Chapter 68
Chapter 68
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 68
Chapter Title: 42. Paradise (1)
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Before the apocalypse hit, the most popular corner on Viva! Apocalypse! was "Show Off Your Shelter."
Doomsday preppers from around the world shared their bunkers, inspiring fellow enthusiasts walking the same path.
The shelters they verified all had merits that made you nod in approval.
A shelter didn't have to mean digging a bunker or building defenses.
One user from Canada had fully mastered Native American ways, proving he could survive without cumbersome gear or construction through overwhelming camping and hunting skills.
His boasted shelter was an endless primeval forest.
On the other hand, there were wealthy users who silenced everyone with sheer extravagance.
No one dared comment on the Arabian oil tycoon who equipped a luxury yacht worth over ten billion with survival essentials, bodyguards, and even a helicopter.
The flashiest shelter in Korea was built by Park Cheolju, a chaebol heir.
His fortress on a hilltop came complete with agricultural facilities and even a small golf course—a miniature world unto itself.
But that fortress was obliterated by sudden artillery fire and reduced to rubble.
The Legion faction's artillery unit shelled it for no reason, and the chaebol's citadel crumbled helplessly.
After that, few know the fate of the chaebol family.
They arrived in my territory two days after the Jeju fleet docked.
Lately, unicorn18 has been messaging me every day.
What could be the reason?
I have a hunch, but it's a bit burdensome.
Still, better to hold back.
"......"
Strategic ambiguity.
And it was working.
"Sunbae."
Shortly after SKELTON's Beatbox (4) went up, Woo Minhee contacted me directly.
"Sunbae, you don't have any weird hobbies, right?"
"What are you talking about?"
"No, nothing. Forget it."
She cut the comms like she was fleeing.
No way to know her true thoughts, but she might have started suspecting this SKELTON just a little.
Anyone would if the personal ID matched the Viva! Apocalypse! nickname.
Failnet and our boards were buzzing with debates.
The hot topic was, of course, the Jeju evacuation fleet.
The government-released footage showed countless ships lined up against the blue Jeju port, disgorging hordes of people.
Arriving evacuees all wore joyful expressions, embracing waiting family—or what looked like welcoming crowds—in tearful reunions.
In these joyless times, it was touching enough, but some claimed it was manipulated fake footage.
The fiercest ranter was m9, the top name on the Jeju board.
No one knows what he did pre-apocalypse, but now m9 fancies himself Korea's premier fake video expert.
"......What."
I have no clue.
Never studied it, and doubting facts is exhausting anyway.
Still, watching optimists and skeptics keyboard-battle is entertaining.
Time flies like homework when you peek in.
But first things first: sorting rations.
Rustle.
Even the seemingly endless pantry was starting to show gaps.
The freezer depletion was especially severe—intentional.
We prioritized frozen goods over equivalents to clear them out.
Running freezers for nearly three years showed the risks beyond power: no electricity, and they're useless bricks.
Stockpiling blindly requires infinite power and safety.
My territory's secure-ish, but nothing's 100% safe.
No one knows when the next crisis hits.
Better reduce frozen ratios, convert to easy-preserve forms.
Smoke fresh meat, make pemmican like before, or jerky/sausage.
Biggest headache: Gold's hunt gifts.
Gold dropped a few beasts and hasn't returned.
Figured that covered his med bills.
So in his mind, his life was worth one boar, two water deer, three chickens, three pheasants.
Gobbled the birds solo, but quadrupeds are the issue.
Especially water deer.
Can't stomach it.
Even boar was tough; this hurdle's too high.
Stomach not empty enough yet.
Side-eyeing side dishes in this hellworld proves it.
Still, prime protein source.
Deer meat's protein-packed, they say.
How to eat it?
Thought it over: sausage best.
Shrinks volume unlike jerky, good shelf life.
Have casings, tools, spices.
Struck while iron hot: skinned, butchered, separated meat/fat from bones.
Time sink, so radio, walkie, comms nearby.
Whirr—
Chopped meat ground into big bowl.
Next: white fat—from pork, not deer.
Sausage needs pork backfat for flavor, texture—any meat.
Grind with crushed ice: pro tip.
Red ground meat half-filled; white fat layered like sauce.
Smooth sailing.
One deer today, finish tomorrow—including boar.
Taste unknown, but hunger might make it palatable?
Diving back in—
Far-off car horn.
Scouts?
Doffed gloves, periscope scan.
Jeep by US base road.
Not scouts—no flashy flag.
Wonder who—walkie crackled.
Crackle—
"Hunter Park Gyu? You alive?"
Young woman's voice.
Familiar.
Racking brain—another call.
"Ji Younghee here. The one you helped before. You alive?"
Why ask twice?
Could reply, but ignored.
If business, they'll come; spot numbers, intent sans talk.
Set bowl under periscope, kneaded dough.
Key: mix curing salt (sodium nitrite) lump-free.
10g+ kills; skip it, botulism brews.
To live: knead hard.
Scrape scrape—
Kneaded meat, eyed outside.
~30 folds, checked: no more radio.
No jeep approach.
But US base: new convoy.
Not one-two: massive.
One container trailer, two semis, five SUVs—a fleet invading my turf.
Scale halted work: armed up.
Rifle, ammo, grenades, recoilless gun, Claymores.
Javelin batteries prepped.
Beep—
Javelin hum; messaged sniper mom via board.
"Large convoy at my front. Distant from you, FYI."
Gifted Defenders' comms to sniper duo.
Walkies/internet good; short-range encrypted comms best.
"Got it. Call if trouble."
Su replied.
"Yeah."
Grateful, but no dragging them in.
Not for lopsided odds; that's suicide pact.
This Park Gyu had standards.
Defenders? Gold gauntlet en route.
Alerted snipers only, watched.
Sun dipped west from noon.
Rays stung more than warmed; horizon haze warped view.
Pondered: bad call telling Ji Younghee location?
Nah.
Anxiety breeds regret.
That's it.
Truth: best choice then.
No regrets.
Till dusk, they lingered at air base.
Trailers obscured, but front work evident.
"People at US air base. Not scouts, purpose unknown—heads up."
Messaged Defenders.
"Roger, SKELTON."
Resumed mixing.
Chilled meat warmed to body temp from delays.
Dumped spices, MSG; machine-mixed, stuffed collagen casings.
First try: success.
Casings elastic, yielded pretty sausages.
Taste? Gamey cover-up job.
Survival chow.
Luxury to Incheon folk—Defenders, snipers'd devour.
Ten links done; eyed base.
"Hm?"
Did double-take.
Had to.
Barbecue party.
"No way."
Rushed out, scoped close.
~15 around grill: mixed genders, beers in hand, smiling at sizzling meat.
No scent carryover, but watching veggies/meat skewer-roast over coals felt aromatic.
Stray thought: luring me with food?
"......"
Overestimating self.
But scene eased guard a tad.
"Hey. Hear me?"
Into walkie.
"Park Gyu here. Remember?"
*
"Long time, Hunter Park Gyu. No word—thought something happened."
Ji Younghee solo—no dad.
Didn't ask.
Bigger fish glaring: Park Cheolju.
Seokju Group chairman—one of Korea's top chaebols, now ghost.
He whispered to suited minion, not me.
Minion to Younghee; she waved it off.
"Hunter Park Gyu's not like that. Lives alone. Dad and I checked multiple times."
Guess I'm the suspect.
Always doubting raiders—others see me same.
Young armed guy? Threat enough.
Hunter badge? Double.
Younghee led to dim table away from grill.
Still fetched heaping meat plate, beer.
"Booze okay?"
"Got cola?"
"Cola, please."
While gone, sampled beef.
"!"
Eyes popped.
Real beef.
How long since proper steak?
Peppers, leeks fresh too.
Devoured skewer; she returned.
"More?"
"Nah, good. Full. So, what's up here?"
Slowly cleared plate, heard her out.
No personal deets: why with Seokju? Dad whereabouts?
Instead: group's goal, her soft tone.
"Heading to Japan."
"Japan?"
Ear check.
Japan's full lockdown.
No ships, planes, people in/out.
Rumors: Busan refugee ship sunk by Japanese warships.
To me: suicide mission.
"Japan? Dangerous, no?"
"Got clearance. Chairman's connected to Japanese pols."
"Ah. Where?"
"Ogasawara Islands."
Smiling, showed phone pics: exotic tropics, promo shots.
"Chairman said,"
She beamed.
"'Escape hell for paradise.'"
Her joy so pure, skipped 'how?'
Knew clinging to hope's rarity here.
Scored a meal.
Good enough.
*
Day passed.
Made more water deer sausage, watched from afar.
Container opened; forklift hauled something.
Saw cargo: gasped involuntary.
Airplane.
Unassembled, but that sleek silver fuselage embodied hope to anywhere.