A Man's Diary
Jeron thoroughly looted the stationery store in front of the middle school. It took him quite a while because he swept up everything, even hairpins and thumbtacks.
Whether these items could actually be sold would be up to Bircken, the merchant guild master, to decide.
While the items that could fetch a fortune were limited, they would likely command a decent price if packaged individually.
Whoosh.
A cold wind blew mercilessly through the broken window, piercing right through him. He suddenly looked down at his right hand.
The blackened Golden Key.
Although the key was not blinking yet, transporting the backpack to the Karen Continent required a corresponding amount of mana, so he stopped what he was doing.
To Jeron, Earth was nothing short of a golden treasury.
No matter where he looked, everything was something the Karen Continent desperately needed. Steel materials were simply too heavy to carry back; if he could stay indefinitely, he would have brought over a crew of laborers to break down the concrete of the buildings and haul it all away.
Knowing that staying any longer might force him to leave one of his backpacks behind, he reluctantly opened the dimensional gate and returned to his room.
The scenery changed in an instant.
While Earth was in the dead of winter, the Karen Continent was entering midsummer.
The sudden spike in temperature made Jeron realize, once again, that he had crossed dimensions.
A deep sense of lingering regret washed over him.
Perhaps he wanted to stay on Earth even more because he knew that training there was over ten times more efficient.
Jeron set aside the backpack containing today's harvest and pulled out the man's diary.
Tucked inside the first page of the worn leather diary was a half-torn family photo.
A happy family of four.
It looked like it had been taken outdoors using a camera timer before the world fell apart.
The background of the photo showed a single-family home with a yard, the ground neatly covered in green grass.
Though cluttered with scattered, untidy toys, this photo was undoubtedly a treasure containing the man's happiest memories.
An ID card was tucked into a slot in the leather diary.
Through it, Jeron learned the man's name and age.
Yoon Sung-sil
Resident Registration Number: 830507-1XXXXXX
Address: XX-XX Segok-dong, Gangnam-gu, Seoul
"What a coincidence. He was the same age as I was on Earth. And his address was in Gangnam. Even in Segok-dong, a house like that would have cost at least five billion won."
No one on Earth could escape the bitterness of the apocalypse, but he couldn't help but wonder how devastated this man must have been—a man who had a beautiful wife, lovely children, and a considerable fortune.
The first page of the diary. The handwriting was exceptionally neat, almost as if he had received professional calligraphy training.
Life here in the shelter isn't bad. Although we never know when those things will attack, the Seosan shelter is being run quite well. We managed to secure weapons from a military supply truck that overturned nearby, and we've organized a self-defense force to operate systematically.
The world has ended because of the mutants, but just being with my family gives me more than enough reason to live.
It was only after the world ended that I realized what true happiness is.
A hopeful life. It overlapped strangely with Jeron's past life.
In the early days of the apocalypse, quite a few people survived in family units and struggled to stay alive by any means necessary.
Many gave up on life, but the heads of households—especially those whose wives and children were still alive—exerted superhuman strength to carry on.
True happiness found in the apocalypse. The first half of the man's diary was filled with such stories.
It detailed what they did to survive and how he found meaning in life. He expressed gratitude for being able to find happiness even in this broken world.
While Jeron didn't think the destruction of the world was anything to be grateful for, the man was as positive and diligent as his name, Sung-sil, which meant "sincerity."
Because of that, Jeron felt a sense of dread approaching the middle section of the diary. He could already guess what was coming.
When the mutants were only slightly stronger than normal humans, they weren't a major threat.
The problem started when they began emitting a blue light.
Whether it was an evolution or not, they became incredibly powerful when the blue light flowed through them, and some individuals could even deflect bullets.
Unless you could shoot them precisely in their vital spots, cold weapons like arrows, swords, and spears were actually more efficient.
Yesterday, a few members of the self-defense force were killed by them.
They are gradually encroaching on our territory.
Deserters have already begun leaving the shelter, but only parts of their bodies are found the next day, or they vanish without a trace, leaving us only to assume they were killed by the mutants.
"As expected. That's what happened."
The evolution of the mutants had thrown the entire shelter into jeopardy.
Jeron read the diaries of survivors not just to reminisce about his past life by feeling the experiences of those who lived through the same era, but also for the valuable information scattered within them.
He knew mutants used mana, but he had assumed it was merely a buff; he hadn't realized they could employ a concept similar to a shield.
While cold weapons made it easier to inflict meaningful damage, thrusting a sword or spear into such monsters face-to-face was an incredibly difficult task.
It was uncertain whether even the current Jeron could pull it off.
As the diary progressed into the middle section, bloodstains began to appear on the pages. He couldn't even begin to guess whose blood it was.
The number of survivors has been cut in half.
Everyone is trembling with fear, and our food supplies are slowly running out.
While everyone was in despair, Mr. Kang, who majored in mechanical engineering and worked with machinery, created a mechanical crossbow using various materials found around the shelter.
This was the sole beacon of hope for us in our despair.
He twisted wire capable of withstanding one ton to make the bowstring, and installed a mechanical device inside to make it easy to draw.
The interior of the crossbow is organically connected with very small pulleys, allowing us to draw a string that would be impossible to pull with human strength alone.
He even designed it so that with just a battery, even a child could draw it.
Its piercing power was immense.
It could pierce even steel plates, and it proved to be a great asset in battles against the mutants.
The mysterious blue energy emitted by those bastards was useless against it.
The mechanical crossbow pierced through everything in existence, and we regained our confidence.
"I knew it!"
Jeron let out an audible exclamation of awe.
This was exactly why he paid attention to the survivors of Earth.
To put it coldly, the weak would have all perished.
Only the strong survived, and they must have acquired all sorts of survival skills.
Jeron himself could craft a simple bow, and if he had pulleys made of lightweight materials, he could even make a compound bow.
When pushed to do whatever it takes to survive, humans naturally adapt and evolve.
In particular, finding a survivor from an engineering background—a so-called "techie"—would be hitting the jackpot.
Though they would have to pass various tests regarding their character, the entry of just one such person could cause his territory to skyrocket.
Indeed, modern rote education was a powerful thing.
Most people on Earth were talents who had received over twenty years of education.
A graduate from a third-rate university? It didn't matter which university they went to; the important thing was that they had been educated for over two decades.
Compared to this primitive world where proper schools did not exist and one had to learn from private tutors or parents, survivors from Earth were incredibly valuable talents—a fact he felt deep in his bones.
If they held a doctorate, they were Earthlings who had spent twenty-five years just getting educated.
By the standards of the Karen Continent, that was equivalent to spending more than half of one's life in school.
Jeron picked up the diary again, harboring a sliver of hopeful anticipation.
All the enemies near the shelter have been slaughtered.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, and a new crossbow was crafted every few days.
Since we were all armed with over twenty crossbows in total, we thought we had nothing to fear. However, it didn't take more than a few months to realize how arrogant that was.
The Great Invasion.
The mutants swarmed into the city, and each individual grew even stronger.
The crossbows were still useful, but the monsters moved too fast. With dozens of such beasts moving in unison, the shelter collapsed in an instant.
My wife died first. Then Boyoung, and finally, Sechan.
There were frantic, scribbled marks on the page.
In the man's diary, which had otherwise recorded events in detail, the deaths of his family were summarized in just a single line.
The tone of the diary shifted abruptly. One could tell from the handwriting that his mental state had become extremely frayed.
I don't deserve to be alive. I should have died with my family back then. Now that everyone I was close to and my family are all dead, it would only be right to get revenge and end it all. But in the midst of the chaos, I fell, knocked myself out, and somehow survived.
The shelter was overrun by mutants, and I fled like a madman.
Yes, I was a coward.
Why couldn't I end my own life?
In this world where I've lost everything, is there really any value in me living?
Utter chaos. The man constantly contemplated suicide and had even tried to hang himself, but he survived because the rope snapped.
He blamed himself and despised his own lack of courage to die.
Jeron bit his lip, understanding those emotions all too well.
He had been just like this man. The circumstances differed, but his psychological state matched the diary entries perfectly.
Humans do not die easily. Most people who committed suicide when pushed to the brink were not in their right minds.
Ending one's life in a sober state was no easy task, and that was how Jeron had survived for several years.
Having lost everything, the man wandered aimlessly from place to place. His diary entries grew sparse, written only when the thought crossed his mind.
Finally, the last page. It was a letter addressed to whoever found it.
If you are reading this diary, I am probably already dead. If you have survived until now, you might have gone through even harsher things than I did.
This morning, when I opened my eyes, it suddenly occurred to me: today might be my last day.
The reason I am leaving this letter to you is to ask for a shameless favor.
I leave behind a map of the shelter.
I have tried to reclaim the shelter and bury the remains of my family and friends, but I failed and ended up wandering like this.
If you happen to pick up this diary, please.
Please recover the remains of my family and friends in the shelter.
There should be about twenty mechanical crossbows left there, so I don't think it will be a loss for you.
If you do this for me, I will be grateful to you even in death.
"Whew." Jeron let out a long breath.
Through the diary, Jeron had obtained several pieces of information. At the very end, the man had even marked the farming location for the mechanical crossbows, which were bound to be more valuable than sniper rifles or pistols.
The man's only request was to recover the remains. This was undoubtedly a major discovery that would greatly aid Jeron's future endeavors.
Yet, Jeron's heart felt heavy.
"I hope you find happiness wherever you are now."