Is the Apocalypse Hard?

Day 3 of the apocalypse dawned. After all sorts of twists and turns, I'd successfully awakened Jeong Da-jeong and gained myself a pack mule to boot. Time to start serious farming.

But first, swing by the motorcycle shop.

Fortunately, the nail gun I'd left at the shop and the bag full of my other gear were right where I'd left them.

"Lucky no one took it. If they had, you'd be in deep shit..."

"Ahaha, yeah. Lucky no one took it."

"You're laughing?"

"...Sorry, Master."

"Hah... Just grab the stuff."

"Yes, Master!"

It was better than her cowering in terror, but her beaming smile first thing in the morning rubbed me the wrong way. Shiny and smooth—

"Hehe. I'll grab this, and this too~♪"

...Should I really pump some points into stamina? It was a ridiculous thought, but with her skin somehow glowing despite everything, and remembering last night, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I couldn't help but mull it over.

Thwack.

Thwack, thwack.

"Eek, enough already...!"

Achy, achy.

Pssshhh.

"Sorry, sorry, sor—ohh...♡ Sorryyy... Oof...♡ Oof, oof...! Master's cock feels so good..."

Ordering her to stop while she was riding me wildly like a jockey only poured fuel on the fire.

Smack.

Pssshhh.

Hah, hah.

"I can't stop...!♥"

In the end, I had to reset her disobedience penalty to pain to make her stop. Even so, she'd vented all her pent-up stress, and she'd been like this all morning.

"Ah, Master, how about this one? It's super black—matches you perfectly..."

"Shut it."

"Eep..."

Just like she said, a sleek black motorcycle. The sport bike vibe oozed cool factor, stirring any guy's heart—but whatever.

Cool doesn't fill your belly.

I headed for a more subdued big scooter instead. It had a cargo compartment behind the seat for gear, plus plenty of space to add more storage.

"Keys."

"Here, Master."

I fished two big scooter keys from the pile and dumped the rest straight into the sewer grate in front of the shop.

Clatter.

Plop, plop.

"Ah..."

Unlike her, who couldn't grasp dumping perfectly good motorcycle keys, the system—of course—immediately read my intent and popped up a message.

My Evil Accumulation ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stacks shot up in seconds. Confirming that, I pulled a knife from my belt and tossed it to Jeong Da-jeong.

"Cut the wires on every bike except these two. If you can, rip out batteries and fuel tanks—make sure nothing works."

"Huh? But then..."

Achy.

"Aaaagh...!"

Jeong Da-jeong clutched her heart and crumpled to the ground the moment she questioned my order. Even so, seeing her baffled expression, I clicked my tongue.

"Obviously, so no one else can use them."

To me, survivors came in just two flavors: my slaves or straight-up enemies. No "potential" about it—they were all enemies. Why the hell would I leave perfectly good bikes for them?

The message popping up as she cut the wires felt great, but imagining the despair on some fool's face when they came for a ride and found wrecks...

"Phew. Heh heh heh..."

My motivation surged, so I shredded all the leftover motorcycle suits too.

Yeah, that's right. This is what the apocalypse is all about. Some novel protagonist couldn't handle something this easy and fun, suffering all that hardship? No clue.

...

After swinging by the gas station to top off the bike and fill the jerry cans, Jeong Da-jeong piped up hesitantly.

"Um... Master."

"What."

"That... back there, was it really necessary?"

"Huh?"

"Ah! Not that I'm talking back, Master, I mean—"

Whoosh.

"...What if we need new bikes later? We could use them then, right?"

We both knew it wasn't just innocent concern, so her voice trailed off as she looked down. At least the slave brand didn't trigger, so she probably did mean it.

Not entirely wrong, I guess. From her clueless perspective, it made sense.

"Tomorrow at the latest. Day after that for sure, we're leaving Bonghyeon-dong."

"Huh? Not staying here?"

Achy.

"Guh... ugh...!"

"Hah. You doing that on purpose?"

I shook my head at her clutching her heart like an idiot again.

"Suck every last drop of EXP from the lowbie hunting grounds, then move to the next spot."

We were in Bonghyeon-dong, the easternmost edge of Gucheon City. Being the outskirts meant big hardware stores, motorcycle shops, the occasional supermarket or convenience store—not a bad spot. Fine if your goal was just surviving by holing up. But that was it. Low population meant limited zombies for EXP, and we'd scouted—no real loot left.

"Oh, forgot to mention: all-nighter tonight and tomorrow? Stock up on coffee."

"Wha!?... Eek, ack!"

The bombshell of working straight through dawn had her blurting a question before clamping her mouth shut. She couldn't hide her grimace, though.

"Ugh... ugh..."

Finally a face I liked—just as my mood lifted, the last jerry can filled up.

"Eh. Good enough."

All the cans were topped off now. As she started loading them one by one, I asked,

"What're you doing?"

"N-No room on the bike, so into inventory... Should I not?"

"Why one at a time?"

"B-Because inventory only holds one per slot...?"

Her answer made me snort in disbelief.

"Hah."

Right, she's still in idiot mode.

Suddenly, all her baffling behavior clicked. Fine, I'd put up with it today. It'd wear off by tomorrow. I pulled out some rope.

"Hand 'em over."

I snatched the cans from her and bundled them with the rest.

"Oh, you can do it like that?"

Her eyes sparkled as she finally grasped proper inventory use.

"Just load 'em ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠already."

"Yes, Master."

She touched the bundled cans, and they shimmered like a mirage before vanishing into her slave inventory.

"Whoa, this is so convenient!"

Her excitement soured my mood. What's the point of a good job if you don't even know its value?

In the novel, a single inventory slot was priceless. She had five slots plus carry capacity—exaggerating a bit, Jeong Da-jeong was basically half a truck. And that truck could ride a motorcycle.

I handle zombies, she farms.

Farming Bonghyeon-dong would've taken days otherwise, but her skills slashed the time. Hell, we might monopolize multiple districts.

Provided she kept up. Revving the scooter, I told her,

"Do good today, and I'll let you have it again."

Twitch.

Blush.

"...Ah, th-that..."

Stab.

"...Yes, Master...♡"

She looked downright cute blushing and bowing her head.

...

Shot the ugly one, bashed the fat one, knifed the glasses zombie between the eyes. Cleared the supermarket zombies, lit a smoke—and out came Jeong Da-jeong lugging bags, grunting.

"How's it look?"

Tilt.

"Like a delinquent sneaking smokes."

"No, idiot—farming done?"

"Eek...!"

My bad for asking her idiot-mode self.

"Whatever. Show inventory."

"Yessir, delinquent—ah, no, Master."

Arguing with her just drained me, so I eyed the boxes she pulled out: cans, retort pouches, rice, somyeon, ramen... even energy bars and formula. No junk snacks this time—solid haul. I told her to store them back.

"M-Master?"

"What."

"Some stuff you told me to grab filled the boxes, so I couldn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fit it. Come back for it?"

"How much."

"About one box worth."

"Hm."

Boxes full, duffels bursting on her, bike cargo maxed. Last spot this way.

Sucks, but backtracking wasted route. Still regrettable—I grabbed a jerry can, tossed her snacks on the way in.

"Ah. Thank you."

"Not stopping to eat. Graze as you go."

I stuffed a handful of corn puffs from the rack, crunching while dousing the store with gas station fuel.

Splish.

Drip, drip.

Sausages, fish cakes, veggies, frozen goods... oil soaking perfectly good food. My lips curled.

Survivors starving in this city would swarm it soon enough. Snacks, candy, drinks—even these corn puffs—daily bread for whoever came.

Not anymore.

"Should've hustled, you lazy fucks."

Scared of a few zombies on day 3, hunkered down—now some psycho torches everything.

Ptoo.

Spit the chewed corn, relit my smoke.

Huff.

Flicked my fingers.

Whoosh.

"Ahahahahat—."

Leaving the blockbuster inferno behind, about 200m away at a motel, my eyes met a middle-aged survivor who'd been staring.

...Help. Here. People. Waving desperately for aid.

No sense of danger, huh. Or that desperate.

Nom nom.

"Mmph? Master?"

"Eating. Be right back after a donation."

I grabbed a ramen pack from a box and strolled toward the motel, zombies milling at the entrance.

"Save me! Please!"

"Grraaah."

"Wha—grk?"

"Graaaah!"

Clink. Clink.

Nailed the approaching zombies easy, then grinned at the survivor on the fourth floor, hoisting the ramen. Wiggle, wiggle.

"Oh! Thank you, thank you! Haven't eaten since yesterday..."

He looked ready to bawl. Sizzle.

I opened the pack, set it down... and stomped it flat.

Noodles spilling, crunching underfoot.

Snap, crackle.

Pop.

Messages stopped, so I flipped him the bird.

"Enjoy your meal, sir!"

"You little shit! Ungrateful brat, get over here you fuck! I'll rip you—"

On the way back, curses rained from behind—but

"Grraaah."

"Graaaah?"

"Help, somebody—!"

It only lured more zombies to the motel entrance, against my original plan.

"Pfft—."

Should've read a novel, dumbass. Then you'd know how easy this is. Still can't believe it...

Is the apocalypse really that hard?