Despite the sudden appearance of the evil god, the world remained calm.

“Uh... well, I guess it’s a relief that everything ended well, right?”

“Probably, yeah...?”

This was largely because ordinary citizens had seen and experienced almost nothing directly. The only thing they considered serious was that “a lot of people were unusually addicted to dreams.” And no one had died from that. At most, a few had been injured due to overdosing on sleeping pills.

People didn’t even consider that “harm.”

“Wasn’t the evil god supposed to be the final boss of that dungeon break?”

“I heard that too, but maybe it was just a slightly stronger monster pretending to be an evil god...?”

“There’s no way there’d be so little damage otherwise.”

“They say no one even died in the dungeon.”

“Come on, that can’t be true. How do you clear a dungeon and not lose a single person?”

“I mean, I just heard it from someone else, so I’m not really sure either...”

Compared to civilians, the hunters maintained a certain level of vigilance.

“People are just letting their guard down. They’ll only snap out of it after getting completely devoured by the evil god, head to toe. Isn’t that right, Guildmaster?”

“You’re absolutely right.”

“...But was that really an evil god’s dungeon?”

Still, even among the hunters, most who hadn’t participated in the battle found it hard to believe.

“Two of the Symbols of Eternity got involved, so it must’ve been dangerous, but still... how could there be so little damage if it really was an evil god?”

The only thing that made people believe the danger was real was the presence of the Symbols of Eternity. They didn’t show up just anywhere—they knew the weight of their names.

But the evil god’s notoriety wasn’t baseless. Any seasoned hunter knew how dangerous they were.

With some bad luck, humans could be wiped out not even by their breath—but just a glance.

“Compared to past incidents, it didn’t really feel like that, did it? Not that I think all those people are lying or anything...”

“There are some conspiracy theories floating around.”

“What? Damn, people sure don’t fear the Association President.”

“That just shows how exceptional this situation is. It’s nearly impossible for something involving divinity to end this peacefully. Even traditional divine beings tend to cause minor disasters...”

“Exactly. And this was an evil god. You know what kind of disgust they harbor toward the pitiful creatures of providence known as humans...”

“Of course I do.”

“...Hmm.”

So, most people had no choice but to realize the way things were going. There had only ever been one case where an evil god caused so little damage.

“...Like Death?”

“You mean the God of Death? I think so too.”

“Well, anger isn’t inherently evil.”

That mysterious force felt negative from a human moral perspective, and so it was called an “evil god.”

But if it wasn’t outright rebellion, then such a situation wasn’t impossible. It was rare—but it had happened.

Malice without hatred or corruption—simply existing.

“But wasn’t it a corrupted dragon this time, according to the information?”

“There must be more to the story that hasn’t been revealed yet.”

“Ugh, see? That’s why the Association President is scary. She doesn’t tell us everything.”

“If it’s okay with you, should we request cooperation from the Association? I’ll ask formally.”

“No, no. That’ll just drag us into trouble.”

Those with sharp minds drew their own conclusions.

“So it was just a prank by the evil god.”

“We could’ve all died, you know. Maybe we should call it a trial instead...”

“As if that changes anything. It was closer to being indulged. Thank goodness it was a kind-hearted evil god. I heard even the divine beings of various religions commented on it...”

“...I never imagined even the Sun Church’s divinity would humor an evil god’s joke.”

“That’s what’s scary about evil gods. They make even traditional gods who love providence speak falsehoods. And honestly, the atrocities the evil god supposedly committed... They were worth condemning regardless.”

“Yeah, at that point, you can’t even call it a lie... Still, their comments seemed oddly passive.”

“Humans were toyed with by a god, but stopping at just that was a miracle. When evil gods act up, it’s rare not to have casualties. In that sense, it’s a relief.”

No one felt grateful. But it was something to be grateful for, at least for now.

“...Honestly, calling it a prank might be underselling it.”

A guildmaster squinted at the view beyond the glass wall.

“See that?”

“Yes, I heard it’s a protest about labor law reform.”

Most workers went to work at 7 AM and returned at 9 PM. Overtime was the norm. Many began to argue that the “Dream Amusement Park” incident had been worsened by these conditions.

And now, people were protesting not just anywhere, but at the government complex and the Korean Hunter Association headquarters. Many were afraid to express themselves, but many others supported the protests. It was like the dungeon incident had kicked over a hornet’s nest.

“I haven’t seen something like this in a long time.”

“You mean the protest?”

“Protest or whatever, just people saying what they want to say.”

The guildmaster chuckled.

“Maybe the world won’t feel quite so suffocating anymore.”

“You getting mad and making everyone else mad too isn’t exactly a great solution, Guildmaster...”

“Tch. You say that ‘cause you’re young. Back in my day, everyone lived like this! A person’s got to let off some steam!”

“Maybe if you didn’t only let off steam all the time...”

And then, labor law was actually amended. The government and the Association accepted the demands of the people as if they’d been waiting for it. The maximum weekly working hours were drastically reduced. The new default: 9 AM to 6 PM.

Of course, it didn’t take effect right away. The whole society ran on grinding down humans as a resource—what were they supposed to do now? In a way, it was like legally banning the use of one of their most valuable assets.

“I don’t know... This seems like too much, doesn’t it? What if companies just find a way to replace people entirely?”

“That’ll reduce jobs. And it’s already hard enough to find work with the population bursting at the seams...”

So the law was amended, but only for a trial period. With support from the government and the Association, a few companies would test it out. Then it would expand gradually after review. So in practice, nothing had changed yet.

But for citizens, things felt very different. They were stunned.

“...This actually worked...?”

“...Seriously? No way.”

They couldn’t believe first-class citizens had actually listened to them.

But the government and the Association didn’t take back their words. And once the companies sensed their intent, they played it safe. If you fell out of favor with ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) both of them in Korea, there was nowhere left to go.

“Whoa, should we try protesting for something else too?”

“Hey, maybe let’s just be satisfied with this one win...”

“Y-yeah... If we push our luck, we might get our throats slit on some dark street.”

“...What were you gonna say?”

“Reinstating mandatory education...They say it existed before the Great Cataclysm.”

“...Ah...”

It wasn’t a bad idea. One of the older protesters nodded—he’d lived through the era of mandatory education. And frankly, he knew life was better with schools than without.

But maybe because they’d just secured a guarantee for rest, people were more worried than angry. They’d already pushed enough—speaking up again might make them hated.

“...Then how about this?”

“Hmm? What is it?”

“There’s more than one way to make a suggestion to those in power besides protesting, right?”

“...Oh, right. That’s true.”

They’d chosen protest because they thought nothing else would work. The world had nearly flipped, and their rage had boiled over. But now that they’d gotten it out of their system, they wanted real rewards.

And one day, Association President Dan Haera smiled.

“Oh my.”

She fluttered a sheet of paper from her secretary.

“This time, it’s not a protest?”

“No, it’s just a pure suggestion.”

“Maybe it’s time to revive the national petition system. I’ll bring it up at the next meeting.”

“I’ll add it to your schedule.”

“Anyway, this is a relief. I was worried people would get addicted to protesting after tasting victory...”

Dan Haera gently set the suggestion letter down, like it was a precious gift.

“Maybe now I can expect this much from people.”

She smiled—softly, rarely. And she kept that smile for a long, long time. Her secretary was genuinely happy to see her in such a good mood. It was rare.

“I think the followers of the Black Cloak helped a lot too.”

“Right. They’ve got drive, money, and direction.”

A large portion of the so-called “Black Cloak Enthusiasts” were first-class citizens. Most had approached it as a hobby of viewing mystical art—then awakened to public service.

They worked together to protect Earth, which the Black Cloak loved. Even in the outskirts far from the cities, their effort showed. Thanks to them, people slowly started seeing each other as “neighbors.”

“We got a lot of help from them when the dungeon chaos was at its peak...”

The government and Association had tried carrots and sticks to pull people from the dream. But what really brought them back to reality were the connections in their lives.

No matter how good the dream was, no one could abandon their family, friends, or lovers. Through the Enthusiasts, the belief in community was restored, and people returned to their everyday lives for those they loved.

“At this point, maybe we should officially recognize the Black Cloak as a religion.”

“Should we prepare any measures?”

“Let’s adjust things like we did for the God of Death.”

“Yes, President.”

“If they decide to build a temple, well...”

Dan Haera tilted her head.

“I’m sure Guildmaster Bisa Beul will take care of it.”

It seemed best not to interfere.

***

The Moon Temple closed its gates, leaving only a small number inside.

“For an indefinite period, the Moon Temple will not be accepting new brothers. Instead, we will focus on internal reorganization. When we can once again stand before all people as true priests, we will return.”

The bishop appeared in public with a gaunt face and announced the state of the Moon Temple—their past wrongdoings, and what had happened in the dungeon.

But people didn’t quite know how to react. Should they be angry? Should they be afraid? Or should they just let it go since it wasn’t their problem?

“If we can be Earth’s cautionary tale, that would be good.”

And with that, the Moon Temple truly locked its doors. They had always run through requests from the government, the Association, or research institutions, so even a long disappearance wouldn’t be a problem.

At least, that was the official line.

“—Teacher!!”

“Aram.”

Aram had unofficially visited the Collector.

“Are you okay?!”

“I’m always healthy.”

“You say that even after causing something like that?”

“Starting big trouble with a sound body and mind—that’s my specialty.”

“That’s kind of terrifying when you say it like that.”

“What about you?”

Hunter Sergio’s platinum hair was now dyed a deep crimson.

“But yes...”

He stroked Aram’s cheek and smiled.

“You managed, didn’t you?”

“......”

And soon after, Aram’s scream rang out.