My Auto Cloning System

Episode 76 – Kill That Monster Now

The vault air felt too thick, like somebody had boiled metal and sweat into the recycled ventilation. Kim Do-hyun's head lolled sideways against the cold floor, and even with blood drying sticky on his cheek, he could still hear the thumping chaos of boots and claws outside. The monster hadn't left. That thing was still pacing, still breathing through whatever nightmare lungs it had, waiting for the next mistake.

"Kill that monster now!" Kim Chae-min's voice cracked out like it was both an order and a scream, raw from panic. Her body trembled where she was half-pinned against the steel wall, the wound in her abdomen seeping too much red. Every second she stayed awake felt like a rebellion against biology.

Number 3's absence was louder than any sound in the room. That missing tether inside Kim Do-hyun's mind was like someone had ripped out a nerve. He could still feel the ghost of that connection if he focused, like phantom pain after an amputation. His system whispered the cold truth: Clone destroyed. Resummon available after twenty-four hours.

Twenty-four hours. A damn eternity when his sister might not have twenty minutes.

He tried to push up on one arm, but the cursed sword weighed him down, its hilt vibrating like it was laughing. His vision doubled, and his lips moved slower than his thoughts.

"Save… my sister," he muttered, his voice barely audible, throat raw, each syllable scraping like broken glass. "She's… over there."

The words fell apart halfway out of his mouth. His eyes darted toward Chae-min, who was biting back groans like a stubborn child refusing medicine. Her hands pressed uselessly against her stomach, blood soaking through her fingers until they shone wet in the vault's sickly fluorescent light.

"Forget me," Do-hyun rasped, his jaw tightening against the taste of iron in his mouth. "Forget me… save her."

The cursed sword pulsed again, like it disapproved, like it wanted him angry and selfish. His knuckles whitened around the grip, even as his consciousness drifted like a loose balloon in the wind.

Han Sen crouched down beside him, calm as if the monster scratching outside was a weather report instead of an existential crisis. The man's clothes were battle-marked, his boots dusted with grit from collapsed concrete, but his eyes never broke their quiet focus. He looked at Do-hyun the way a surgeon looked at a stubborn patient — calculating what could be salvaged.

"You're not dying here," Han Sen said, voice steady, almost casual. "Neither you nor your sister."

The tone wasn't heroic; it was contractual, like he was signing a deal in blood instead of ink. His presence pressed down heavier than the sword's whisper, heavier than the monster's scrape outside.

"Yeah, bro," Han Sen added, flicking his chin toward the vault's half-crushed doorway where the monster's shadow writhed, "but first I've gotta deal with that ugly bastard. So rest. Close your eyes. Soon, it'll all be over."

His words stretched into the vault like a blanket, smothering the panic with practiced assurance. The healer crouched nearby, fumbling with her kit, hands shaking but determined. Chae-min's eyes fluttered, still fighting to stay awake, still clinging to her brother's half-conscious gaze.

Do-hyun's body stopped listening to him. His grip slackened around the sword. The hum inside his skull quieted into a dull buzz.

The edges of the vault smeared into shadow, the monster's guttural rumble stretching long and warped, until the world itself folded into silence.

Kim Do-hyun passed out.

---

Flashback: The Meeting Before the dungeon break

The Hunter Association headquarters in Seoul never truly slept, but that night the building had the restless atmosphere of a body trying to breathe through cracked ribs. The broad glass windows overlooking the city were darkened by storm clouds, and the faint light from the streets below couldn't pierce the conference room's heavy blinds. Every official inside knew the same truth: the air wasn't heavy because of the weather. It was heavy because no one wanted to say out loud how close the city was to collapse.

Around the oval table, the most senior executives of the Korean branch of the World Hunter Association sat hunched in their leather chairs. The screens on the walls scrolled with streams of data, red alerts, mana wave signatures, live drone feeds. The readings were chaotic pulsing mana activity rising across the entire western district, like a fever running through steel and concrete. The staff whispering outside the chamber kept their voices low, but even whispers sounded like accusations tonight.

The Association's chairman, a man everyone simply called "the old man" behind his back because of his snow-white hair and wrinkled face, pressed his knuckles against the table. His real name, Lee Jang-ho, carried decades of history, but reputation alone could not hold a city together when mana storms were about to tear open the sky. His jaw tightened as he reread the latest report projected on the screen.

"This isn't a normal dungeon break," he muttered, though everyone already knew. His voice was gravel scraped across stone. "The readings match high-class signatures. A-rank creatures, maybe higher. If we don't move the civilians out now"

The sentence was cut in half by the hiss of the doors sliding open.

Every head turned. The sound of polished leather shoes clicking against the marble floor carried the kind of arrogance that announced itself before a single word did.

Shin Hae-seong, guild master of the Hae-seong Guild, entered without waiting for permission. He didn't even look at the guards who tried to question him in the hallway. The man was dressed as though this was a boardroom meeting instead of a crisis slim-fit charcoal suit, obsidian tie pin, and a golden watch gleaming on his wrist like a reminder that money had already chosen its side. His face carried the kind of permanent half-smirk you only saw on men who believed they were untouchable.

"Finally," one of the executives whispered under his breath, not with relief but with dread.

Shin Hae-seong adjusted his cuffs as he sat down at the head of the table, directly opposite Chairman Lee. He didn't bother with greetings. He didn't bother pretending he wasn't in control of the room.

"Let's not waste time," Shin said smoothly, his voice calm in the way a blade was calm before it cut. "I heard you're considering making an official announcement to the public."

Chairman Lee's eyes narrowed. "We are past consideration. Every minute we delay, more lives are at risk. If we announce now, we can still evacuate"

"Evacuate?" Shin let out a short laugh, as if the word itself was foolish. "Do you understand what you're proposing? Shutting down Seoul? Telling millions of civilians to run for the hills without knowing where or when this break will hit? You'll trigger mass panic. The economy will collapse in hours. Banks, markets, trade all gone. And who do you think they'll blame when that happens? The Association. You, old man. You'll be remembered as the coward who burned a city because he was afraid of shadows."

One of the younger executives, Baek Min-jae, slammed his hand on the table. His voice cracked with anger. "Shadows? You call class-A creatures shadows? People will die!"

Shin's eyes flicked to him, bored, like a cat staring at a noisy bird. "People die every day, rookie. Hunters, civilians, politicians. You think that matters to me? The Association was built on sacrifice. If the weak fall, the strong rise. That's the way this world works now."

The room grew colder. Even the screens seemed dimmer.

Chairman Lee leaned forward, refusing to flinch under the younger man's arrogance. "So what do you suggest? That we do nothing? That we gamble with millions of lives because you're worried about stock prices?"

Shin's smile widened, teeth sharp in the fluorescent light. "No. I'm suggesting that we be smart. We don't announce anything. Not yet. We monitor the situation, we prepare the guilds, we strengthen the Hunters ready for deployment. And when the break happens, we strike. The civilians who ignored the warnings, who didn't bother to awaken, who cling to their ordinary little lives they are dead weight. They slow this city down. Let them take the fall. That way, the Association keeps its hands clean. And the guilds my guild rise higher."

Someone at the far end of the table muttered, "That's insane."

Shin heard it. He always heard everything. His aura flared, subtle but suffocating, pressing down on everyone in the room like invisible smoke. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.

"You call it insane," he said softly, "but I call it inevitable. Every war has casualties. And don't fool yourselves this is war. The difference is, I plan to win."

Chairman Lee's fists tightened until his knuckles turned white. "You speak like a tyrant. You'd let the innocent burn just to protect your guild's profits?"

That was when Shin moved. Not fast, not loud, but deliberate. He rose from his chair, walked around the table, and stopped behind the chairman. His hand settled on Lee Jang-ho's shoulder, heavy, claiming. The air seemed to freeze.

"You think I'm asking you, old man?" Shin whispered close enough that only the front row could hear, though the chill in the room made everyone feel it. "No. I'm telling you. If you make that announcement… if you cause me to lose billions in one night… then when the dust settles, the Association will not exist anymore. Not in Seoul. Not in Korea. Not anywhere. Hae-seong Guild will. And you'll be nothing but a memory."

The old man didn't move. He didn't shrug off the hand. He sat perfectly still, eyes locked forward, because he knew one truth: the monster in this room wasn't the one on the radar.

And for a moment, no one breathed.