No One Crosses to the Afterlife Without My Permission (1)
The helicopter cabin vibrated violently from the roar of the propellers. Leaning into the rattling fuselage, I scanned my team with bored eyes. The fully armed operatives were each unwinding in their own way—clicking metal as they pulled back slides to check chambers, fingers tightening chin straps on bulletproof helmets, careful motions verifying weapon conditions. On the surface they seemed focused on their gear, but I knew every ounce of their attention, especially their ears, was tuned to me. No matter when, where, or what kind of dogshit situation hit us, they were ready to bet their lives on a single order from my lips.
After confirming that burdensome yet admirable loyalty, I let out a small yawn and spoke.
The moment my languid voice dropped, a chorus exploded through the narrow troop compartment.
As soon as the rigidly disciplined voices died down, I stomped the cabin floor with the heel of my boot. The heavy thud mixed with the noise, instantly drawing every team member’s gaze. I met those burdensome stares with shameless confidence and growled.
“...Ha.”
Those idiots would never drop the “Mama” thing even if it killed them. I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to suppress the rising irritation. That beautiful face is going to get wrinkles because of them.
Whether he knew how I felt or not, Cheiron, sitting right beside me, was readjusting his helmet with a snicker. I gave his helmet a couple of light—okay, not so light—taps and asked grumpily.
“Ah, yes. Minor magical energy signatures detected within a one-kilometer radius. Small monster sighting confirmed. That’s about it.”
“Just my luck…”
I clicked my tongue and picked up the shotgun that had been resting on my knee.
“Understood.”
That was when the red light above our heads went out and the green light signaling the exit clicked on. With a long hiss of escaping hydraulics, the massive ramp door began to lower slowly. Acrid smoke and the metallic stench of blood seeped through the widening gap, and the scene that gradually revealed itself was pure pandemonium.
Twisted, burning wreckage of vehicles packed across the middle of a large bridge. Blue mist drifting between them like ghosts. And orange-uniformed rescue workers desperately moving through it all.
Are we too late?
Someone might think that at such a horrific sight, but the word “late” didn’t exist in my dictionary. I gripped the handle of my shield tightly and twisted the corner of my mouth into a smirk. If anyone was late, it was the bastards trying to cross over to the afterlife. Their footsteps, not mine.
The boat already left? Don’t make me laugh.
Now that I was here, I’d grab those self-important bastards by the collar and drag them back to the starting line of the living world whether they liked it or not.
Once the ramp door was fully open, the men at the very back began jumping out one after another. To ordinary people it would have been a terrifying height—enough to shatter a leg on landing—but for people like us, it was barely higher than jumping off a bed. Heavy thuds echoed from below with every landing, followed by the sounds of footsteps scattering among the vehicle debris and the metallic clatter of equipment.
After the last of them had dropped, I started walking toward the end of the ramp myself when a familiar voice came from the cockpit.
“Charon, descending.”
I turned my head toward the cockpit and let out a snort. Just how long was that damn nickname going to follow me…?
Do I have to be treated like the ferryman of the underworld until the day I die?
Then again, when I thought about it, I really was the reverse ferryman—grabbing people headed for the afterlife by the collar and hauling them back to the living world. So it wasn’t entirely wrong. Still, it grated on my ears every single time.
The pilot’s answer was exactly what I expected.
“...Charon, descending!”
I decided not to waste any more time on pointless bickering. I slung the shield onto my back, gripped the shotgun firmly with both hands, and leaped out. The sharp yet somehow refreshing scent of the blue mist and the cold air brushed pleasantly across my skin. Wind whistled past my ears.
In that brief moment of free fall, trusting my body to gravity, my vision filled with twisted, crashed vehicles, the drifting blue mist, and the sight of my team members already positioned all over the site.
Thud!
The moment I landed with a heavy impact, I raised the shotgun in one hand and quickly scanned the surroundings before immediately giving orders.
Cheiron and Thetys, both wearing black helmets and masks, grabbed their rifles and split off to opposite sides. I led the rest of the team at a run toward the nearest rescue worker. Footsteps pounded against the asphalt, equipment rattled and clanged in our ears.
An orange-uniformed rescuer who had been bent over beside a crumpled van, desperately trying to pull something out, turned toward us. The relief in his eyes was visible even through his mask. Just that look told me how bad the situation was. Actually, I didn’t even need to read his eyes—one glance around was enough.
Every vehicle packed onto the bridge was twisted and crushed. Screams and groans leaked out from between them in an endless chorus. The blue mist still drifted like ghosts, blurring vision, and something could occasionally be seen writhing inside it.
Ah, this is a total mess.
I clicked my tongue inwardly but didn’t show it as I approached the rescuer. The moment he saw my face, he started talking frantically.
“O-over there! There’s someone trapped inside the car and I can’t pull them out by myself! Their leg is completely pinned under the dashboard, the bleeding is severe…!”
The way his voice trembled suggested he was a rookie on his first deployment. I nodded and turned my gaze toward the van. The entire front end was crushed, the windshield cracked like a spiderweb. Someone was sitting in the driver’s seat, unable to move. They seemed to be breathing, but I had no idea how long that would last.
I pushed the rescuer aside, set down the shield I’d been carrying on my back, and looked behind me. One of my team members had already moved up beside me.
He’s the big guy… what was his name again?
Oh, right. Heracles. Don’t ask why the nickname is like that. Everyone in this line of work has nicknames that are exactly that ridiculous.
“Understood.”
Heracles gave a characteristically concise reply and immediately placed his hands on the crumpled front of the van. The moment his massive hands gripped the metal, it creaked loudly. Then the vehicle began to rise slowly. It was a sight that would make a civilian faint, but in our world it was just another Tuesday. Awakened people handled this kind of thing like it was nothing.
As the vehicle lifted, the middle-aged man who had been trapped underneath became visible. Sweat poured down his pale face. When I slowly looked lower, his leg was indeed completely pinned under the dashboard, and the way his pants were soaked told me the bleeding was serious.
“Ugh… ugh…”
At least he was still conscious. That was something. I approached the man, knelt down, and spoke to him in the gentlest voice I could manage.
When the man gave a faint nod, I immediately reached out and examined his leg. The dashboard had crumpled completely, crushing it, and the soaked pants confirmed the bleeding was quite bad.
“Yes.”
Heracles applied more strength, raising the vehicle a bit further. I didn’t miss the opening and quickly slipped my hand in to check the leg. The bone seemed broken, but thankfully blood wasn’t gushing out like a fountain.
This much I can save.
I rummaged in my pocket and pulled something out. It was a gag, perfectly sized for a person to bite down on. Carrying something like this around made me look like a pervert, but experience had taught me it was surprisingly useful, so what could I do?
The middle-aged man, not understanding a word, bit down on the gag and was pulled out of the car by the team. In the meantime I picked up my shield again. When I pressed the button beside the handle, a crisp mechanical sound—click-clack!—rang out as the shield expanded rapidly on both sides. When folded it was just a large shield, but once fully deployed it was wide enough for three or four adult men to stand behind.
Leaving the echo of my voice behind, I slammed the expanded shield into the ground. With a heavy bang, it embedded itself in the asphalt, creating a small fortress just for us. The surrounding noise and chaos felt slightly blocked off. This would be enough to work in.
“Th-there! The bleeding on the leg has gotten worse!”
The rescuer’s urgent voice rang out.
I nodded and asked, “Is he still conscious?”
“Huh…? Yes! He’s conscious!”
“Haa…”
I let out a long sigh and looked down at the man biting the gag.
I don’t want to do this either, but it’s the only way.
It seemed better to apologize to the uncle in advance.
The moment my order dropped, the team moved quickly, firmly pinning the man’s limbs. Looking at his complexion, he seemed more blue from terror than blood loss, but whatever. It’ll turn red again soon, so it’s fine, it’s fine.
I wasn’t sure whether he’d figured out what I was about to do, but his eyes were growing wider and wider.
I reached out with my right hand and placed it on the injured area. The instant my palm touched the soaked pants, the previously pale man began to thrash as if possessed. Even with the gag, the screams that leaked out were quite desperate, but thankfully our kind awakened young men on the team held him tightly so he wouldn’t hurt himself. Having strong guys around really was reassuring.
“I’m so sorry… I can heal, but I can’t provide anesthesia…”
I really, truly felt bad. The real problem with my ability was that while it could heal, it couldn’t block pain. Still, right now this uncle was getting thoroughly beaten by Charon on the River Styx while being dragged back to the world of the living. It’s okay. It’s okay. Just endure a little and you can live, mister.
Warm energy flowed from my palm, and as the magical power soaked into the wound, I could feel the torn blood vessels slowly reconnecting and the broken bones moving back into place. I knew very well that from the patient’s perspective this process was hell. The pain from regenerating cells was no joke. People said it felt like thousands of ants crawling inside their bones.
No, some people said it was even worse than that.
The man’s thrashing grew more violent, but I didn’t remove my hand. I couldn’t. Stopping halfway would only make it more dangerous. If healing was only half-done, the chance of complications rose sharply, and having to start over again would only make the patient suffer more. So finishing it all at once was better for everyone.
I didn’t know if he could hear me, but the man kept writhing. Saliva dripped from the gag in his mouth, and tears streamed down his face.
I’m sorry, but if you don’t get healed your leg will have to be amputated. This is better than that, right?
The outline of the wound I could feel under my palm gradually grew fainter. The blood vessels had fully reconnected, the bones had returned to position, and the torn muscles were reattaching. Almost there. Just a bit more.
And finally, the strange sensation at my fingertips disappeared.
I slowly withdrew my hand and examined the leg. The area that had been covered in blood was now cleanly healed. The pants were still wet, but at least it wasn’t blood anymore.
At my words, the team members who had been holding his limbs slowly released their grip. The man was still breathing hard with the gag in his mouth, his entire body drenched in sweat. Well, of course. He had just come back from the threshold of the afterlife.
I removed the gag and said,
The man stared at me with dazed eyes, then cautiously began to move his leg. His toes wiggled, his knee bent, his ankle rotated. The leg that had been shattered moments ago was now moving perfectly.