Chapter 33: Episode 33 – Madness at the Slime Zone

Chapter 33: Episode 33 – Madness at the Slime Zone Episode 33 – Madness at the Slime Zone Kim Do-hyun (김도현) stirred beneath the crumpled sheets of his modest apartment, one arm draped over his face to shield himself from the soft rays of morning light filtering through the blinds. His breath was steady, chest rising and falling in that tranquil rhythm of uninterrupted sleep. A single yawn broke the silence. He stretched slowly, muscles relaxing from the exhaustion of the previous day’s grind. His eyes blinked open groggily, momentarily resisting the pull of reality, as if savoring the remnants of whatever fleeting dream had just slipped away. Then his gaze drifted sideways—toward the shimmering blue glow projected faintly across his bedroom wall. That was when the mood changed. "...Huh?" With a sluggish turn of his head, he finally noticed it. No, not it, them. Notifications. Piling. Dozens—maybe hundreds of system messages, blinking in perfect formation across the translucent display of his interface window. He rubbed his eyes once, then again, as if sheer disbelief would erase them. But there they were. [Clone Number 2 has exhausted all ammunition] [Clone Number 1 has delivered another full container of slime] [Clone Number 2 is requesting resupply] [Container Full – Additional Slime Sample Storage Deployed] [Clone Number 1 has delivered another full container of slime] [Clone Number 2...] "What the hell?" he muttered aloud, finally sitting upright, sheets pooling around his waist as a chill brushed across his skin. His heart thumped in mild panic as the notifications kept rolling in, like a flood that refused to stop. Clone Number 1 had been sent into the Slime Zone... yesterday. Just one day ago. How in the world had he produced this much slime? The system’s blue light was still flickering when his phone suddenly buzzed, jolting against the bedside table with the angry rhythm of an incoming call. Kim Do-hyun instinctively reached over, barely registering the caller ID before answering. The voice that erupted on the other end did not waste time on pleasantries. "Are you out of your mind!?" shouted Han Jin-woo, his usual measured tone completely replaced by a strain of pure outrage. "I just arrived at the Slime Zone and—do you even know how many damn barrels your clone has filled!?" Kim Do-hyun blinked again, the situation clearly escalating faster than his half-awake brain could keep up with. "What?" he said dumbly. "You’re already there?" "There are over two dozen full barrels sitting out in the open," Han Jin-woo snapped. "And more arriving by the minute. The clone won’t stop. He’s just—he’s just delivering and heading straight back in like some crazed automaton! You bastard, are you trying to break the resource registry system?! We had to call in extra collectors to manage the overflow! What the hell is going on!?" Kim Do-hyun scratched his head, expression turning sheepish. "Well... if they’re already sending collectors, could they swing by the Scaled Frog zone too?" he asked casually. "I think there’s a pretty serious corpse jam over there. Might be blocking the entrance." Han Jin-woo didn’t answer at first, the silence on the other end more damning than any insult. Then he hung up without a word. Meanwhile, at the Slime Zone, the scene had evolved into something bordering on the absurd. The once-quiet outskirts of the dungeon were now teeming with movement. Guild contractors, freelance scouts, low-rank transporters, and even a few stunned civilian observers had gathered like moths to a bonfire. At the center of this growing commotion stood a single figure—Clone Number 2. His expression was blank, jaw set in that eerily unshakable focus as he emerged once again from the misty dungeon entrance. His combat suit was stained with bright, oozing streaks of acidic residue, his gloves sticky from dried monster fluids. Yet he carried the barrel with no sign of exhaustion, hauling it like a warehouse worker possessed. One step after another, he marched across the clearing with perfect posture and complete silence, dropping the barrel precisely in the stack without uttering a word. Then he turned around and jogged back into the dungeon again, as if nothing existed beyond the next hunt. "This is insane," one Hunter whispered from the crowd. "Are we sure this isn’t a squad?" another asked, eyes wide. "No one can harvest this much solo. It has to be a team... right?" The murmurs spread like wildfire, whispers crawling from one ear to the next until a few bolder voices stepped closer. "Yo, no one’s watching him. You think we could maybe... take one of those barrels?" "Don’t be stupid," someone hissed. "Look at him. That guy’s not normal. He might snap your neck without blinking." "Was it really just one guy who did all this?" More eyes turned toward the silent worker. Clone Number 2’s face betrayed no awareness of the crowd forming around him. His pace didn’t change. His expression didn’t flicker. He simply worked. To the onlookers, it looked less like a person and more like some high-functioning machine—reliable, relentless, tireless. And then came the recruiters. They didn’t arrive in silence. Their vehicles rolled in with the subtle hum of expensive mana-powered engines, doors sliding open as sharply dressed agents emerged with business cards in hand. The Bionics Art Guild was first. Their representative, a young man with slicked-back hair and gold embroidery on his coat sleeves, stepped forward with the confident stride of someone who knew how to spot talent. "Hunter-nim," he called out politely, voice smooth, practiced. "I’m from the Bionics Art Guild. We’re very impressed with your field performance. I’d love to offer a contract for discussion. Here’s my card." He reached out with the rectangular slip of paper in both hands, following protocol perfectly. But the clone didn’t even glance in his direction. He didn’t speak. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move. He simply stood there. The recruiter hesitated, keeping the card extended just a bit longer, then awkwardly lowered it when no reaction came. "Well... I guess the more talented ones are always a little eccentric," the man mumbled to himself, forcing a smile. Other agents took up positions nearby, watching from a distance while whispering among themselves. Word was spreading fast. Whoever this guy was, he clearly wasn’t ordinary. Some thought he might be a secret weapon from one of the hidden guilds. Others speculated he was a mutant Awakener who didn’t understand human language. Meanwhile, the clone just continued standing, hands behind his back, completely ignoring every recruiter in sight. Just when the tension felt like it might shatter the atmosphere, the crowd parted as the real Kim Do-hyun arrived. He wore his usual hunting gear—still a bit creased from rest—but he looked more alert now, more present. His boots splashed lightly through a shallow puddle of slime as he made his way toward the clone. A duffel bag hung from his shoulder, clearly packed with fresh supplies. Without addressing the recruiters or the background chatter, he casually reached into the bag and pulled out a fresh clip of ammo, extending it toward the clone. "Good job, Number 2," he said in a relaxed tone. "Keep going. If no agent shows up in time, just start delivering the corpses yourself, alright?" The clone’s expression didn’t change, but his posture straightened slightly. His hands reached forward, accepting the ammo clip with an odd gentleness—almost reverence. For a brief moment, it was as if something flickered in the clone’s eyes. Recognition. Gratitude. Then he turned, loaded the new magazine into the compact pistol—an MP5, Kim Do-hyun realized now, that was the model—and sprinted back toward the dungeon entrance. Every step was efficient. Every motion honed. No hesitation. No fear. The crowd was dead silent. One voice finally whispered, almost reverently, "Let’s see how this madman hunts..." --- AUTHOR’S NOTE — by Clone 7???? (currently boiling ramen while Master is snoring with earbuds in ????) Hiyaaa~!! This is Little LYTA’s hardworking-clone LYTA Number 7 speaking. While our Master is curled up like a cat listening to weird lo-fi anime beats and dreaming of explosions and statistics, I’ve been sweating over this keyboard to drop today’s spicy Chapter! Look, this training arc’s getting juicier than my ramen. So if you’re feeling even one drop of excitement reading this... don’t be shy! Please, please, please support our Master’s work on novelhall. Every gift, comment, review, vote, and power stone helps a lot. Like, seriously. Even a teeny-tiny gift sends me flying into a spin of joy! Want more updates? More clones? More action? Then help keep our energy up! Drop suggestions in the comments too. Nothing’s too small. Master reads them all—even while pretending to sleep. So vote. Gift. Comment. Share. Read more. Then read again. And send some love our way. LYTA #7 out ???????? now back to ramen duty.