Chapter 329
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 329
Chapter Title: 133. Fair Trade (3)
In Necropolis, nicknames mean nothing.
There's no setting menu to begin with, so you can't even set a unique nickname.
Everyone operates under the name "Deceased."
However, to add a touch of individuality among the countless deceased, they append a number and region name after "Deceased." That number changes constantly, and the changes are completely random.
As a result, trading through Necropolis is far more cumbersome than on pre-war secondhand markets.
So, any smart consumer should minimize their use of Necropolis and opt for superior, more convenient networks instead.
"Before we trade, can I borrow your Viva! Apocalypse! account?"
I borrowed King's account.
King was just a lurker who rarely posted anyway, so using Viva! Apocalypse! for trades wouldn't be an issue.
Searching his nickname turned up no red flags.
"Ho ho. So this is how you trade with the Chinese, huh?"
There were a lot of onlookers.
King's computer room, located inside his palace like any other room, was spacious with a high ceiling. The floor was covered in a carpet with a trendy "ssammai" vibe, but it was furnished with plenty of chairs and fairly high-end office furniture.
Above all, the multiple cams and video equipment stood out.
This was the exact spot where King used to brag in the past, calling over his women and running pre-war "Star Wind Style" internet broadcasts.
Now that the "internet broadcasting" business had shut down, the site was filled with King, Su, and for some reason, King's women, all watching my trade unfold.
Naturally, I—never one to lose my composure—protested the number of spectators, especially why King's women were there.
Among them was a woman I'd once chased away after she tried to sleep with me.
But King's response actually made sense.
"Who's gonna drive off those Chinese bastards anyway? Even if they try to take over the country with their pathetic numbers now, what do they gain? We trade what we each need. Hell, with the supplies stacked up like a whole field army's worth, why not use this chance to get our idle sisters in on some trades? Good things for good people, right?"
In other words, King's goal was to teach his women the art of apocalypse-era internet trading over his shoulder through this Park Gyu guy.
Well, if that was the intent, Park Gyu had no choice but to oblige.
Truth be told, I didn't enjoy teaching or do it often, but so-called "demonstrations by a seasoned TA" were a favorite pastime back in my professor days.
Confessing now, I secretly relished the newbies gasping in awe at my near-artistic skills.
The subject had shifted from combat techniques to internet shopping, but I was confident my online skills were now on par with my combat prowess.
"······."
Tap tap
And so, under everyone's watchful eyes, I began the challenging quest of trading with a Chinese seller.
Hello.
A light greeting to start.
But the real hurdles began right here.
This Chinese seller named caocao wasn't an easy mark.
His Korean was clumsy, but with that clumsy Korean alone, he unerringly spotted scammers and toxic users, earning him a unique reputation.
A prime example was this guy Kim Dongheung, whom I'll introduce below.
This guy was a newcomer who popped up this spring.
No internet history before that.
He probably got his hands on satellite gear through murder and theft, or maybe a lucky find that entered circulation.
He never revealed his age, but everyone pegged him as late forties to fifties.
No need to declare it—he flooded the boards with selfies and nonsense posts. Not just spamming, but criminal levels: around 50 posts per hour.
I always blocked him on sight, and even VivaBot, which was extra strict with me, didn't complain. Looked like even the bot couldn't stand him.
Anyway, while I was away from the trade, this lunatic was apparently spamming again. VivaBot would handle it.
At any rate, the Chinese seller handled Kim Dongheung perfectly.
The record was in the comment chain on caocao's sales ad.
Kim Dongheung wasn't the only one.
Caocao sniffed out other newcomers I didn't know and avoided suspicious ones like a pro.
This led to one pleasant discovery.
In other words, my reputation wasn't half bad, even to this picky Chinese guy.
"This Chinese guy checks internet history. He only opens up to folks with solid, trustworthy records."
I said to the audience watching from behind.
Su murmured quietly beside me.
"Huh? But SKELTON's rep is bad..."
I'd have to tell Rebecca to put more effort into her kid's upbringing.
In this apocalypse, survival mattered, but being a decent person came first.
A conviction I'd held deep in my heart for ages.
A moment later, a reply came from the Chinese user.
"?"
Was I seeing things?
Or had their boasted Baidu translator improved dramatically in just days?
In a single day, the Chinese user was speaking remarkably natural Korean.
But greetings were easy to mimic.
Ctrl+C, Ctrl+V copy-paste, or pre-formatted templates.
Before demonstrating my TA skills to King and his women behind me, I calmly explained key points to keep in mind.
"Chinese use their own translators, which aren't great. To communicate properly, you need to write in a translator-friendly style that their clunky tools can handle easily."
Tap tap
Without turning around, I elaborated.
"Unlike Korean, which is Altaic, Chinese word order is reversed like English. Writing like this helps their translator work better."
A faint gasp escaped King behind me.
"Ho ho?"
Whispers from the women too.
"······."
I didn't usually go this far, but TA demonstrations demanded extra flair.
Exceeding the norm showed direction to eager learners.
I continued the textbook trade demo for all to see.
Finally, recognition.
In my view, he hadn't been this picky at first.
Word spread about good stuff at cheap prices, buyers surged, and he flipped to being finicky.
Common scene.
While waiting for the Chinese reply, I watched the screen curiously and spoke to Su.
"What do you think of Chinese people, Su?"
"Hate 'em. They ruined the world."
A classic American response.
Koreans would say similar, but with everything collapsed, borders and ethnicity meant less than me and mine.
If needed, trade freely.
Missing rare opportunities over skin color or language? Regrettable.
"Trade with anyone offering good terms, nationality or race be damned. Close-mindedness isn't smart. Keep an open mind."
As I dispensed calm wisdom, a message arrived.
At that, I tilted my head slightly.
What the hell?
Murmurs rose from behind.
"······."
Tap tap
"SKELTON?"
Ignoring Su, I typed faster.
"SKELTON sounds more Chinese."
Giggles from behind.
"······."
Tap tap
"SKELTON?!"
"SKELTON..."
I stood up.
The observers, including King, stared at me.
Ignoring their gazes, I said calmly,
"See? Can't trust those Chinese bastards."
King stared blankly, adjusted his mask, and grumbled curtly.
"Show the gold bar."
"?"
"Just show the gold bar, problem solved."
"······."
Beginner's luck, was it?
Sometimes newbies outshine experts.
Click—
I took a photo.
Of course, as a pro, I didn't follow the newbie's advice blindly.
"Got any paper or cloth? Wanna mark it."
I took a scrap of gangji paper, wrote my nickname, and snapped more from different angles.
"With advanced synthesis tools, vary angles and lighting to reduce suspicion. Basics of AI-era online trades."
In the process, I generously shared the essence of my four years' knowledge.
Then sent the photos to the Chinese guy.
Silence as we waited.
One minute passed, then two.
"He didn't block you?"
Maybe I shouldn't have brought Su.
As that thought circled my mind, a message arrived.
Deal sealed.
*
Following King's advice, I got an escort force and vehicle.
Just a few years, and King's city had transformed from criminal den to proper metropolis—the quality of the provided troops said it all.
The vehicle wasn't some patched junk; it was a gasoline four-wheel-drive SUV, maintained with proper parts, armored windows and engine bay with thick plates.
The accompanying troops weren't retired legionnaires reeking of old army; they radiated pre-war elite tactical vibes, fully geared.
The leader was a sturdy mid-to-late thirties guy named Jeon Sanghui.
Unlike his looks, he was quite the talker.
"King doesn't rule like a king anymore. Rumors of his health have circulated forever. Truth is, radiation-hit folks don't last long, right? Bunker waiters who dodged fallout are fine, but those who breathed it in or unluckily wandered near hotspots withered away."
No eternal secrets in this world, apparently.
Even King's poor health was known to non-direct subordinates like this defense org exec, and spilled easily.
Not 100% verified, though.
"Problem's what happens if King falls. Headache city. Back when the city was slave games, no one cared; now it's grown real, parasites stick like bugs—ex-politicians, generals, lawyers, media types."
"Already fighting over succession?"
"King hasn't picked one. You know why."
Jeon Sanghui gave a wry smile, eyeing me.
He knew King couldn't have kids.
"Not many would rally around some kid even if he had one."
"No good candidates?"
"There are. But there's always one problem child."
A sinister glint crossed Jeon Sanghui's face.
Someone troublesome.
I didn't ask, but he named him soon enough.
"Shim Chansu. Ex-journalist."
"A journalist? That's elite, no?"
I figured legion warlords would be the issue.
Even with bad journo rep, better than armed palace guards?
Jeon Sanghui shook his head with a sigh.
"He's a figurehead. Puppet."
He glanced around, bowed his head, and whispered,
"The cultists back him."
"···For real?"
Jeon Sanghui nodded gravely.
Beep—
The heavy silence broke with static from the K-walkie-talkie.
Soon, smooth, fluent Korean flowed from it in a pleasant woman's voice.
"That you? The trader?"
An armored vehicle appeared in the distance.
Five-star red flag.
Chinese.