The Name of a Blessing

The temperature was low, but the wind was gentle enough that I barely felt the cold.

Or maybe my resistance to cold had improved along with my Amplification Coefficient?

I turned and looked back at the dog.

True to his Siberian Husky blood, he carried a dense double coat built to endure ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠brutal cold. The chill of a mountain valley in Inje, Gangwon Province would hardly register to him.

That said, every time he caught the scent of zombies, he trembled like a leaf — yet he still followed me to the very end.

He trusted me. He was relying on me.

And because of that, I found myself developing a strange trust in him as well.

So long as I didn't harm him, I doubted he would ever leave my side. After all, it wasn't as if his owner was suddenly going to show up in the middle of a national collapse.

We'd probably be together for quite a long time, and I couldn't just keep calling him "dog" or "pup."

"What's your name?"

There was no collar with a name on it.

So I would give him a new one.

What would be good?

I'd never been particularly careful about these sorts of things.

"How about Chuk-bok?"

He'd been chased by zombies and come running straight into the Blessed Farmland — so Blessing it was.

"From now on, you're Chuk-bok."

Truthfully, a name given by a human isn't a "self" to a dog — it's more like a signal. When humans recognize someone, they recall the face and the name, but dogs recognize by scent. That's why they sniff newcomers and memorize the smell.

His old name was a signal tied to his old owner. "Chuk-bok" would become the signal tied to me.

"Chuk-bok."

The dog stared off in some random direction. It would probably take quite a while for the new signal to take root in his head.

"Let's go, Chuk-bok."

I set off along the forest path again, and Chuk-bok trotted at my heels.

The hunt went smoothly — because I spotted the zombies before they spotted me.

Chuk-bok's contribution was enormous. And with him trotting along behind me, I worried far less about armed raiders sneaking up on my back.

Before I knew it, I'd saved up enough coins to raise my Amplification Coefficient by 0.1.

To complete the third mission, I needed not only a higher Amplification Coefficient but also to expand the Blessed Farmland to 1,000 pyeong.

Since a higher coefficient made hunting easier, raising it to 5.0 first was the right order of operations.

Rustle—

A sound came from a patch of dried brush.

Judging by Chuk-bok's reaction, it wasn't a zombie.

I studied something half-hidden in the grass.

'A rabbit!'

A gray-brown rabbit caught my eye, and I reflexively raised my bow and took aim.

But in the end, I never loosed the arrow.

'I've got plenty to eat. What do I need a rabbit for?'

I could fish in the stream inside the Blessed Farmland's domain, so my sources of protein and fat were already secure. There was no real need to hunt rabbits.

Well, it wouldn't have hurt to take one. Rabbit is a delicacy.

But right now I was hunting zombies. My arrows were a limited resource — if an arrowhead got damaged chasing a rabbit, my zombie hunt would suffer for it.

So when hunting zombies, focus on zombies. That was that.

Roaming through the forest, I took down nine more zombies.

I had killed a truly staggering number of zombies ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠today. Coins that would have taken me days to save up inside the Blessed Farmland alone, I'd earned in barely two hours.

I collected the arrows that were still intact or repairable, then counted how many I had ready to use.

Enough for one more 0.1 bump.

'Let's cap it at 2.0 for today.'

Someday, I might not even need a bow to hunt zombies. As my Amplification Coefficient climbed, my movements grew nimbler and my dynamic vision sharpened. Strength doubling didn't mean everything else doubled with it, but the steady improvement was unmistakable.

Once the coefficient rose past a certain threshold, I'd be able to close in on even the fully agile zombies and slice their heads off with ease.

Still, when I ended up tangled in close combat with a crowd of them, some armor would be nice. Something tough enough that teeth couldn't pierce it, comfortable to wear, and easy to move in.

Of course, developing something like that would be nowhere near as simple as it sounded.

'The government and corporations are probably working on it.'

The thought brought Hyunsung Group's recruitment ad to mind. They were gathering people for the express purpose of zombie elimination, so it stood to reason they'd be pouring everything into anti-zombie armor development as well.

The vast open sea.

A Hyunsung Group cruise ship was dropping anchor in waters near the equator. One man had shut himself inside a suite, absorbed in his work.

His name was Oh Gyeong-jun — the genius engineer South Korea had produced.

He wasn't a Hyunsung employee; he was a freelancer. He had come aboard at the request of Honorary Chairman Go Geon-hyuk to design anti-zombie defense suits.

The personnel of the "Zombie Elimination Force" that Hyunsung was soon to establish would wear the suits Oh Gyeong-jun designed. The unit would operate in hot climates, where zombies weakened quickly.

But that only meant relatively safer — not safe. Even in warm regions, recently infected individuals retained their full physical capabilities.

And given quarantine protocols, a single infected member could put the entire unit at risk.

That was why Go Geon-hyuk had commissioned Oh Gyeong-jun to build "the ultimate protective gear."

If this job went well, Oh Gyeong-jun was set to receive an enormous fee from Hyunsung Group.

Knock, knock—

Someone rapped on the door. Oh Gyeong-jun lifted his hands from the mouse.

"Come in."

A Hyunsung Group employee opened the door and stepped inside.

"I'm here to pick up the concept designs."

"One moment."

Oh Gyeong-jun copied the files onto a USB drive and handed it over.

"There are fifteen types, so talk it over with the higher-ups and pick the three you like. Then we go straight into detailed design."

The Hyunsung employee was stunned. He was a design engineer himself, so he understood exactly what he was looking at.

Oh Gyeong-jun had only just started the job. And in that sliver of time, he had produced no fewer than fifteen drafts!

The man's reputation as a genius was no facade.

"Understood, sir."

The employee took the USB drive and left the room. Oh Gyeong-jun took hold of the mouse again.

"Work's done for today. Time to play."

The fifteen blueprint files he'd handed to Hyunsung ran from OKJ-0001 through OKJ-0015. "OKJ" were Oh Gyeong-jun's initials.

Now he opened the OKJ-0000 file tucked away in a hidden folder — the draft of all drafts, the original design.

His working method was highly unusual. Whatever product he was designing, he always began with a "0000" draft built with zero constraints, specifically to shatter the frame of conventional thinking.

A vehicle so fast no human could survive the acceleration. A flashlight so blindingly bright and hot that no one could hold it in their hand. A rifle with devastating firepower that was far too heavy for anyone to carry.

OKJ-0000 was an anti-zombie defense suit designed in exactly that spirit.

The performance was staggering — but no human body could ever operate it. And manufacturing it was insanely difficult.

No, it was impossible at the present moment. To begin with, the raw materials it required were undiscovered substances that existed only in theory. And joining each component perfectly would demand future technology that didn't yet exist anywhere on Earth.

In a word, it was a "dream suit" — something he could draw but no one could ever build.

Oh Gyeong-jun began drafting the detailed blueprints for OKJ-0000, which had no practical application whatsoever.

This wasn't "work." It was a "hobby."

As he stared at the monitor and moved his mouse, a smile crept across his lips. He let his imagination run wild across the blueprint.

A superhuman with more than ten times a normal person's physical abilities, wearing OKJ-0000 and crushing a horde of zombies into paste!

"Ha... that would look so damn cool!"

At last, I'd filled today's quota.

"Let's head home, Chuk-bok."

I was about to retrace my steps when—

Whine—

Chuk-bok let his tail droop. I scanned the area carefully, but I couldn't see a single zombie.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

'Then that means...'

About fifty meters from here stood a prefab house, something someone had thrown up in the woods without a permit. I'd noticed it the last time I was out rabbit hunting — but something was different now.

The big glass window facing the living room was shattered.

Zombies were probably inside the building.

Blindly going in after them was far too dangerous. I'd have to lure them out and take them down — but I had no way of knowing how many there were. If five or six came pouring out at once, I'd be in trouble.

I surveyed the surroundings, and a large tree caught my eye.

'Perfect.'

I climbed the tree. With my strengthened muscles, scaling it was easier than it used to be. I settled onto a thick branch at a suitable height and shouted toward the building.

"Come on out!"

Keeeeeagh—

Three zombies burst out through the shattered window. Chuk-bok, startled, retreated far ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠behind me.

The zombies sprinted at the tree and tried to climb it — but they couldn't. It was the same reason they couldn't swim: climbing is a highly coordinated athletic skill, and without technique, all the strength in the world won't get you up a trunk.

Hisss—

Hisss— hisss—

I sent arrows flying into their skulls. Every shot found its mark. The arrows punched clean through bone.

I climbed down and severed their heads one by one, then entered the building.

Dead leaves that had blown in through the broken window lay heaped across the living room floor.

I opened the bathroom door. It had stayed sealed the whole time, so unlike the living room, the inside was clean.

'There it is!'

A hair dryer hung on the wall beside the sink. I tucked it into my backpack.

A look in the utility room turned up detergent made for drum washing machines — unopened, brand new.

'Jackpot!'

Aside from that, there was nothing else worth taking. I stepped outside the building and returned to the Blessed Farmland with Chuk-bok.

Two zombies were shambling around outside the field — ones that had wandered in from National Route 44 while I was away.

'One pays for the internet. The other covers water and electricity.'

I dispatched them with ease and stepped inside the Blessed Farmland.

Swisss—

The filth clinging to my clothes dissolved into fine particles and vanished — all the grime from beheading zombies. Just as the zombies' corpses were purified, so too did the foul residue of the hunt disappear from my clothing.

Not that it stripped away the dust on my coat or the honest sweat soaked into my undershirt, mind you.

"You hungry?"

Woof!

Chuk-bok answered me for the very first time.

I stepped into the farming cabin, stripped off my clothes, and started a load of laundry. Who knew dropping drum-washer detergent into a drum washing machine could feel this satisfying?

'Let's get Chuk-bok's food ready first.'

Then I'd leisurely set out my own lunch.

Just then, a message appeared before my eyes.

I peered out through the window.

It wasn't a person.

But it wasn't a wild animal either.

'A dairy cow?'

I stepped outside the cabin. My eyes hadn't deceived me. A dairy cow had walked into the Blessed Farmland!

'Why?'

Nobody in Deoksu-ri Village raised dairy cattle. It had probably come from a neighboring village. Jin-beom's words came back to me — everyone in the neighboring villages had fallen to the zombies.

With no one left to feed them, the cow must have broken out of its pen.

Cattle, by nature, have strong homing instincts and rarely wander far from their home. But under stress from environmental changes like starvation, that all changed. This one had traveled a dozen-odd kilometers to get here.

Moooo—

The cow lowed at the sight of me.

'What am I supposed to do with this thing?'

Keeping one dog was no burden at all — but a dairy cow? That was a genuinely impossible ask.

'I've never raised one in my life.'

Just then, a new message materialized before my eyes.

A Sudden Mission, out of nowhere. It was genuinely baffling. Casar Aurelion, who had only ever urged me to hunt zombies, was now demanding that I raise livestock.

But this time, the reward for success was being revealed in advance.