Chapter 107
Chapter 107
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 107
Chapter Title: 57. Verdict (3)
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Even in the apocalypse, Sundays carry a special vibe.
When I was in China, unless things were really dire, I made sure to take every Sunday off without fail.
Still, I never skip my daily routine.
At dawn, I tend to the vegetable garden.
Come daytime, with the sun beating down too fiercely, I use it as exercise and a way to kill time—tending the crops and harvesting whatever's ripe or needed.
Right now, I'm growing five kinds: lettuce, cucumbers, radishes, cabbage, and oriental melons.
I skip green onions because I don't cook much.
Cooking means fire, which guzzles fuel and reeks to high heaven.
I filled a basket with some nicely ripened oriental melons, snipped the rotten stems with scissors, checked the leaves, and took a break.
My break spot is the stream running below the house.
Dunking lightly in the now-crystal valley water and soaking my feet fills me with the confidence that I could make it through the day without AC.
Though come nightfall, I crank it on anyway.
I was staring blankly at the flowing stream when...
"Hm?"
Something huge stirred underwater.
Not a fish—something shrimp-like.
But way too big for a shrimp.
Bad feeling hit, so I grabbed the rifle I'd set aside and waded slowly into the stream, splashing step by step.
Suddenly, the K-walkie-talkie crackled behind me.
"The hunter I traded with before! The hunter I traded with before! You there? If you remember my voice, please respond! It's urgent! I'll reward you big time!"
That voice had me smirking involuntarily as I muttered,
"Knew it."
The voice belonged to none other than Manseok.
*
Given the business, I headed to Manseok's shop solo—no Defender this time.
"Ah. Hunter!"
Manseok was waiting way out in front of the store.
We slipped inside the container fortress together.
"...You had one hell of a scrap."
The fortress interior looked like a warzone.
Smoke curling from spots everywhere, stalls smashed to bits, bloodstains and cloth-draped corpses in plain view.
"Twelve held the line. Six bought it. Hundreds of rounds, hunter gear too—and we couldn't even nick the damn thing."
This Manseok—calm and steady now, nothing like the frantic haggler. Looked like the corporate drone he used to be.
I pieced together yesterday's fight from his rundown, letting my imagination fill the gaps.
No need to spell it out: Manseok got crushed.
City gang boss, mighty behind walls—but he'd never lived beyond them.
Seen monsters from afar, spotted mutations now and then.
Dealt with hunters, probably.
Likely figured they were small fry.
Hunters in name only—no better than grunts.
So confidence swelled.
Mutations ain't monsters. We could take 'em.
Result: utter rout.
Not your average mutation.
Mutations ain't all equal.
Fresh ones, just bigger and brawnier, drop like safari game under lead storms—hunter trophies.
But battle-hardened killers who've feasted on humans? They turn us into trophies.
That's why the Korean gov couldn't clear the Gold Pack even at its peak.
"What now?"
Manseok's face was stone as he asked.
"Targeted? Move shop. This area's its turf now."
"Can't."
He shook his head.
Before I could pry, he explained.
"...Folks bailed, so our refugee camps collapsed. Others are gang-run like mine—no gain fighting 'em. Their camps crumbling too. Safe ones? Backed by big shots, locked down tight."
Seemed he pushed into this wasteland outta desperation, not bold business vision.
Just like everyone else spilling out here.
But he had his angle.
"Gotta hold this shop. Gonna make it the hub for folks flooding this zone."
"Hub?"
"Say people start settling nearby. Can't be gunpoint standoffs forever. We're all Korean—no language barrier. Folks'll need a spot to meet up. Trade, unwind."
Deep in his eyes, a thug-unlike fire burned.
"Turn this into Korea's Vegas."
Whatever his pipe dream, he ain't quitting here.
"...Help us."
Bowing ninety to a guy like me? Yeah.
But I ain't pure altruist either.
"This all your people?"
That mutation.
Hoot's gotta die.
Gold Pack hunts wildlife to thrive—Hoot? Pure human game.
Seasoned now, knows we're easy pickings. Hell, might even get off on it.
His shop—fifteen klicks from my turf—hit means my zone's in play too.
Like his goons described: silent dive by a multi-hundred-kilo beast? Even Park Gyu’s toast.
Mouse or bunny—squish.
"Called backup."
"How many?"
"Two."
"Fight experience?"
"Brawled people some..."
"Firefights vs. humans? Mutations minimum?"
Manseok looked away.
"Nah. Doubt it."
No keepers.
Meat shields at best.
Harsh truth: I'll bait Hoot with 'em.
For my safety—and those I guard.
Human trash as fodder? Lighter conscience.
"Sudden grin?"
Slipped.
"Old memories."
Kim Daram'd snort if she heard.
When'd you ever cherry-pick meat shields?
Won't argue.
Back then, only play.
Save the team, drop the monster.
"Now, contract terms?"
Pay's fair wage—and veils my chill intent.
Time to play these rough, kid-scared dudes like pawns.
"Batteries last time?"
His haul? Meh.
Bike-load at best.
No shock.
Their setup's trashed.
Fake generosity: nod, point to intact stall goods.
"Those."
"Ah. Hunter gear?"
"Yeah. Those too?"
Manseok mulled, nodded.
"Ha. Straight up: hunter weapons. Tried yesterday—junk."
Makes sense.
Built for one-shot lethals inside monster reflex fields.
Baek Seung-hyeon's big-bore rifle? Mutation-viable, recoil's a bitch though.
Only a stud like him slings it easy.
Greenhorn with hunter gear? Fancy dud firecracker.
"All the hunter weapons."
Three pieces: one Blader, two Hapunajers I'd clocked.
"One's mine."
"For real?"
"Next deal? Hook me up."
"You... growing on me."
Patrolled fortress perimeter with his crew, piecing Hoot's raid pattern.
Temper? Check.
Ripped six in payback.
Stacked heads on containers like trophies, even.
One more reason to end it—and sights I skipped gladly.
Women.
Terror-shaking, peeking from containers.
Guide thug:
"Skip the pity. Deserved."
"Yeah?"
"Boss Manseok—no snatches or traffic. Ex-suit, by-the-book contracts. They're there 'cause dumb and ugly."
Laddered up top.
Familiar face pole-tied there.
Naked judge.
Eyes locked.
Hellish straits, yet gaze sharp.
Faint smile at me, even.
Sane? Or madness that crisp?
Curious, scoped the roof.
"Plywood deck here. Easy container hops."
"Got it, Hunter."
"Round up folks. Work time."
"What job?"
"Arm-thick trees nearby. Tools? Chainsaw, bucksaw?"
"Huntin' 'em. Hunter."
Vrrrm—
Tools rule.
One saws what takes dozens men.
Bucksaw and thug-haul wood into spear-tip stakes—for Hoot defense.
"Defense points get these. Dives us? Self-skewers into porcupine."
Thugs gawked, cheers erupted.
"Ooh."
"Pro hunter vibes."
"Boss! Hunter bro!"
Hunter to bro—upgrade.
"Stake the whole joint?"
Bro status: louder voice.
Manseok barked,
"Cut women loose! Work 'em!"
Vrrrm—
Stakes popping everywhere, I slow-lapped spots—kill sites, methods fresh.
Ambush fave, but two-leg stalks, beak-skull cracks too.
Wing-flaps KOs from rear? Bonus.
Ambush block ain't win.
Ground game: chews one-two easy.
Walking dino.
Tough nut.
Air? Forget it. Ground beast too.
...
Hasty stakes won't shield from people-muncher extraordinaire.
One-shots only.
Miss mass damage? Useless.
Night? No WW2 flares, ammo spam.
No lights—my stock'd vaporize overnight.
One fix.
"Blader."
Blader.
Hunter shotgun: trigger dumps eighteen titanium blades like hail.
Monsters shrugged punch—unadopted. But here? Star.
Blade shotgun vs. bullets.
Nail aim? Shreds mutation to rags.
Worry ricochet blinds more.
Anyway: Blader means survival.
Spot first, in range? I kill.
But Park Gyu lowballed thug Manseok.
"Ah, this? Blader, yeah? Know it."
Grin.
"Mine."
Same brainwave.
Hide cards: fold quick, bail.
Sunset: three hours off.
Thugs staking containers still.
Break: empty container climb.
...
Naked judge redux.
Sharp stare.
Ignore descent—he spoke.
"No choice."
Resonant timbre from that ruin of a naked frame.
"Releasing the guy who killed his daughter."
"Yeah?"
Shouldn't engage—curiosity bit.
Naked dude nodded conviction-deep.
"Free ten crooks over jailing one innocent. Our job."
"Fuck!!!!!!!!!!"
Bellow below.
Manseok's.
"Yo! String the prick! Bait him!"
Judge shrugged it.
"Rewind to then? Still free him. My call as Korean judge. Suspicion ain't grounds—lock 'em all? World..."
Words died.
Thugs trussed him tight, pole-hoisted high.
Manseok LED'd the base, side-eye to me.
"Owl grabs him? Blader the snatch."
Blader shoved my way.
"...You do it?"
Eyes madness-lit.