Basecamp
Although a layer of dust had settled inside the fourth-floor apartment, it was perfectly preserved.
In the living room, a television, a sofa, and a display cabinet were neatly arranged, and a carpet was spread across the floor.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror in the entryway, Jeron could see his reflection clearly.
For the first time in his life, he was able to examine his own appearance in detail.
"I was born with quite a decent face."
Now, as in his past life, having good looks carried many advantages. The Farrow family genes had been excellent for generations, and that held true for his father's generation as well.
Though he had only heard rumors, his father, Ark Farrow, was said to have broken quite a few hearts in his youth.
The reflection of Jeron in the mirror showed the same potential.
While a noble's worth was not officially judged by their appearance, looking clean and presentable was undeniably advantageous in politics.
His blonde hair cascaded down to his shoulders like a waterfall, and his sharp jawline and distinct features came together in perfect harmony.
Yet, seeing this face felt strangely foreign.
He closed the front door and slid the deadbolt firmly into place.
With the door shut, the interior became quite dark.
Jeron raised one of the window shutters.
Security had been tight; every window in sight was fitted with sturdy shutters. Thanks to that, the interior had remained completely untouched by the elements.
Thud.
Jeron sank into the sofa.
For a brief moment, he fell into the illusion that he had returned to the ordinary days of his past life.
The faces of his family flickered in his mind.
If he closed his eyes, he could almost believe his wife was cooking in the kitchen, and his children were running around the living room.
A noisy TV would be blaring children's cartoons, and his daughter, influenced by her older brother, would be running around swinging a toy sword.
A family photo hung above the living room sofa, and the display cabinet was lined with the liquors he used to enjoy. They were mostly whiskies, dominated by thirty-year-old bottles.
He used to sneak the bottles into the freezer behind his wife's back. Taking a cold shot after a long day, feeling that icy burn slide down his throat, had been an absolute delight.
When he returned home from work, the kids would jump straight into his arms, and his wife would nag him to wash up quickly and eat dinner.
It was a fleeting memory of past happiness.
When Jeron opened his eyes, only the silent, desolate room met his gaze.
The family photo hanging behind the sofa featured the faces of complete strangers.
"Whew."
Jeron shook his head, clearing his thoughts.
This place was suitable as a hideout, but it also contained plenty of items worth farming.
In particular, the aged whiskies in the liquor cabinet shone with a tempting luster, making him want to get drunk for the first time in ages.
The living room featured a standard sink, with dishes neatly organized nearby.
Opening the cabinet beneath the sink revealed a half-empty bag of rice, along with sesame oil, red pepper paste, and soybean paste. In another corner lay stacks of canned tuna, spam, and packaged kimchi.
"Ha, a jackpot."
It couldn't get any better than this.
With the ingredients gathered here, he could easily whip up a pot of kimchi stew. There were even a few packs of instant ramen, meaning he could prepare a proper meal using that magical seasoning powder.
Even though he had eaten not long ago, his mouth began to water.
Next, he checked the master bedroom.
It was a typical bedroom with a bed, a nightstand lamp, and a closet for bedding.
The two smaller rooms were decorated in distinct boy and girl themes, which stirred Jeron's nostalgia even further.
Toys lay scattered here and there.
Judging by the accumulation of dust, it had been at least three months since anyone lived here. Until then, the inhabitants seemed to have lived a life completely detached from the apocalypse outside.
However, the field of corpses stretching all the way to the front entrance of the building showed just how fiercely the residents had fought to defend their home.
Then again, if he had set up this level of security and stocked this much food, Jeron would have made the exact same choice. Prioritizing oneself and one's family was simply human nature.
He decided he could use this place as a basecamp for the time being. If he searched carefully, he would probably find the keys to the front door.
Jeron brushed aside the rush of emotions and sat cross-legged in the master bedroom.
He had resolved to train for at least an hour whenever he entered Earth, provided he could find a safe location.
Having tested the environment, he confirmed that the mana density here was more than ten times higher than on the Karen Continent. It would undoubtedly be of great help.
Using the mana cultivation method he had received from Count Hanes, he began to draw in the surrounding mana.
Whoosh.
A gentle breeze naturally formed around him.
As the mana rushed into Jeron's body, it dragged the air along with it, creating a small vortex that swept through the room.
It was an immense amount of mana.
Because the volume of incoming mana was so large, the amount escaping his body was also significant. Yet, the net amount accumulating inside him was still ten times greater than what he could gather on the Karen Continent.
Jeron immediately began the process of compressing the mana.
Once you succeed in sensing mana and gathering it within your body, the third task is to compress it at a focal point to form a circle.
While accumulating mana in the brain—the presumed sanctuary of the soul—is the most efficient method, that technique was lost long ago.
Most mages accumulate mana in the heart. The heart is the source of life, and it never stops beating from birth until death. By using the heart as the engine to rotate the mana, one can form a circle.
Jeron naturally guided the mana toward his heart.
Thump! Thump!
An immense pressure weighed down on him.
It felt as though the raw mana was directly assaulting his heart.
Fearing that he might suffer a heart attack at a young age, Jeron halted the compression.
"The process of compressing mana is incredibly difficult. Even if I succeed in compressing it to form a circle, I will still need to discover spells and learn incantations. It would be best to visit Count Hanes as soon as possible."
Jeron reached a conclusion.
Continuing to train like this felt too dangerous given the pressure on his heart. It would be wiser to seek advice from Count Hanes, who, despite only being at the 1st Circle, actually possessed a functioning mana hole.
Jeron stood up without delay.
He still had about an hour and a half left.
Though he had lost some time reminiscing in the hideout, he hadn't wasted too much of it.
Jeron left the building and approached the middle school. Following his rule of checking twice before proceeding, he scanned the school and its surroundings once more. Only after confirming there was no movement did he advance.
In front of the middle school, three riot police buses stood parked in a row, just as he had seen from afar.
Before them lay the mummified remains of what appeared to be riot officers.
Through the wire-mesh windows of the bus, he could see polycarbonate shields lined up above the seats.
The doors of the riot bus were open, and severed skeletal remains were scattered inside. The mutants had clearly breached the vehicle.
There were signs of violent resistance, but the officers had stood no chance.
Peering inside the bus, he spotted plastic batons and disposable fire extinguishers near the rear exit.
In the overhead luggage racks, riot gear and helmets were neatly arranged, each marked with a name tag.
Private First Class Lee Bong-sik
Corporal Han Yu-geun
Sergeant Park Su-cheol
Jeron felt a pang of pity.
The officers who boarded this bus had been someone's sons, someone's family. Yet they had died without ever seeing their loved ones again.
"Tsk. Why do I always get so sentimental whenever I come to Earth?"
Jeron took a quick look around the riot bus and stepped out.
The bus was not his primary target today. He planned to raid the stationery store first and leave the bus for later.
Since he intended to run a merchant group, he needed to bring goods back to his territory's merchant group as part of a luxury brand strategy. The current inventory was far too small to sustain such an operation.
Despite farming diligently for over a month, he hadn't gathered enough to supply a merchant group and execute his high-end strategy. That was why he had decided to raid the stationery store.
He turned his steps toward the shop.
[Ahyeon Stationery]
It was a typical stationery store sign commonly found near schools. Such shops usually had large glass windows to display their interior, but the glass here had been shattered, leaving the inside completely exposed.
No human bones were visible inside.
Although drag marks stretched out from the broken window, there were no corpses left in the store.
The shop, which was about three hundred square feet, showed signs of a struggle, and numerous footprints suggested that survivors had frequented the place.
The display stands were overturned, a common sight in this ruined world, so Jeron focused on the items lining the walls.
Even in an apocalypse, many items remained highly useful. There were tools and office supplies that could be put to good use.
Anything deemed essential for survival had already been looted, while things considered useless for survival were perfectly preserved.
These included A4 paper, pens, sketchbooks, paints, scissors, glue sticks, cheap perfumes, earrings, stuffed animals, rulers, protractors, and double-sided tape.
Though he wasn't sure how he would use all of it, he swept everything into his backpack anyway. Even if he cleared out the entire store, it would barely fill two backpacks.
"Not bad," Jeron consoled himself.
Some items left him puzzled as to how he would sell them, but he packed them regardless. He figured rulers, protractors, and compasses might prove useful in their own way.
Additionally, there were a significant number of reference books, though they had suffered some moisture damage. The supplementary study guides were useless to him, so he searched for basic science textbooks that could help revolutionize his territory.
"Is this the limit of middle school textbooks?"
Jeron pondered for a moment, then shook his head. Even books meant for middle schoolers would contain knowledge that could greatly benefit his territory.
His gaze naturally drifted toward the middle school, which looked like a set from a horror movie.
Even a small middle school would have a library. And as Jeron recalled, school libraries held a vast number of books.
A treasury of knowledge that could bring massive changes to a medieval society.
Jeron saw limitless potential hidden within that bleak, silent building.