Chapter 96
Chapter 96
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 96
Chapter Title: 52. Boiler (1)
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War had raged for two years and eight months now.
Before the war, I'd figured that after this much time, there wouldn't be many survivors left.
Reality proved otherwise.
Even if it was just a hollow shell, the government still existed, and countless people had taken root here and there, clinging to life.
But it wasn't just me sensing that everything was finally hitting its limits.
Even I, Park Gyu—the guy who prided himself on being the most prepared in all of South Korea—was starting to feel the crisis creeping in.
The threats to our survival weren't just the Legion faction or monsters.
External enemies were only one piece of the puzzle.
True survival encompassed daily life itself.
And daily life required supplies.
If I compared it to a game, supplies were like HP.
Just as a game character's HP hitting zero meant death, us doomsday preppers would die if our supplies ran dry.
Traditionally, there were two main ways to replenish scarce supplies: plundering or scavenging.
Plundering wasn't my style, and it wasn't easy anymore anyway.
The Defender expulsion incident proved it—everyone had leveled up.
Anyone who could be taken down sitting ducks in their homes was long gone.
Scavenging was the simpler option.
Or, to put it politely, "collecting." More accurately, it was scavenging.
Rifling through someone else's abandoned house or corpse for supplies.
These weren't options in the pre-war world.
But with the apocalypse dragging on and humanity proving surprisingly resilient, even I was starting to reconsider.
The trigger? Rebecca.
*
Humans need all sorts of supplies, but in the big picture, it all boiled down to the classics: food, clothing, and shelter.
First off, food was manageable enough.
I'd converted most frozen stocks to preserved goods, and as a side hobby, I was sporadically farming patches across my territory.
Using seedlings from Old Man Kim and my own stockpiled seeds, planting them here and there and harvesting—it was one of my few simple pleasures.
That said, my farms were irregular.
Unlike DSera or other farming pros who meticulously planted intensive crops in neat square fields, I scattered seeds sporadically everywhere.
Not because I was dumb, but to keep my plots from looking like actual fields.
Some patches were shoebox-sized; the largest barely fit my body stretched out.
Sure, they were a pain to manage—water guzzlers, vulnerable to pests, low yield—but compared to the risk of discovery, it was nothing.
A guy like me, marked by the Legion faction, couldn't go flaunting fields online with some "SKELTON FARM" post like DSera, or I'd eat artillery and lose a whole year's harvest.
Even this setup would need rethinking next year or the year after.
My stockpiles would last a year at best.
Factor in long-term "brick rations," and maybe five years—but I'd go mad or die of some illness long before that.
A bigger issue than food was equipment degradation.
Electricity and plumbing used top-tier initial installs with expert input—no problems there.
Batteries, though? Lifespans were inevitable.
Despite massive capacitor banks, after three-ish years, charge capacity and voltage were dropping.
The killer was fuel.
The oil was going bad.
It was expected.
Oil doesn't keep forever.
Gasoline lasts less than a year; diesel maybe a year and a half tops.
I'd sourced premium preservation diesel, added anti-oxidants, stored it in vacuum tanks—but time still won.
Every use meant opening valves, letting air in—something even megacorps couldn't prevent.
Korea's wild seasonal swings and humidity didn't help either.
Four seasons? More like a brutal combo platter of nature's worst.
“Rebecca’s seniors freezing en masse in the Korean War wasn’t due to ignorance.”
They never imagined a tropical-island-hot nation turning that cold.
Fuel shortages were a problem.
"……."
Rebecca messaging me online wasn't common.
She'd forwarded a translation of a hot post stirring up the Viva! Apocalypse! English board.
To sum it up: half-ass your prep this winter, and you'll freeze solid.
The post claimed a global cooling phenomenon was underway.
Last winter's record cold had already claimed countless lives; this one would be worse.
Blamed on massive Southeast Asian volcanic eruptions or planet-scale nuclear war.
"……."
This winter would be the tipping point—another massive shift for the world.
Nature testing humanity before monsters did.
Cicadas droned outside.
Heatstroke weather, not a chill in sight.
Peak summer.
But my mind was on winter.
If the Legion or monsters hit first, I'd die—but facing winter unprepared meant a frozen SKELTON ending.
How to prep?
I thought of the gear off-gridders always Googled first: wood-fired boilers.
Two reasons.
Oil was degrading in quality and quantity, while wood was plentiful and easy to source.
Wood burns hotter than city folk imagine.
Old Man Kim had even built a yellow-earth room with one for that wellness vibe before passing.
Why hadn't I chosen it? Simple: billowing white smoke visible from miles away.
Pre-war, a cozy village symbol; now, a "kill me" flare to neighbors.
So wood boilers never made the heating shortlist.
Now? Dead serious consideration.
No choice.
Rebecca said this winter would top last's horrors.
Freeze or get shot.
Brutal binary.
No real debate—I picked the wood boiler.
Winter's clubbing would make it obvious: cold scarier than people.
Of course, I'd only fire it up when unbearable.
Like minus 15°C for a month straight.
By then, most weaklings would be gone.
Even my circle's survivors would be hurting.
Golf course out of reach?
If Legion bundled up and came? Dead anyway.
Problem: no wood boiler.
Never planned for one.
Now I needed it.
No online shopping, no vendors—everything zombified.
Get it by taking or finding.
I chose finding.
Local expert nearby: my neighbor, Defender.
*
"Wood boiler? They're everywhere. Raid a few abandoned rural homes nearby, and you'll snag one easy."
Defender rose to fame with kill certs, but it chained him—forced retirement from boards.
To me, less murderer, more high-combat scavenger.
His hoarded piles screamed it.
Something new every visit.
Vehicles too.
"Consumables are tapped out—stripped clean. But fixed gear like boilers? Especially simple wood ones? Left alone. No need hauling heavy junk when you can cobble your own."
He pointed me to spots likely holding wood boilers.
<Sunflower Village>
Abandoned rural housing cluster near my turf.
No current residents, but old raider/scavenger traces everywhere.
Oddly, a graveyard out back—probably from pre-sales lawsuits between builders and residents.
Some graves dug up—German scavenger, maybe?
Defender warned: extra caution on empty-looking houses.
Could hide people, especially elderly/infirm—or zombies.
Or worst: mutations lurking.
Mutations were scary, sure.
But rare.
Big bodies = visible, need big food—smarts and size don't fix hunger.
China had tons; most died to starvation or infighting.
Man-eaters too, but humans got 'em.
Here? No villages or beasts to sustain 'em.
Barren.
Still, no complacency.
Axe in one hand, gun braced on it, I crept toward the abandoned house.
Bang!
Kicked the door in—dust-choked interior, ancient corpse reek assaulting my nose.
Click!
Moved deliberately, sweeping room by room.
Rule one for empty houses: full search.
Skip attic or basement? Ambushed by hiders.
Planning extended stays? Scrub neighbors too.
Announce your scavenging, and hidden armed locals = disaster.
Target acquired easily.
Boiler room: massive wood boiler, intact.
Two mummified corpses nearby—concerning, but proof the house was clear.
Issue: weight.
150kg easy.
SKELTON could lift—but it'd wreck my back.
Bad back = death.
Cold = death.
This world.
"……."
Forklift?
9km—not trivial.
But truck it, maybe.
Anyway, secured.
Now, full sweep—might return.
Gun up, sidled to next house.
Smaller but well-built, cute.
First-floor windows shattered; upper and high ones pristine, framing the outside crystal-clear.
Stepping in, I hesitated.
Turn back?
This house had residents.
Lived-in feel.
Hidden well, but my instincts were sharp.
Tangling with people? Bad call.
Especially barricaded shooters itching to drop intruders.
"……Sorry, wrong house. Just leaving. No fight intended—don't misunderstand."
Apologized to the unknown, backed away slow and careful.
Didn't get far—two lights flickered from the dark.
Human.
"H-Hey there!"
Kids.
Not one—three.
All skeletal-thin.
"Got any food?"