Chapter 106
Chapter 106
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 106
Chapter Title: 57. Judgment (2)
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Thud.
I pulled out a magazine, dumped half the rounds, and handed it to Defender.
"What's this? For me?"
"I haven't thanked you properly all this time."
"I didn't do it expecting anything in return."
"No, I've got plenty of ammo. And I'm grateful for everything you've done."
I insisted on gifting him half the rounds in the magazine despite Defender's refusals.
It was only fair.
He'd come along for the deal with those dangerous guys, driven the truck, and even helped load the cargo.
My late father always said that even with close friends, you should always return favors when asking for something.
No matter how close, if you just use people without giving back, the relationship falls apart eventually.
"You're that Manseok from Gaepo-dong, right?"
I tossed the question as he climbed into the passenger seat, rested his gun on the window sill, and scanned the surroundings.
"Yeah, I know him."
"What kind of guy is he?"
"Typical scum. Hooks up with soldiers to sell military supplies on the black market, doubles as a pimp on the side—does anything for a profit. Classic gang boss. But word is, for a thug, he's got brains and savvy. Especially popular with the military boys."
"Huh."
A gaunt man holding a sign passed carelessly in front of us.
"They've got a weird ad model."
"Probably a rival. He likes making examples out of people, right?"
"He's a judge, apparently."
"A judge? Oh, a judge. Haven't heard that word in ages."
Tat-a-tang!
Gunfire rang out not far away.
But Defender didn't stop the truck.
I glanced at him, and he spoke first with a blank expression.
"It's not aimed at us. Too far off. No need to react. If they mistake us for one of them, we'll just catch stray bullets."
Steel nerves indeed.
If it were me, I'd have stopped the vehicle, scouted the source carefully, confirmed it was safe, and only then driven on.
Different styles, I guess.
This Park Gyu charges in recklessly when needed but acts like a total coward—cautious to a fault—in unnecessary situations.
There's a reason for it.
Dying when you have no choice is one thing, but dying pointlessly? I'd go to my grave with eyes wide open.
There was one more incident after that.
A pack of motorcycles roared past on the opposite road.
Defender spotted them, stopped the truck, and readied for combat, but the bikers ignored us and sped south.
Nothing risky after that.
In the distance, the old highway rest area appeared, along with a fortress of stacked containers out front.
I radioed ahead before entering.
"It's the guy from yesterday who traded bullets for fuel."
"Ah! That customer from yesterday!"
Manseok suddenly sighed.
"But what a mess."
"Something wrong?"
"Yeah. Come on in first. Honk three times up front—beep beep beep."
I exchanged looks with Defender and switched seats.
He got out, and I took the wheel.
It's a classic trick to set up a trade then attack.
If they did, I'd die instantly, but there's a bomb in the truck.
Defender would avenge me.
That was the plan.
Apocalypse insurance, you could say.
Anyway, showtime.
I gauged the position of the bulletproof plate taped inside the door and readied my pistol.
Click.
One in the passenger seat, one behind me, one by the door inside.
Tension lubricated my nerves as I slowly approached the shop.
Beep beep beep.
Three horn blasts.
Soon, the thugs appeared.
"All right, all right."
I drove into the container-walled compound.
Fuel, cold weapons, food, parts—random shops, prostitutes, and the naked judge all came into view one after another.
But something was different from before.
Blood splattered one container like it'd been painted.
"Ah, there you are, Boss Park."
Manseok spread his arms wide to greet me.
No hostility in his eyes.
And behind him, drums of fuel were neatly stacked.
I hid the pistol on the passenger seat and stepped out.
"What happened?"
Manseok grimaced.
"Fuck, yeah."
He nodded toward the blood-soaked container.
"A mutation hit us last night. Lost one of my little brothers."
"Mutation? What kind?"
"Nobody saw it. Nobody. And there were guys all over."
A short-haired man with tattoos covering his neck shook his head and chimed in.
"Couldn't see it. That bastard. Invisible or something. No warning—just like Yongjae got smashed by a black car at 150 kph. Then this black thing snatched his neck and ripped it clean off. The headless, twisted corpse danced around before flying into the sky. That's it."
He kept the same disbelieving look the whole time.
Not fear—confusion ruled his emotions.
I recalled what Defender told me yesterday.
"Sound like an owl mutation? The one's everyone's talking about lately."
Manseok and the rough-looking thugs around all snapped their eyes wide at me.
"That's it! That's the one!"
"Yeah!"
"Looked like an owl, right?"
"You said you saw nothing!"
"No, owl. Had eyebrows or something!"
"That's an owl, dumbass."
I looked around.
Strings of dangling wires and lights hung everywhere.
An owl mutation could see fine in the dark without them, but these lights would be visible from afar.
Probably drew the interest of the recent "plenty of food" visitor—an owl mutation scouting for easy prey.
And with all this food around, no wonder.
"Anyway, that's what happened."
Manseok glanced quietly at the container where his man died, then gestured for me to move aside for the deal.
Business began.
"Let's see. 5.56mm NATO rounds. Good condition. This mag—US military issue? Damn, those US base hauls sell out fast."
He quickly checked the ammo, then eyed the synthetic fuel.
He peeled the seal off a drum, dipped in a long chopstick, pulled it out coated in viscous oil, and showed it off.
"As you see, top quality. Lot number starts with 4—made in Changwon."
"What's the best number?"
"3. Yeosu Industrial Complex makes the best. But they all went to Jeju, from what I hear. Can't even get my hands on it."
Manseok lit some to demonstrate—it burned clean, good heat, low smoke.
Impurities seemed minimal.
Just like the rumors—Korean petrochemical tech at its finest.
"Mind if we load up?"
"Yeah, let's do it."
"You heard him, boys! Load the fuel!"
I moved to help, but Manseok stopped me.
"No need for you to lift a finger, boss. Leave it to the kids. These useless shits in this backwater don't give good value anyway—might as well put 'em to work."
He propped his feet on the desk, casually lit a cigarette.
"......"
Manseok exhaled white smoke with a sigh-like breath and stared daggers at the gaunt man holding the sign.
"That judge."
Nothing to do and standing around felt awkward, so I brought it up.
"Do something bad?"
"Bad stuff's our specialty."
Manseok grinned like a hahoe mask.
"Feel sorry for him?"
He dropped the smile, voice turning serious.
His eyes flickered with that old hatred I remembered; I carefully picked my words.
"Honestly, yeah, he looks pitiful."
Better a touch of sincerity than jokes here.
"He does, doesn't he?"
Seemed like the right answer.
Manseok puffed more smoke and sighed.
"Guy spent half his life toying with people's fates, so getting toyed with like a plaything before death? Karma, right?"
He shot up suddenly and barked orders.
"Hey, asshole! Not that one! That's different. The one next to it. Yeah! That!"
True to thug form, emotions flipped fast—he was back to mild-mannered, picking up our chat seamlessly.
"Guess what I did before the war?"
He asked slyly, a sinister smile playing.
"No idea. Can't read faces. Got an MBTI result?"
"Corporate drone."
Manseok tilted his head back, gazing skyward.
"Not some parasite sucking domestic sales dry—export company that brought in real cash. Procurement team."
I looked at him, mildly surprised.
Fair reason.
A gang boss who kills without blinking was an industrial warrior?
"Had a daughter."
One source of the hatred shadowing his face finally revealed.
It tied to family.
"Not like those selfish bitches who walk in on their own. She was truly kind and beautiful..."
"......"
His cigarette hand trembled.
"Having a pretty daughter ain't all good. Draws every loser scum."
"Loser scum?"
"Yeah, stalker."
"......"
"Total piece of shit. Prior record, fucking hell. Lucky my girl reported his freakout at her one-room door—they nabbed him. Should've locked that bastard up, right?"
I could guess what happened.
Manseok glared at the naked man.
"But that fucker says he's a professional. 'Professional status, no flight risk.' Wrote a reflection letter. So cops let him go—and he raped and killed my daughter. Days writing apologies, nights beating her with a steel pipe till she was unrecognizable, raping the unmoving girl, then strangling her."
"That's why you tied him up?"
"Not just that."
Manseok smiled whitely.
"Went to confront him later. 'Your mistake killed my daughter. Admit it, apologize to her soul—so she rests easier.' But that prick—with his judge lackeys—looked at me like a bug. Called court cops to drag out 'this outsider.' Not even a citizen! 'Outsider!'"
"......"
"Saw him later in civil court. Old lady scammed out of her savings—ignorant, sure, but who else has grievances? She begged for justice, but that high-and-mighty fuck yelled at her. 'Know the basics!' That look, posture, arrogant tone—I knew. How he views the world."
Manseok stood.
"Thinks he's above the clouds. Worthless shit delusions of superiority."
He grabbed his gun and approached the naked man.
Seeing it, the man shook violently.
"Filth like you..."
Manseok snorted, then turned to me.
"I know I ain't good either. Rotten bastard myself. So I give him a chance every day."
"A chance?"
Manseok did something baffling.
Racked the pistol, flicked the safety off, and forced it into the naked man's hand—muzzle pointed at himself.
He yelled at the man.
"Here—the guy who killed your family and left you like this. Render judgment."
He pressed his head to the barrel, urging him to shoot.
Pure madness, like our first sight of him.
"Render judgment! Shoot!"
The judge's trembling hand wouldn't pull the trigger.
Manseok scoffed, snatched the gun, slapped him hard enough to echo, then casually straightened his collar and returned to me.
"As you see, not guilty~."
No words from me on pre-war grudges.
Not my business.
Just one mystery solved.
That's all.
My eyes shifted to the shop's other goods.
"This battery—can I take a look?"
Manseok responded with his usual fuss, like nothing happened.
"Ah, that. Chinese, but performs great. Don't think old China—better than domestic. When I was corporate, our engineers stole all their tech in China and sold it."
"Trade guns? Got some new-in-box US rifles."
"For real? You really hit a US base. Ballsy. I'll give you a good deal."
Seems worth coming back.
Whatever Manseok is, his stock could extend my turf's life plenty.
And...
"Huh. This?"
"Oh, that."
Manseok held up a pouch-like device bristling with blades.
"Hunter gear."
He even had hunter equipment.
Bladers, big-bore rifles, 128mm rocket pistols, even the Hapa Knife I'd favored for mid-sizers and up.
Practically a department store.
"Where'd you get all this?"
"Had military connections before. All went to army faction—left me high and dry."
Skilled at reading people and manipulating emotions, Manseok was quick on the uptake.
He eyed me slyly.
"You a hunter, by chance?"
"......Used to dabble briefly."
"Knew it. Sensed it first time—dangerous vibe. Hunter."
While we talked, the synthetic fuel load finished.
The 1-ton truck sagged, cargo bed packed solid.
Head back now, and it'd be the best deal imaginable.
Looked like it might end smoothly.
Hunter status slipped out anyway, and with future trades, I gave Manseok some pro advice for once.
"Be careful."
"Of what?"
"Mutations."
"Ah, that."
"Once they target a place, they keep coming until they think it's too risky. Human judgment plus animal persistence. You got hit last night, right?"
Manseok brushed it off casually.
"I'll handle it."
Handle my ass.
Whatever. Hope nothing happens.
Need to trade with him again.
"How'd it go?"
Defender asked. I pointed to the loaded fuel and gave a thumbs-up.
"As you see."
At least, I hoped no judgment fell on Manseok until our next deal.