoulder a light tap and continued.
“If Taehwa truly tries to cross the line, I’m asking you to stop him then. I have a feeling you’d be capable of it.”
He didn’t wait for a response and walked back toward the office.
I remained alone in the corridor, listening to the dull hum of the cooling vending machine.
My resolve hardened. I would watch. The moment Kim Daehan’s goodwill gestated disaster, I would sever that cord with my own hands.
The instant Hong Taehwa awakened as a villain would be the day of his death. I had one more reason now to stay with this team.
***
When we returned to the office, Kim Daehan set a thick stack of documents on the desk.
The cover bore an elaborate title: “Guidelines for Citizen Services and Gate Perimeter Patrols.”
“This is the operations manual you’ll need to familiarize yourself with from now on.”
A quick scan told me it was absurd. Parking enforcement assistance, monitoring illegal dumping near gates, receiving noise complaints from nearby residents······.
This was administrative drudgework, not Hunter business.
“Is this all? What about departmental approval chains and upper management authorization?”
“Ah, our team doesn’t have a separate department head. Nominally, the Administrative Bureau Director oversees us, but I doubt he’d recognize our faces. I handle all the actual operations and responsibility.”
Kim Daehan counted off the team members on his fingers.
“Me as team leader, Assessor Chu Jaehui, and that social service worker Hong Taehwa you saw earlier. With you joining, that makes four. Though on paper we do have two more Hunters······.”
He trailed off, scratching the back of his head.
“What do you mean by ‘on paper only’?”
“Well, you could say they’re phantom members. They show up whenever they feel like it, and they barely answer their phones. They’re beyond my control, so I’ve pretty much given up on them.”
A disorganized rabble.
No word could define this team more perfectly. Just then Kim Daehan seemed to remember something and clapped his hands.
“Oh, you might have seen one of them earlier—at the 1st Floor Courtyard. That white-haired foreign elder dancing enthusiastically among the elderly ladies.”
“······What?”
I paused. That bizarre foreign elderly man earlier, performing mysterious steps in the Cultural Center plaza, dancing right in with the old women?
“That person is a Hunter?”
“Yes. A 1st Generation Hunter. I’ve heard he was once legendary, but now······ well, as you can see, he’s quite the free spirit.
You might even recognize the name, Do Jin.”
A 1st Generation Hunter.
Pioneers from the early days of the Great Rift who carved out Gates with nothing but their bare bodies and instinct, no system support.
If he was one who could be called “legendary,” I should certainly know him from memory.
But by the time of my golden years, most 1st Generation Hunters had already retired or perished within Gates after reckless expeditions.
There was no way a figure of that stature would still be in Korea, dancing in some provincial city hall courtyard.
‘Was my perception mistaken?’
I replayed the faint tremor I’d felt when I’d brushed past that elder. A hazy sense of déjà vu, a name I couldn’t quite recall. I was about to dismiss it when——
Ding—!
The old bell attached to the door cut sharply through the office air.
The heavy iron door swung open roughly, and a gust of winter wind rushed in, scattering the warmth from the heating unit in an instant.
“I’m here.”
It was a low, languid voice—yet somehow it grated on the nerves.
A woman strode into the office. Her visual presence was almost unreal.
Long hair with a bluish-green sheen was carelessly threaded through the back of a baseball cap, and oversized sunglasses obscured more than half her face.
But what truly caught the eye was her attire.
Outside, the temperature hovered at ten degrees below zero, yet she wore a cropped top that left her waistline exposed and leggings that rendered every muscle of her legs nakedly visible.
Over this was draped only a thin quilted vest. She looked like someone whose very sense of cold had been numbed into oblivion.
She crossed the office with the elegant, economical gait of a runway model.
Even in sneakers, her footsteps made almost no sound—evidence of the bodily control that marked a Hunter.
She didn’t so much as glance in my direction. I couldn’t tell where her eyes were aimed behind those sunglasses, but her bearing was one of utter erasure—as though I’d been completely rubbed away.
Each time she passed, the sharp metallic scent and delicate trace of perfume brushed against my nostrils.
“Damn it! Shut the door, will you? I’m freezing to death in here!”
Hong Taehwa, who’d been sprawled on the sofa asleep, sprang up like a coiled spring, his cry piercing. Sleep-robbed by the cold gust, his eyes were shot through with red.
He snarled as if ready to charge at any moment, but the woman didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow.
Whoosh.
Without a word, she raised her right hand toward Hong Taehwa. Then, with deliberate slowness, she extended her middle finger. The gesture was impeccably poised and measured.
“You crazy bitch—!”
“Why? Want me to?”
The woman drawled the words without breaking stride. Hong Taehwa’s fists clenched as he tried to rise, but she’d already reached the time clock.
Beep.
The mechanical signal of the card reader sounded. Without a moment’s hesitation, she pivoted on her heel.
“I’m out.”
“Jung Sehui! There’s a regular audit next Wednesday, so you absolutely have to be here for that!”
Kim Daehan called out urgently, but instead of answering, she gave a cursory wave and vanished through the open door.
Her workday had lasted exactly forty seconds.
Ding.
The cheerful chime sounded once more, and only cold air remained where she’d been. I stared blankly at the shut door before turning to Kim Daehan. “Who was that woman?”
Kim Daehan exhaled a deep, practiced sigh and rubbed his face with both palms.
“That’s Jung Sehui. She’s another Hunter on our team. She’s registered as F-Rank, but… as you can see, her personality is rather unconventional.”
“Does she have some kind of history?”
“Everyone has their story, but Sehui is genuinely a peculiar case. Well, you’ll understand in time.”
Raging Demon Hong Taehwa, the dancing 1st Generation elder, and forty-second-exit Jung Sehui.
At this point, the mere fact that this team continued to operate felt like a miracle.
***
Three in the afternoon.
Hong Taehwa disappeared somewhere before Kim Daehan could even begin his nagging, leaving only me, Chu Jaehui, and Kim Daehan buried under a mountain of paperwork.
Sitting idle made my skin crawl. One glance around the office, and I sighed involuntarily.
Beneath the desks, unidentified cables tangled into knots. Dust bunnies that looked years old rolled in the corners.
By my nature, sitting still while surrounded by such chaos was torture.
I stood, found a broom and mop in the storage closet, and got to work.
“Oh, Do Jin? I can call a cleaning service later. Just sit down, please.”
“Once it’s caught my eye, I can’t leave it be. It goes against my grain.”
I brushed aside Kim Daehan’s protests and began sweeping in earnest. Swish, swish. The rhythmic rasp of bristles echoed through the quiet office.
The act of cleaning, simple as it was, brought an unexpected calm.
Instead of the metallic stench of a battlefield, I breathed dust and straw—and this sensation, though strange, was not unwelcome.
“Um… would you like some help?”
Chu Jaehui had quietly approached, his question careful and tentative. He pushed up his glasses and picked up the mop beside him.
“Sure. I’ll take this section. Would you mind wiping down the windowsills over there?”
“Yes, of course!”
Unexpectedly, Chu Jaehui threw himself into the cleaning with genuine commitment. He projected his professional habits onto every stroke.
He extracted microscopic debris from window gaps as if with tweezers, and arranged the scattered papers on desks with the precision of a blade’s edge.
For a while, we worked in silence.
Within an hour, the office had been transformed beyond recognition—spotless and serene.
Through the windows, the ruddy glow of the setting sun streamed in and reflected off the cleaned floor, bathing the office in warmth.
“Wow, it’s really sparkling now! Do Jin, you clean like a Hunter too?”
“Physical labor is all the same in the end.”
“Oh! Here, please have this. You worked hard.”
Chu Jaehui smiled shyly and handed me a canned coffee from the vending machine. The cold metal’s touch against my palm suddenly made the day feel complete.
Quitting time: six o’clock.
I gathered my things and left the building. The cold air bit deep, but my spirits were noticeably lighter than before.

As I descended the stairs from the annex, a sour, stale smell assaulted my nose from somewhere.
It was the reek of alcohol—the distinctive fermented stench of cheap rice wine. I wrinkled my brow and turned to trace the source of the stench.
In a shadowed corner below the stairs, someone crouched on a battered cardboard box.
Disheveled white hair, a modified hanbok with stretched knees—it was the foreign elderly man who had been dancing in the courtyard that afternoon.
He was drinking straight from a paper-packed bottle of rice wine without even bothering to insert a straw. The sight was strangely, grotesquely incongruous.
A blue-eyed Caucasian drinking rice wine with more authentic rusticity than any countryside Korean elder.
My instinct screamed that nothing good would come from getting entangled with this. I quickened my pace to slip past—but then he spoke.
“Hey there, handsome.”
A gravelly voice caught at my heels.
I stopped. The old man slowly lifted his head to look at me. My assumption that alcohol had dulled his focus proved spectacularly wrong.
The old man’s blue eyes, holding the warmth of sunset, were piercingly clear. More than clear—they were transparent.
“Forgive my rudeness on first meeting.”
He shook the empty rice wine pack and grinned widely.
“If you’ve got some cash, grab me a bottle of soju, would you? This rice wine stuff tastes fine going down, but it’s too weak—doesn’t quench the thirst.”
His Korean was fluent beyond measure. His accent and word choice belonged to someone who had lived and breathed in this land for decades.
But that wasn’t the real reason I’d stopped.
Desolation.
And a chilling pressure.
In the depths of the old man’s eyes lurked something vast and bestial. Concealed beneath the stench of alcohol was an unmistakable sharp blade-like edge—an aura that could never truly be hidden.
The source of that overwhelming presence I’d felt distantly this afternoon was now clear: the drunk standing directly before me.
He wasn’t concealing his power. His strength was simply so immense that even the overflow, the mere spillage of it, twisted the air around him.
“… Of course. I’ll fetch it for you.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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