Chapter 318

“I had no idea my son was so good at art.”

More than a decade before, Suho was only in kindergarten, and Jinwoo was stifling his laughter at the drawings his son had created. No other five-year-old could be so good at drawing ants. The sketchbook was filled with dark crayon strokes, and among them, one figure stood out—a detailed picture of Beru, drawn with particular care.

Maybe I’ll send him to art school,

Jinwoo thought, already considering a career path for his son. However, he suddenly noticed a sharp gaze from beside him and quickly wiped the smile off his face.

Jinwoo cleared his throat, and Haein gave a quiet chuckle as she watched her husband switch gears in an instant. But her face soon turned serious, and she addressed him in a firm tone.

“This isn’t something to laugh about. Take a look at the last page.”

“The last page?”

The final page of the sketchbook contained a completed drawing courtesy of the five-year-old Suho, entitled “My House.”

“Suho says that a big version of you is inside that dark spot on the ground,” Haein said. “Does that remind you of any— Why are you laughing?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I was just thinking of something funny.”

Jinwoo was unable to contain himself as he recalled the Statue of the Divine Monarch that stood at the center of the Sanctuary of Rest. He wiped tears from the corners of his eyes as he closed the sketchbook. This was undeniably cute, and certainly not a problem—at least, that’s how Jinwoo appeared to view it, judging by the smile on his face.

But Haein’s next words forced him to change his mind. She had just come back from an emergency parent-teacher meeting with the director of Suho’s kindergarten.

“We’ve cared for many children, but we’ve never seen any child express their friends and family with images like these. Do you have any guesses as to why your son is drawing these things?”

To be fair, to anyone unaware of the context, the drawing did seem to hint at a more serious issue. It showed a small house—an ordinary one—sitting on the ground. But the ground itself was colored entirely black. In fact, over 70 percent of all the sketchbook pages were full of black.

The drawings seemed to clearly point to a possible emotional or mental concern, but in truth, there was nothing wrong with them at all. Still, it wasn’t as though Suho’s parents could come clean about the shadow army. In this peaceful world, speaking of such things would only attract suspicious stares.

With the kindergarten director watching her with deep concern, all Haein could do was quietly shake her head.

“I see... Just as I thought.”

The director had let out a quiet sigh. When she had first seen the drawings, she’d considered the possibility that Suho was being mistreated at home. However, there wasn’t a single sign of that in the boy himself, as he was always cheerful and bright.

What was more, Suho’s mother was Cha Haein, of all people. She was a global star, beloved and praised by the entire country. In addition, his father was a police officer. The family was the picture of abundance, honor, and a strong moral code.

That was why, after speaking with Haein on various matters, the director concluded that Suho was simply an unusually talented child.

“Perhaps... Suho simply has a remarkable artistic gift.”

That had to be it. It was rare, but not unheard of, for children to sometimes express the world as they saw it in unique ways. As a result, the director moved on from this incident as if it was nothing serious, but it had taught Jinwoo and Haein something.

“I think Suho does have some artistic talent,” Haein said.

Talent, in and of itself, was not so special. The mere fact that a five-year-old had created enough drawings to fill every page of a sketchbook was enough to make him different from others.

Sure enough, as if to prove them right, that very boy grew up and was accepted into the Department of Fine Arts at Hanguk University. It suggested that Suho’s talent had flourished in a decidedly positive manner.

However, there was something even the kindergarten director who had first discovered his potential could not have predicted: Suho would later paint a far bigger picture, one that would grow to the extent that it would overturn the entire universe. His work was an act of revolution in its truest sense.

“Right, there’s plenty of material.”

At this very moment, Suho was indeed assembling a monumental vision in his mind. He had his brush, his paint, and a canvas—and now that he had chosen the method and his purpose in creating this incredible piece, it was now up to him to bring it to life.

“I heard from Harmakan,” he said to Jinho. “The VR game was actually a magical device that utilized instance dungeons.”

“Yes. I had no idea. Never in my life did I think your father had a hand in the development stage...”

Though Jinwoo had only helped in the spatial design phase, the rest of the technology had been developed by Jinho and his team. Still, that one core piece—the ability to recreate reality through “virtual” space—had stumped them for a long time. Unbeknownst to Jinho, it was thanks to Jinwoo’s aid that they’d finally broken through. He was only realizing this long after the fact.

In a way, it was a little disheartening. His life’s work, something he had believed to have achieved through his own efforts, was only possible through someone else’s help.

But after Harmakan used a high-level spell to thoroughly analyze the VR capsule’s inner workings, the demonic spirit came to a different conclusion.

“Not bad. With this level of technology, you would have eventually succeeded in creating a virtual world even without our help.”

It might have taken Jinho a few more decades, but he would still have done it.

Harmakan wasn’t part of a race capable of enough empathy to console Jinho. Jinho himself wasn’t at all bothered by the realization that Jinwoo had played a part in the development process. If anything, he’d cried tears of joy, full of admiration for Jinwoo.

All Harmakan was saying, therefore, was that he genuinely marveled at the level of technology these humans possessed—and nothing else. Demonic spirits considered humans to be utter weaklings, though their rapidly advancing technology was unmatched across any dimension. Born weak, humans relentlessly pursued progress. It was evident in the simple fact that the splendid King of Darkness, the Monarch of Shadows himself, was also a human.

After examining the capsule that Jinho had developed, Harmakan found one of his long-held beliefs confirmed.

“Science, at its peak, is indistinguishable from magic.”

One day, humanity would master the ability to travel freely between dimensions, using technology to pinpoint exact dimensional coordinates. This led Harmakan to a firm conviction.

“All the ingredients were ready. The grace you were granted by the King of Shadows merely shortened the time required by a small amount, nothing more.”

Of course, without that grace, it might’ve taken several decades longer—but with Jinho’s determination and effort, they would have eventually reached this point on their own. Jinwoo had merely given him a gentle push, aware of this potential.

Now, using that small push, Suho was putting together a bold new plan.

An out-of-body experience... Lucid dreaming...

Harmakan had stated that virtual reality was just a magical construct, one that drew a person’s living soul from their body briefly and allowed them to experience an instance dungeon indirectly. It was significantly safer than Eternal Slumber or real out-of-body experiences, and it stored the coordinates of the soul inside the game capsule to allow the user to return to their body whenever they pleased.

Suho explained, “We are going to contain the souls in these cells, making what we’ll call ‘avatars.’ We will give those avatars ‘dreams’ which will transport them to actual existing dimensions, not instance dungeons. It will all seem like a VR game, of course, but in truth, they’ll be hunters in an ‘online’ world, clearing actual dungeons.”

“There’s a wealth of potential here... In fact, now that we’re at it...”

Even after Suho finished his explanation, Jinho remained deep in thought. When he finally looked up again, he was back to his regular self—the leader of Ahjinsoft, rather than a doting uncle.

He stared at the cluster of pink cells Suho held out, his gaze intense. “Even someone who isn’t a hunter could use this method,” he observed.

“That’s right,” Suho replied, nodding confidently. He had already had Harmakan verify the research materials Beru had absorbed from the Apostle of Evolution.

Jinho’s mind burned as he processed all this information. His thoughts raced, his head overheating with inspiration. It was just like when he’d first begun building a VR game alongside his fledgling team. Suho’s grand vision was becoming something far more defined and expansive in the hands of Jinho, the greatest game director of his era.

He smiled quietly, his calculations complete. “Now, this is interesting. In a different dimension, separate from Earth, all of humanity can fight fairly as hunters... against the Outer Gods, no less?”

“Wait just a moment, Mr. Yoo...”

“What are you two talking about, exactly?”

Only then did Jinho realize that their conversation had drawn a lot of attention. He looked around and saw that the eyes of every high-ranking hunter in the virtual reality lab were focused on them. Aside from a few exceptions—like Jiwoo, who had some experience with Suho—none of them could follow what had just been discussed.

This was natural, since the conversation contained information that only Suho and Jinho were privy to. It was too late to keep such things a secret, however. This was the moment when they would need every hunter’s willing cooperation. That was how ambitious Suho’s plan truly was.

Harmakan and Beru would handle the creation of the avatars, while it was up to Suho to find a path to the invaders beyond the dimensional rift.

Jinho, in the meantime, would do what he had always been doing—working on the “game” and recruiting the many players who would enjoy it. Though he had already become the world’s most celebrated game director, he was now compelled to aim even higher. He would become the greatest in the universe.

Strangely, he did not feel fear or pressure. Instead, he felt the same thrill he had experienced long ago when he first followed Jinwoo into a dungeon. Just like back then, he had found the one path where he could directly support Jinwoo, who was still out there fighting alone.

You’ve raised a fine son.

Jinho smiled meaningfully at Suho, who so closely resembled his father. Then he turned to face the crowd of hunters who had been staring at him with thoroughly confused eyes. They clearly had many questions, but he decided not to go into the details. After all, what good would it do to explain every step of development to the players? What mattered was the core message.

Jinho finally announced, “The game servers will be expanding soon.”

“A... server expansion?”

“Huh?”

It wasn’t a particularly self-explanatory answer, and the faces of all the S-rank hunters and their teams became even more puzzled.

Jinho gave them a friendly smile, the kind only the most welcoming game director could manage, and delivered the news clearly.

“In short, from now on, every player who enjoys our virtual reality game will be heading out into space to fight against the Outer Gods.”

At that exact moment, the official name of the game materialized in Jinho’s head.

Solo Leveling: Ragnarok...

A new kind of expansion was on the horizon—one designed not just for hunters, but for all of humanity.

“Starting now,” Jinho declared, “Ahjinsoft will begin an unprecedented initiative to turn all of humankind into hunters.”