Chapter 270
Chapter 270
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 270
Chapter Title: 111. Cold Coffin (2)
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Just because you dislike someone doesn't mean you have to fight them.
Simply harboring that feeling of dislike is hard to detect unless you run into them frequently in real life and they show it outright.
My relationship with Dies Irae is much the same.
I don't particularly like the guy, but I've never given him a harsh word or picked a fight with him.
That's why our chat channel stays open anytime, unlike with Foxgame.
I received Dies Irae's personal ID.
Surprisingly, his personal ID matched his nickname exactly.
It didn't seem like something he'd gotten before the war.
Even back when we'd met in person, we'd arranged times and places without ever using personal IDs.
He must have some way of generating them himself.
Impossible back when the government tightly controlled communications, but now that the government's gone, it's not out of the question.
Dies Irae has always been selective about who he lets in.
While I prioritize personal connections and past ties, he sticks strictly to his own criteria.
It's no wonder he has one or two comms experts on hand.
He's been at odds with the Legion faction and their remnants for a while now.
Anyway, if he's inviting me, I'll go.
It's nice to have a guide in unfamiliar territory, but I'm also curious to see the community he's built.
Since I've chosen group survivalism, he's like a senior in the field.
I made arrangements with Dies Irae.
Hard to imagine back when I had him blocked, but nothing stays the same forever.
This trip would be solo, unlike before.
"What? You're going alone, hyung?"
I nodded at Cheon Youngjae's question.
"Not the kind of place to bring a group."
Two reasons.
First, population density at the destination.
Unlike the scattered fragments of people in the Seoul-Incheon line, south of my territory is sparsely populated.
Never had many people, and whatever was left over the past three years is probably gone now.
If my base is the key stronghold, better to keep a fighter like Cheon Youngjae stationed there.
Second reason: Dies Irae.
He always tries to recruit anyone he likes.
He'd offered me multiple times, and Defender too.
He favors the combat-capable.
Cheon Youngjae is exactly his type.
Of course he'd make a pitch.
Being around him, I'd learned he's more of a womanizer than he lets on.
If Dies Irae dangled a woman as bait, he might bite.
I don't plan to make an enemy of Dies Irae, but he's the type who'd betray trust for gain without hesitation.
A powerhouse like Cheon Youngjae on his side would be a real headache.
That's why I was heading out solo for the first time in a while.
Riskier, sure, but nothing new.
I'd gone back and forth between Incheon and Seoul fine without him.
"Alright, safe travels."
Ha Taehoon hit the remote, and the outer main gate groaned open with a heavy mechanical whir.
"Can't make it any faster?"
"This is my best. I'm a tinkerer, not an engineer."
I left my comrades' gazes behind and headed for Anseong.
Transportation: Baek Seung-hyeon's motorcycle, after a long hiatus.
Neglected for ages, but it never let me down.
Perfect balance of noise, speed, and ride quality to get me there fast.
At the edge of familiar territory, I paused to check my firearms and gear.
Didn't forget to eyeball the tire pressure.
Enemy territory from here on.
I gunned the throttle, glaring at the road clogged with abandoned cars.
Vrooooom---
Veered off where the guardrails gave way.
Off-road meant bumpy rides and tire strain, but smarter than plowing through sight-blocked wrecks.
Remote areas like this hide more than just people.
No people means animals rule, and some are mutations.
Following narrow paths between fields, I glanced at the road.
A graveyard of wrecked vehicles stretching on.
Something moved inside.
A mutation.
Cat shape?
Cats may be weaker than dogs, but from prey's view, they're far deadlier hunters.
Dogs win with numbers and stamina against bigger foes; cats strike with stealth and burst speed on weaker targets.
Shrink a human to cat size with no weapons? Just a meal.
Mutant cats take it further: toy with captives before killing.
Common reports from mutation-ravaged places like India and China.
"......"
The giant cat that missed its prey climbed a car, glaring my way.
Black-furred with oversized eyes glowing vivid yellow.
Not cute—nightmare fuel.
I stopped, drew my pistol, aimed. It didn't flinch.
Grabbed the rifle from my back, and only then it slunk off.
Humans vary in smarts; same for mutations.
Like the Gold Pack and its pups.
This one was sharp.
Not just fearing guns in general—it assessed threat by type.
Probably faced armed humans before. Killed them.
These are deadlier than most monsters.
Scanned surroundings, then moved on.
Navigated by crumpled signs and GPS along the road to Anseong.
Like any small city, thoroughly abandoned.
But signs of holdouts: barricades blocking streets, torn tents, scattered bones littering everywhere.
As always, zombies wandered the dead city.
Engine noise woke them from dormancy; pale corpses shambled from a building basement, milling the streets.
Contacted Dies Irae.
"Oh, Skeleton? You made it. Whereabouts?"
He had a radio on him—quick reply.
Told him my position.
"Bypass the city. See that mountain in the distance? Signs for the golf course everywhere. Head there."
Followed his directions.
Unfamiliar route, but fewer wrecks than the main road—easy going.
"Ridge line. Road's clear. We swept it clean."
His turf: golf course site midway up the mountain.
As he said, pristine road led into the unknown.
At the crest, a barricade blocked the way.
"Halt."
Men in masks and goggles approached, weapons trained.
One neared.
"Who're you?"
"Skeleton."
He glanced back, nodded.
Armed men wheeled the barricade aside.
"You're Skeleton?"
Face hidden, but he knew me.
"Why'd a healthy-looking guy do that kinda thing......"
"?"
Passed through the open path.
As endless greenery gave way on the flat, August sun blazed, revealing the golf course vista.
"......"
A village.
RVs, trailers, tents—not fixed homes, but a full village sprawled across the open grounds.
And people.
Men, women, even kids.
Peaceful.
Portable windmills whirred everywhere; folks tilled soil, assembled or fixed gear in groups, kids played freely in clusters.
Vibrant life—unseen even on Jeju.
Dazed on the bike, staring, a masked goggled man approached.
Obvious who: Dies Irae, even face unseen.
"Skeleton."
Dismounted, nodded.
"Dies Irae."
"Tea?"
He removed goggles and mask.
No surprise—face unchanged since first meet.
Pointed to an RV among the lineup.
"That's my place."
His house: a bus.
Converted to mobile home/fortress.
Added steel plates, chain-link netting like mosquito mesh—testament to battles.
Folding camp table out front.
He approached; young woman peeked from inside, brought drinks at his gesture.
Dew on bottles: chilled from a fridge.
"......"
Not just numbers.
His community felt qualitatively abundant.
"Impressions of our village?"
"Impressive."
Safe to be honest.
King's city was grand, but no comparison.
King was over level 5 Awakener with a marauder horde inheritance.
Dies Irae's peer: me.
Both started from scratch.
I had the edge: more starting wealth, time to prep.
My investment: bunker pride.
He gathered people.
Trustworthy ones, carefully vetted.
As numbers grew, so did power; he scaled up to this modest prosperity.
I don't like him, but his eye and skill are real.
"Started with a mid-mountain fortress, but artillery's a beast. Once coords lock, site's done. Even one random shell a day kills normal life. Had to move."
"That couple from before?"
"Ah, the Foxgame bunker pair? Doing fine. Over there."
Pointed to wide-hatted man and woman working under a tent.
"Not used to labor, but diligent. No drama. Man's no fighter, but wife's a firecracker. Scoops a grenade at her feet and hurls it back—rare even for guys."
Yeah, wife seemed tougher then.
Asked about logistics for such a large group.
"Truth is, we're short on supplies. Critically so."
He was frank.
"Power, fuel—almost gone. Meds okay-ish, but food's dangerous. Should be better, but a Legion general's got my number. Chases and shells whenever I try anything."
"General?"
"Major under me in the army. Young punk pinned his own stars. Battalion-scale, really. Ex-artillery commander with a few SPGs—real pain."
He chuckled, gulped water.
"What a shitshow."
His normalcy chipped at my image of him.
But he's still Dies Irae.
"Hm?"
Faint corpse stench.
From behind the bus, blind spot.
Long dead—not fresh zombie reek.
He caught my glance, grinned slyly.
"Smell it? I barely do."
Stood.
"I'll show you."
Revealed the bus rear.
"......"
Hidden gallows.
One body hung.
Likely female in life; placard on neck.
-Traitor
But not one.
Behind: at least ten more in a row.
Various crimes listed, but no doubt his group did the deed.
"What do you think?"
Dies Irae asked, eyeing his handiwork.