Solo Leveling- Ragnarok-Chapter 366

It was a peaceful afternoon. A lazy stillness filled the lecture hall, broken only by the soft sound of brushes sweeping across white canvases. Warm sunlight flowed in through the windows. Suho sat with his back to the light, carefully adding color with the tip of his brush. Written in large letters across the blackboard was the theme of the day’s class: “Our Hero.”

The moment the lecture began, every student in the room began sketching the same face without hesitation—the face of Sung Jinwoo, Suho’s father.

“Just as I thought... your work has a unique depth to it,” the professor said, walking up behind Suho and admiring the painting. “As his son, you’ve seen our hero up close... The human side of him, the internal conflict... Such things only you are able to express. Ah, it is incredible.”

The professor nodded to himself, as if moved by his own interpretation.

Suho felt slightly awkward at the overblown reaction. This wasn’t about some deeper portrayal of his father’s human side. All he had drawn was his dad napping on the couch in his usual old hoodie.

“Thank you for the compliment...” Suho replied.

“I’m always rooting for you, Suho!” The professor grinned, gave him a big thumbs-up, and walked away.

Watching his retreating figure, Suho scratched his head.

You’d think I’d be used to this by now...

The professors’ overwhelming interest still felt uncomfortable, but there really wasn’t much he could do about it. This was just what came with having such a famous dad.

Suho turned his head, gazing out the window where the sunlight poured in. Far in the distance beyond the glass, towering high into the sky, stood an enormous, gleaming statue. It was this statue that was titled “Our Hero.” These monuments of Sung Jinwoo, the Monarch of Shadows, stood in every city across the globe like a landmark, all bearing the same face the students were painting now.

Two years ago, the Great Cataclysm had struck without warning. On that great day of despair, Suho’s father had saved the world. He cleared dozens of S-rank gates on his own, and at the head of his shadow army, he single-handedly halted the disaster threatening the entire planet. Thanks to him, the chaos ended swiftly, and peace returned to Earth again.

From that point on, Jinwoo was revered like a god. The entire world worshipped him, respected him, and sang his praises. The son of that global hero was none other than Suho. Because of that, the expectations placed on Suho soared sky-high.

“Suho must’ve inherited his father’s power too, right?”

People believed it without question. They were convinced that Suho had awakened tremendous power, just like his father. Shockingly, however, Suho’s mana reading came out to zero. He was as ordinary as anyone could be. He wasn’t a hunter at all. People bounced back from their disappointment quickly. In fact, they seemed to grow even more supportive of him.

“Ah well! That happens!”

“Honestly, it’s for the best!”

“We just want you to grow up safe and healthy, Suho!”

“Exactly! Let your father worry about saving the world. You’ll be much happier living a peaceful life under his protection!”

“That’s right! His father is Sung Jinwoo. Why is there any need for his son to risk the dangers of becoming a hunter too?”

There really did seem to be a lot of kind people in the world. When they learned Suho was not awakened, people worried on his behalf. They feared that their own expectations might’ve made him feel inadequate. Even their reassurances were offered carefully, as if they feared hurting him further. As a result, they told him it was all for the best. They wished for him to enjoy a happy future as an ordinary person. They meant every word of it, and really, they weren’t wrong. Jinwoo was as powerful as the sun itself, casting his light from far above. His son had every right to enjoy peace within his shadow.

It was then, mid-thought, that a drop of black paint slipped from Suho’s brush and hit the floor. In an instant, all sound in the lecture room ceased. The students who had been drawing, chatting, even dozing off, turned. Every gaze in the room locked onto the tiny dot of black on the floor where Suho’s paint had fallen. There was silence. Not even the sound of breathing could be heard.

Then, all at once, every student rose from their seats. Like a single entity, they moved in perfect unison. One of them rushed over without a word, pulling out some tissues, and another brought over some wet wipes. Yet another showed up with a small dustpan. The faces of the students who gathered around Suho all had the same expression—a bright, cheerful smile, and oddly vacant eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay. I can wipe it—” Suho started.

“No. You rest, Suho.”

“We’ll do it.”

“We’ll do it.”

“We’ll do it.”

“We’ll do it.”

He motioned to reassure them, but the students seemed to obsess over the small stain Suho had created and scrubbed at the floor. They beamed at him throughout, their faces filled with pure goodwill.

“Jinwoo saved us all. This is the least we can do!”

“Suho, you didn’t get any on your clothes, did you?”

“Are you hurt?”

It was excessive kindness. In fact, it almost felt like a sort of madness.

“There. All clean!”

The paint was gone. Once the drop had been completely erased, the students instantly returned to their seats. The slow, peaceful atmosphere returned to the lecture hall. The sound of pencils and brushes once again filled the air as everyone resumed their portraits of Suho’s father, the hero of humanity.

Suho, staring blankly at the scene, slowly turned his head away. His gaze drifted back to the window. The world was just the same as he remembered. The sky was clear and cloudless, the sun was bright, and beneath it all, a towering statue shone brilliantly.

Under the radiant blessing of Sung Jinwoo, people strolled the streets with peaceful smiles. The sidewalks were spotless, not a single piece of litter in sight. Everything was perfect and serene. Even if a gate appeared suddenly, the shadow army would arrive and slay the magic beasts immediately. Then, as if nothing had happened, people would return to their peaceful lives again. It was a miracle only possible thanks to their great hero, the Monarch of Shadows. Because he existed, the world was perfect. It was peaceful, forevermore, for all eternity.

However... for some reason, Suho couldn’t shake the sense that it all felt staged, like a poorly assembled performance. Or was it the other way around? It resembled a painting rendered so perfectly it felt unnatural.

“Suho.”

After class ended, the teaching assistant came directly to find him.

“I just heard from the professor. He says you’re at the top of your class this semester.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You’ll be granted a scholarship soon, but I wanted to double-check your bank account details first. Is this the right one?”

He held up the bank account number Suho had submitted to the teaching assistants’ office.

Suho nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

“All right then. Congratulations in advance. Everyone, give him a round of applause!”

The room erupted with cheers.

“Congratulations, Suho!”

“Your paintings were my favorite!”

“I knew you’d be top of the class!”

Everybody in the lecture hall jumped to their feet and clapped for him. Cheers and sincere congratulations poured down on him. The applause was thunderous.

Amid the celebration, Suho stopped the teaching assistant just as he was about to walk away.

“Mr. Lim...”

The teaching assistant stopped short and turned around with a bright grin. “Yes? What is it, Suho?”

“Is my art really that good? Enough to receive a scholarship for?”

“Oh, don’t be so modest. Of course it’s good! Can’t you see that everyone agrees? Your art is the best. It always has been!”

The teaching assistant smiled and gave him a thumbs-up for his modesty, but Suho wasn’t so sure.

“Always...?”

Suho was not being modest right now.

“Mr. Lim... Or, should I say, Dogyoon?”

At his name, the smile on Dogyoon’s face froze. Suho’s cold gaze locked onto him.

“You saw them all. Every painting I’ve made since freshman year...”

Suddenly, a familiar voice echoed in Suho’s mind.

“You really like ants, huh?”

“I only drew ants.”

That had been the beginning. The fragments in his memory, once hazy like a dream, began flashing before his eyes like a panorama. It all looked similar to the world around him now—and yet, completely different.

He had been Suho, a student of the Department of Fine Arts at Hanguk University. He could remember Dogyoon, the teaching assistant, looking at him just as he was doing now. In that memory, Dogyoon was looking at paintings of ants that filled a segment of the gallery wall. He looked completely fed up.

“If we had collected all the ant paintings you drew since your freshman year, we’d have enough to fill up a truck. If that’s the case, shouldn’t you have chosen entomology instead of fine arts?”

—Hanguk University Fine Arts Department Exhibition

—Third-Year Student, Sung Suho

The pieces included oil paintings, watercolors, and sketches. There were many types, and the ants varied wildly in form. Suho, the third-year student who had been responsible for them, had simply grinned.

“I thought about it, but there wasn’t a separate department for ant studies.”

“So you’re not into insects, just ants?”

“Yes. Strangely enough, I’ve liked ants since I was young. Whenever I spotted a line of marching ants, I would walk carefully, making sure not to accidentally step on them...”

“You’ve liked them since you were a child? Your taste sure has remained consistent.”

Dogyoon had chuckled and continued looking over the pieces. Then he suddenly stopped, fixating on one particular painting.

“This ant looks a bit different?”

In front of them was a painting of a humanoid ant wreathed in dark, blazing energy. At that moment, something that had been buried deep inside Suho began to break loose. It was as though he heard a distant shriek. He spoke again—his voice colder now, stripped of any politeness.

“You don’t know why I enrolled here, do you?”

Dogyoon didn’t answer. He simply stood frozen, like a broken doll. Suho paid him no mind.

“Do you know something? I didn’t come here because I loved art. It’s just that, as I unconsciously traced the memories my father sealed away, I found myself drawing.”

Now, just as they had back then, those sealed memories burst open in his mind.

“Just like I’m doing now.”

“Young... ...narch!”

The memories, long held back by unseen laws, spiraled out of control within him.

“...Monarch!”

“So let’s call it a day, shall we?”

Everything became clear. Suho was waking up.

“I’m a little too busy to keep playing around in some fake illusion.”

The lecture hall suddenly fell still. All the students had stopped painting. All turned their heads to look at Suho, their faces expressionless.

“This world is fake?”

“This world is a vision?”

“But it’s so happy.”

“But it’s so perfect.”

Then, one by one, the students began to speak, their tones and faces identical.

“But this world is real.”

“But this world is real.”

The voices began to overlap. The students rose from their seats with arms stretched wide and began to shout, their movements perfectly synchronized, as though a single entity controlled them all. Like fanatics, they cried out in praise, calling out the name of the great gods who had created them.

“The Itarim are the creators!”

“The great, absolute powers who shape entire worlds!”

“Our great and radiant gods!”

“This is the true utopia they made for us!”

Their praises filled the hall.

“For this is the only place that is real!”

“Here, your memories are false!”

“They are delusions!”

Then another voice rang out.

“You foolish created being.”

It was Dogyoon’s voice, but it was no longer Dogyoon. He smiled at Suho, his lips twisted into a grotesque grin.

“Does all of this seem merely like a dream to you?”

His face melted, shifting into someone else. He was now Suho’s father, Jinwoo, the exact image of the statue outside the window. He reached toward Suho with both hands, the holy, splendid light from the window shining like a halo behind him.

“You should be grateful. I have given you your greatest wish.”

As if in response, voices echoed from beyond the window—from the streets, from the rest of the world.

“Praise the gods.”

“Worship the gods!”

“This world exists for Sung Jinwoo, the world you wished for so badly!”

“A world where Jinwoo, the Monarch of Shadows, is king!”

“Everyone praises him, respects him!”

“He’s practically a god to them!”

“And here, Suho is...”

“Nothing. You are nothing,” said the Itarim, laughing at Suho.

The entire world laughed as well.

“In this world, you are nothing but a powerless human who happens to have a remarkable father.”

At those definitive words from the Itarim, Suho finally understood. His memories may have returned, but nothing had changed.

“Suho, you are not a hunter here.”

“You have not a shred of mana.”

“You cannot use a single skill or power.”

“Shadow powers? Do you think any shadow on Earth will listen to you?”

“Shadow soldiers? They serve your father, not you.”

The entire world crowded around him, ridiculing him. All of them were the Itarim’s creations, their fanatic devotees.

“I see...” Suho gave a quiet nod. He had realized that these were not simple lies. “You really are gods, then. This isn’t some hallucination. You actually created a new world.”

Suho finally saw what kind of beings he was up against. The Itarim were creators. They didn’t engage in direct battles like the Apostles of Annihilation they had made. If they wished to fight, they could create weapons to do it for them. If they wanted to speak, they could create worshippers to serve as their mouths. So, just before their deaths, when enemies invaded their stronghold to kill them, the Itarim chose to wield the power they trusted above all else. This wasn’t a use of force. It was an act of creation.

“Yes. It’s a bit exaggerated, but I suppose you did give me my wish,” Suho said calmly after glancing over himself.

The Itarim laughed, pleased. It was exactly as Suho had said. They had indeed given him what he wanted. Unfortunately, the result felt bizarre and alien because the Itarim, as absolute gods, did not understand the human heart. Still, that didn’t make this world fake. It was real. It had been crafted by gods. It was a prison, designed to completely neutralize Sung Suho, the enemy. Any small flaws could always be corrected. Then, it would become an even more perfect world, one that would satisfy Suho completely.

“So basically... I’ve been completely swallowed up by the world you created,” Suho said. Seeing him face his reality and calmly assess his condition at last, the Itarim smiled contentedly.

At the same time, a sudden headache struck. He grunted with pain. Though he didn’t appear panicked, the actual memories that he had only barely restored were being eaten away again by the laws created by the Itarim. At this rate, he really would return to being an ordinary university student living a perfectly normal life.

“Suho, are you all right?” came a gentle voice.

Suho blinked and looked forward. His father was standing there, watching him with concern.

“Father...?”

Uh-oh.

The laws of this world were already consuming him, and there was nothing he could do about it. Right now, he was just an ordinary person with no mana. This place had none of the companions he had been with all this time, nor any of the shadow soldiers. It was also a world ruled by Jinwoo. This meant that Suho, his ordinary son, could never access the shadow power. No matter how hard he tried to think of a way out, nothing came to him.

“Suho, you’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately. If you’re tired, why not lie down for a bit?”

His mother had appeared too, her eyes filled with worry. In fact, everyone in the lecture hall was surrounding him now, all looking at him with concern.

“I see. Impressive... Truly godlike.”

Even as his mind became clouded, Suho twisted his lips into a smile and steadied himself. He turned a piercing glare toward the father—no, the Itarim—in front of him.

“You’re right... I have no power at the moment. You even got rid of my shadow.”

His enemy had been thorough, almost obsessively so. Everyone else had one, but there was no shadow beneath Suho’s feet. Without even a shadow, there was no way to summon shadow soldiers. The Itarim had erased all of Suho’s powers within this world—or had they?

“Still, there is one option left.”

Suho pressed his temples to hold on to his increasingly hazy mind and forced himself to glare at the Itarim. A faint smile touched his lips.

“It’s my final play.”

“You bluff too much,” the Itarim said flatly.

Anyone could make bold claims. In a few seconds, Suho would be back to living a normal college life, forever trapped in this prison the Itarim had created, this Lonely Stage of the Divine. There he would stay, forever.

“Be happy, Suho.”

“Rest well, Suho.”

“And when you fall asleep, Suho...”

Every student in the hall spoke to him, smiling brightly.

“All your power...”

“Will be used by our great gods, the Itarim!”

“Suho! You’ll become a follower of the Itarim now!”

“For the Itarim!”

“For the Itarim!”

The fanatics’ chants gnawed further into Suho’s mind.

Even then, Suho said nothing. Quietly, he searched within himself, for the darkness that still slumbered somewhere deep inside. Eventually, he found it.

“There it is.”

It was the last card he could use now that all his power had been sealed away, a final darkness he had never used before. It was the last fragment of Nidhogg—the primordial darkness he had recently torn from the creature, one that now lacked a master.

Suho gave a faint grin as he called its name.

“Awaken, Kandiaru.”