The absolute silence of the waiting room was the first thing Kim Hajin noticed as his consciousness clawed its way back from the abyss.
It was a jarring contrast to the cacophony of the Demon Realm—the screams of devils, the thunder of his own arrows, and the shattering of Baal's castle.
He lay still for a moment, feeling the [Lv.7 Extra7's Waiting Room] actively working on his body.
The air was clear and crisp, designed to loosen tense muscles, while the room's passive effect boosted his vitality and magic power recovery by 50%.
His waiting room was a testament to his own survival and craftsmanship.
Sixteen times larger than a standard player's room, the floor was a seamless expanse of polished marble.
He had personally crafted the luxury bed he lay upon, the plush couch in the corner, and the various pieces of high-end furniture that filled the space.
In the distance, he could hear the faint, rhythmic bubbling of the [Miniature Hot Spring of Peace], a luxury he had set aside for moments exactly like this.
He tried to flex his fingers.
At first, there was nothing—the lingering weight of the full paralysis that had gripped him during the week-long maintenance was still heavy.
But slowly, a cold, precise sensation began to flow through his nerves. It wasn't the warmth of magic; it felt like high-grade oil being pumped through perfectly calibrated gears.
"Spartan..." he rasped, his voice sounding foreign even to his own ears.
The bird was perched on the edge of the bed.
In its beak, it held an empty orb—the remains of an [Orb of Regeneration], its glass still stained with a pearlescent residue. Scattered across the silk sheets were empty wrappers of [Mandragora Root] and [Spirit-infused Ginseng].
Spartan had been tirelessly nursing him while he was out.
"Good bird," Hajin whispered, utilizing [Shared Vision] to see himself through the bird's eyes. He looked pale, almost like a statue, but the system messages hovering in his peripheral vision told a different story of growth.
While he had slept, his body had been a crucible of digestion.
The acting method for the Robot hadn't been about a lack of soul; it was about the absolute calculation of reality.
Treating every bullet trajectory, every setting intervention, and every predicted outcome as a cold, hard algorithm had fulfilled the requirements perfectly.
He wasn't just a marksman anymore; he was a machine that processed the narrative of the world.
But it didn't stop there. The sheer impossibility of his survival and the chaotic nature of his victory had triggered the digestion of his next stage. Or rather just his luck.
===
「Lucky One」
[Middle Rank] [Spirit attribute] [Grade 7 – Proficiency EXP: 100%]
===
Hajin felt the shift immediately.
It was as if the universe had stopped resisting his presence and had started subtly bending in his favor. He jolted upright, his joints popping as the constraints finally dissolved.
The blue system windows of the Tower shattered, replaced by the jagged, chaotic text of a world merging with the Star Stream.
A new Epoch was being recorded, and at its center was a Giant Story he had just germinated: ['The One Who Shattered the Night's Throne'].
Concocting the Calamity
Hajin checked his smartwatch.
He had been unconscious for a full week.
The world outside was already deep into the War of Convergence.
He couldn't afford to be just "Lucky" anymore; he needed to master the disasters that were now his birthright.
With trembling hands, he pulled out his alchemy kit.
The ingredients for the Sequence 6: Calamity Priest potion were volatile.
He mixed the 90 milliliters of One-eyed White Bull blood with the three feathers of a Blue-spotted Firebird that he'd prepared earlier. The liquid began to hiss, turning a shimmering silver.
He added the white chestnut flower essential oil, the gentian hydrosol, and finally, the obsidian shard stained with blood.
The resulting potion was a silver liquid covered in a nauseating, black-green film that emitted a foul, stomach-churning odor.
"Bottoms up," he muttered, downing the brew.
It felt like swallowing a lightning storm.
His head throbbed as his spirituality expanded, far surpassing that of other pathways. He opened the Book of Truth to find his new acting method.
"Acting Method of Sequence 6: Calamity Priest"
[Do not fear the storm; be the conductor of the choir that sings in screams. Do not stop the disaster; direct it toward those who deserve its weight. Become the 'Inevitable Variable'—the eye of the hurricane that remains untouched while the world collapses.]
[Your Trait 'Lucky One' has evolved.]
===
「Calamity Priest」
[Middle Rank] [Spirit attribute] [Grade 6 – Proficiency EXP: 0%]
===
He now possessed [Calamity Attraction], allowing him to steer the very misfortunes of the world, and [Psyche Storm], a direct mental strike against the Spirit Bodies of his enemies.
"Spartan," Hajin said, his eyes glowing with a cold, predictive light. "Take me home. To Seoul."
Spartan chirped and the world glitched.
Hajin expected the vibrant, neon-drenched skyline of the city he had helped protect. What he saw instead stole the breath from his lungs.
Seoul was a graveyard of steel.
The sky was a fractured, bruised purple, torn open by the encroaching Star Stream.
Skyscrapers he once recognized were sheared in half, their skeletal remains jutting into the toxic air like broken teeth.
The streets were silent, covered in a fine layer of gray ash that drifted through the air.
"What... happened here?" he whispered.
Through his Robot calculation and Monster foresight, he sensed a presence.
A Lesser Void Wraith, a creature born from the destabilization of the borders, manifested from the shadows of a collapsed subway entrance. It was a mass of shifting darkness, its eyes glowing with a hunger that bypassed the physical.
Hajin didn't even reach for a weapon.
He tested his new power.
[Psyche Storm]
A localized ripple of spirituality erupted from him.
The Wraith shrieked, its Spirit Body destabilizing as it was hit by the raw mental weight of a Calamity Priest. It tried to flee, but Hajin utilized [Active Attraction]. He didn't just pull the monster; he pulled the calamity of the environment.
A nearby piece of unstable scaffolding, weakened by the battle a week prior, suddenly "happened" to collapse at the exact millisecond the Wraith passed under it.
The monster was crushed, its essence dissolving into the Star Stream.
"Spartan... the Troupe base. Now," Hajin ordered, his voice tight with anxiety.
The Chameleon's Sanctuary
With another warp, the ruins were replaced by the interior of a high-level fortress.
Their base, once a mere cave, was now a sanctuary of marble, modern tech, and magically reinforced walls. Goblins in tiny aprons were busy at an espresso machine, providing a surreal sense of normalcy in the middle of a war.
The members were huddled around a stone table, their voices low and tense. Jain was gesturing toward a holographic screen showing the red-zone invasions of Outer Deities.
Boss was the first to look up. Her eyes widened, her cold, stoic mask shattering in a way Hajin had never seen.
"I told you he'd be back!" Jain shouted, her voice breaking the tension.
Byul didn't say anything. She didn't have to. She moved with a speed that blurred reality, crossing the room and throwing her arms around Hajin in a tight, desperate hug.
Hajin stood frozen for a second, then awkwardly returned the embrace. "I missed you too, Boss... No, Byul," he whispered.
She pushed him back almost instantly, her face flushed with a mix of anger and relief. She pointed toward the holographic screen.
"Take your seat, we have a lot to talk about."
"Update me," Hajin said, his Robot traits taking over as he looked at the map of the dying world. "What has happened in the week I was gone?"