Chapter 28: A Visit from the Monkey Saint
After the conversation in the living room, I returned slowly to my room. My steps were still uneven, the bruises and soreness flaring with every shift in weight. Yet, something about the ache was comforting—it was a reminder of the battle, of the strength I had uncovered, of the journey ahead.
The air in my room was cool, still laced with the scent of drying herbs. The morning sunlight poured in through the window, casting long shadows on the floorboards. My room had always been simple—a bed, a sturdy desk covered with notebooks and monster anatomy diagrams, a wall-mounted shelf lined with empty potion vials, and a single small drawer at my bedside.
I sat down carefully on the edge of my bed, wincing slightly as my ribs protested the movement. Reaching into the drawer, I pulled out the business card Monkey Saint had handed me.
Plain. Off-white. Just a number. No name.
I ran my thumb along its edge. He had said I could call him if I found a clue. Or if I believed I couldn't handle what came next.
I stared at the bandages wrapped around my torso.
Healing well. If my estimate was right, I'd be combat-ready by this evening.
Technically, Tuesday was Monkey Saint's scheduled dungeon day for me. But I had a feeling he already knew I wasn't ready.
And Father had declared Mondays were the only days he would assign dungeons.
Still unsure if this was impulsiveness or caution, I dialed the number.
It rang for twenty seconds.
Then connected.
"I'll be there in a minute," said the familiar voice.
He hung up.
He didn't even ask who it was.
One question echoed in my mind.
How did he know it was me?
A whooshing sound sliced through the air.
I turned toward the window—which had definitely been closed—and there he was. Monkey Saint, in the flesh. The curtains fluttered as if they were saluting him.
He looked exactly as he always did. White jeans, sleeveless open jacket, his chest bare and glistening with barely-suppressed power. His frame was massive, yet he moved with the ease of a jungle cat.
His eyes scanned me in an instant.
It felt like an x-ray.
His irises flickered golden. "If I had to guess, you'll be in top shape by evening," he said casually, like he was reading the weather.
I blinked.
Was that intuition? Or a power? Or was being a hundred years old just that effective?
He narrowed his eyes. "Why do I get the feeling you're thinking something rude?"
I quickly shook my head.
He ignored me, casually gliding toward the chair in the corner of the room. With a flick of his hand, it slid forward as if pulled by invisible strings. He sat.
"Tell me everything," he said simply.
So I did.
The whole dungeon encounter. The descent into the goblin settlement. The explosion. The storm. The eye. The dream.
He didn't interrupt once.
His gaze never left mine, though I could see his thoughts spinning behind those golden eyes.
When I finished, silence stretched for several seconds.
Then he spoke.
"Subconscious muscle memory is a real thing," he began. "You performing like your father isn't unusual. There are plenty of hunter families where styles pass through bloodlines like old family recipes. Sometimes it's technique, sometimes it's temperament. You're built like Rajesh was at his peak. That counts."
He folded his arms, gaze sharpening.
"Now, about that dungeon…"
He leaned forward.
"There's a new dungeon that formed right inside Titan Guild territory. Formed within a day of you breaking the first seal. Coincidence? No. And get this—it only allows Rank 1 hunters to enter."
I stiffened.
"The key," I said.
He nodded. "Very likely. I'll get you access. Titan Guild's got pride, but they owe me a few favors."
I tried to imagine someone saying no to Monkey Saint.
I failed.
"Why do I feel like you're again thinking something rude?" he asked without looking at me.
I snapped upright. "Not at all!"
He continued like nothing happened.
"Initial scouts say the dungeon is filled with lion and tiger-shaped mana beasts. Rank 1, all of them. Dangerous, but beatable. Rank-restricted dungeons usually carry something stronger hidden deep inside—something just above the rank ceiling. But nothing beyond your reach."
He tilted his head.
"You'll need a strategy. That's more important than brute force. Your armor will do for now. The second seal won't be as overwhelming as the first."
He gave me a pointed look.
"But your elemental control is a problem. Storm. Fire. Lightning. All three are volatile. Focus on one."
I opened my mouth.
He raised a hand. "I know you won't. You're too much like your father."
He gestured toward my torso.
"You've got the frame. But you need more muscle. More durability. Your mana skin tore too easily from an arrow."
Ouch.
"Talk to your brother. His mana control is excellent. Flow, shaping, layering—he gets it. If you study under him, you might even grasp how to bind elemental attributes more efficiently."
He stood.
"I'll book the dungeon for next Friday. Heal, learn, and prepare."
And just like that, he vanished.
No sound. No trail. One second there, the next—gone.
I stared at the empty chair.
Then looked down at the card still clutched in my hand.
The dilemma now?
How do I convince my incredibly suspicious brother that I somehow know he's the gold standard in mana control?
And more importantly…
How does Monkey Saint know so much about my family?