The Regressed EX-Class Martial God Decided to Become a Thousand-Star Hunter - Chapter 16

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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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Episode 16
Episode 16.
“Skill, Mana Stone Braising (Level 4) has been promoted.”
“Strength Rank increased: E+ ⇒ D−”
“Skill, Corpse Fusion (Level 1) has been acquired.”
Ju Do-gyeom blinked at the system messages.
Mana Stone Braising.
One of the signature skills of the Universal Chef job, its peculiarity lay in the ability to dissolve Mana Stones into a braising sauce, through which one could cultivate Mana.
But this time, it wasn’t Mana that had increased—it was Strength.
And such a dramatic surge that his Rank itself had shifted.
Uncommon, perhaps, but not unheard of.
Cases where a skill’s actual efficiency exceeded the knowledge imparted to the mind.
More precisely: a skill’s full potential remained hidden, with certain aspects deliberately obscured.
Even the Heaven and Earth Ultimate Divine Art, Ju Do-gyeom’s signature technique as a Martial God, had been such an art.
One could call such cases Hidden Pieces, if you would.
Once discovered, new knowledge flowed into the mind.
‘Certain Mana Stones, in particular, can dramatically amplify stat increases beyond mere Mana.’
That wasn’t all.
He’d gained an additional skill.
In truth, what had genuinely astonished Ju Do-gyeom was this very thing.
Corpse Fusion—the effect was exactly as its name suggested.
‘Summon corpses from the surrounding area and fuse them into reborn Undead minions.’
In essence, it was a form of summoning.
Yet a necromantic variant, requiring corpses as sacrificial components.
For Ju Do-gyeom, it was as bizarre a skill as the Universal Chef job itself had been.
Still, he didn’t deliberate long on whether it could be useful.
More skills were simply better.
Even if unused now, they would inevitably find purpose elsewhere.
In any case.
At Level 1, Corpse Fusion’s effect produced an Undead of roughly the size and power of an ordinary zombie.
Naturally, as the Level increased, both size and potency would grow.
Based on the knowledge now lodged in his mind, a quick calculation suggested:
‘Level 5.’
At that threshold, he could create something akin to the corpse giant he’d glimpsed in the Zombie Burst Dungeon.
‘Though lacking sufficient corpses nearby, its regenerative capacity would be somewhat limited.’
But what did that matter?
This was merely Level 5.
As the Level rose, he could craft far more formidable creations.
That thought spiraled forward, and suddenly—
a dry laugh escaped his lips unbidden.
“Heh……”
Kim Han-ryul, who’d said he should take responsibility if he died.
He’d wavered on whether to master Spirit Summoning based on her words, but now a similar skill had materialized on its own.
A strange curiosity bloomed in him.
What would be her reaction if he deployed this skill in the next Dungeon he entered?
‘That might be quite entertaining.’
The smile lingering at his lips deepened.
* * *
A week was neither long nor short.
Ju Do-gyeom had used those remaining days quite well.
Personal training, asset management with leveraged investments, verification and oversight.
Incidentally, all the funds he’d poured into Progresso Coin before had been fully recovered.
‘It’ll drop again soon enough.’
So shouldn’t he short it instead?
The thought occurred, but it brought little reward.
The coin would decline only very gradually, over an extended period, in minor increments.
With so much else demanding his attention, Ju Do-gyeom found it difficult to monitor it all.
Thus his asset management strategy took this form:
‘Use future knowledge to capture gains up to a certain threshold of certainty, then exit cleanly without hesitation.’
In truth, even that was enough.
Indeed, the money Ju Do-gyeom had earned from this round of cryptocurrency investments was staggering.
He’d started with roughly nine hundred and fifty million won.
Now?
Since he’d had no reason to trade coins for some time and was curious about the total, he’d cashed everything out.
‘Twelve billion three hundred million won, give or take.’
He’d made more than ten times his initial investment in a single move.
By ordinary standards, this was the kind of wealth that fundamentally transformed what a person could do with their life.
From Ju Do-gyeom’s perspective?
‘It’s still not enough.’
There were magical artifacts he wanted—no, artifacts he absolutely had to acquire in this lifetime.
Some of these items already had owners, but they were purchasable.
Among them, the one thing he wanted most of all was—
‘That, without question. The Formless Armament.’
The Formless Armament Maniform.
It was a weapon Ju Do-gyeom had obtained at the tail end of his past life as a Martial Immortal—and true to its name, it had no physical form.
Literally: formless.
The equipment itself was inscribed directly onto the user’s soul, like a seal.
Yet if the wielder wished, it could transform into any weapon within the category of armament.
Sword, spear, saber, staff, bow, whip, hammer—it made no distinction.
Hence the name: Maniform.
For someone like Ju Do-gyeom, who could master and employ countless martial arts, there was simply no finer weapon in existence.
‘By this point in time, it should be on display at the French magical artifact museum.’
Still in weapon form.
Never having found its true owner.
Though acquiring it from a museum seemed difficult, the item would actually be sold off sooner than one might expect.
An inadequate appraiser at the museum would deem the Maniform ‘lacking in preservation value’ and toss it onto the auction block in the United States.
‘Though I recall the sale price exceeded fifty billion won.’
The reason was simple.
In its current form, before it had revealed its true nature, the Maniform took the shape of a sword.
And this sword was extraordinarily beautiful from an aesthetic standpoint.
Even with the appraiser declaring it worthless, it inspired hope that something might yet hide within it.
Indeed, even if it truly were a worthless object, its appearance alone was enough to satisfy those who beheld it.
‘That timing would be… three months from now.’
Could he accumulate over fifty billion won by then?
For the time being, there were no stocks or coins that would yield significant returns.
Smaller opportunities came to mind, certainly.
‘But those would require constant attention in real time after each Dungeon dive.’
That was inefficient.
This wasn’t the season for such tasks.
He needed to grow stronger.
He needed to advance further.
There was no choice, not if he was to prepare for the catastrophe.
‘Perhaps I should hire a capable asset manager.’
If he sorted through the memories Vivienne had inscribed, wouldn’t he find such a person?
He considered it, but nothing came to mind immediately.
And in his experience, when he needed something but couldn’t recall it, it meant the memory didn’t exist.
‘After all, this knowledge itself is based on my past memories, so of course that would be the case.’
Why would his former self have bothered with asset management?
“Tch.”
Without meaning to, he sucked his teeth.
Unless that auction three months away came through, the Formless Armament Maniform would remain frustratingly out of reach.
He’d need to wait years. At minimum.
The regret began to settle deeper.
As Ju Do-gyeom sat examining the current display of the Formless Armament Maniform at the French museum on his smartphone, a headline caught his eye at the top of the news portal.
【Taeseong Group Chairman Lee Young-sik. Currently devoted all efforts to treating his daughter…】
In that same instant, light flashed through Ju Do-gyeom’s mind in rapid succession.
‘Right—this was the period.’
The daughter of the Taeseong Group chairman, one of South Korea’s largest conglomerates, had collapsed.
She had fallen prey to Mana Sickness—the rare disease that had emerged with the appearance of Dungeons.
Those afflicted by Mana Sickness fell into a comatose state.
It was a sudden backlash of Mana coursing through an unprepared body.
The cure was straightforward.
One simply had to enter a Dungeon and become a Hunter.
Then the body would naturally perceive itself as prepared, accept the Mana, manifest a Job, and awaken from the coma.
But there was one problem.
‘A comatose patient cannot declare entry into a Dungeon.’
So they could never awaken.
In the present age, it was called incurable.
But the future was different.
A special item.
‘Adam’s Apple.’
With it, one could awaken without ever stepping into a Dungeon.
Beyond that, it had no other effects—a rather mundane item—yet even by future standards, it was surprisingly in demand.
As I’d mentioned before, there were quite a few who wished to become Hunters while minimizing risk.
By future standards, Adam’s Apple fetched around one billion in price.
Since anyone could enter a Dungeon if they merely knew its name, and monopoly was impossible, Hunters naturally began hunting for it, which set that valuation.
But by current standards?
‘No one else knows which Dungeon Adam’s Apple comes from.’
Ju Do-gyeom’s exclusive information.
Its worth was not merely hundreds of billions—it would be no exaggeration to say it was worth far more.
A smile played at the corners of Ju Do-gyeom’s mouth.
‘This is convenient.’
There was still time before the one week Kim Han-ryul had mentioned.
Wasn’t this the perfect opportunity to resolve it in the interim?
If there was a problem, it was only one.
Whether a major conglomerate chairman would meet with someone currently unremarkable.
‘No, wait.’
The chairman of Taeseong Group was famous for his particular devotion to his daughter.
One could see it in the desperation written across his face in news photographs.
He would be willing to grasp at straws.
In such circumstances, Ju Do-gyeom chose to charge straight ahead with his answer.
With the mindset that there was nothing to lose.
* * *
Lee Young-sik, chairman of Taeseong Group, gazed down at his gaunt daughter lying on the sickbed with a heavy expression.
It was no mere sentiment—she was a daughter he loved so dearly he would not begrudge her even his own eyes.
She was the only direct blood relation left to him since his beloved wife had departed in a traffic accident.
Though he had siblings, how could any child of another womb compare?
That child had now lain on a sickbed for two years.
He had informed the public only months ago, but in truth, over that long stretch of time, watching his daughter unable to move, his heart had rotted beyond recovery, crumbling away.
Naturally, there had been very many efforts in the interim.
He had employed renowned healers and shamans, assembled multiple Hunter teams and sent them into Dungeon expeditions seeking treatments that might aid his daughter’s recovery.
All had failed.
No method, however tried, could open his daughter’s eyes.
As that time dragged on.
Scavengers began to swarm, drawn only to the money he offered.
Greed-blinded parasites.
And those who had desecrated both his ailing daughter and his own heart.
Naturally, their fates were not kind.
Lee Young-sik was a man of legendary status who had risen to the chairmanship from the third son’s position, not even the eldest.
He loved his daughter above all else, yet that ice-cold heart regarded human lives as trivial.
Those who overstepped were torn limb from limb.
Such was Lee Young-sik’s will.
In this way, the number of parasites had certainly diminished.
The problem was that the number of those willing to attempt his daughter’s cure had also sharply declined as a result.
His long-operating Hunter team was working diligently, but there was no knowing when they would find answers.
Yet he could not abandon hope.
He would not give up.
‘Somehow……’
He would surely restore his daughter to the form she remembered, the way she had been.
When Lee Young-sik, cradling his daughter’s thin hand in both of his own, felt that fierce light of resolve burning in his eyes, a visitor arrived.
“Chairman. I have something to report.”
The secretary-general, who had knocked softly at the door, addressed him.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and Kang Tae-woo, the secretary-general, bowed before continuing.
“We’ve received contact from a man who claims to have information about treatment items for Mana Sickness.”
“What’s your assessment?”
“Credibility isn’t high. He claims it could lead to a significant business opportunity, but our investigation shows he’s only been a Hunter for a few months.”
“I see.”
Lee Young-sik nodded.
He rose from his seat and spoke.
“Have a meeting arranged.”
Ju Do-gyeom’s prediction had been correct.
The desperation of a drowning man grasping at straws, however suspicious.
That was the current state of Lee Young-sik’s heart.
Even if the man were a fraud, it mattered little.
‘If he dares to mock us…’
He would simply arrange for the same wretched end that had befallen those insects before.
Lee Young-sik’s eyes, withdrawn from his daughter, held only a glacial chill.
* * *
Lee Young-sik—chairman of one of South Korea’s largest conglomerates.
And yet Ju Do-gyeom met with him far more easily than expected.
The moment he sat across from the man.
Lee Young-sik, his eyes cold, spoke.
“So you’re Ju Do-gyeom? Let me warn you beforehand. If you’ve come here to play some amateur trick, stand up from that chair right now. This will be the last mercy I have to offer.”
His voice was laden with vigilance and killing intent.
To those sharp words that conveyed his state of mind, Ju Do-gyeom answered in an even tone.
“You needn’t worry. My information won’t be wrong.”
“And if it is?”
“Then take my life. If you have the confidence to do so.”
Unwavering composure, until the very end.
It was not merely his voice.
His dark eyes were equally serene.
‘Offering up his own death so casually.’
At this, Lee Young-sik’s eyebrows twitched involuntarily, and he smiled—a expression that seemed almost savage.
Then he nodded and spoke.
“Let’s hear it.”
At least he was no drifter or novice.
That much was certain.

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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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