You Will Die (1)

While Ju Kang-rim was flustered by the Saingeom's generous acknowledgment, a message pinged in.

Ju Kang-rim was taken aback by Yeomra's message. It wasn't surprising that Yeomra knew and had messaged him. What flustered him was the emoji that came with it—a chibi character in a floral shirt and suit strutting around with speech bubbles flying everywhere.

Realizing what that character represented, Ju Kang-rim hesitated but started typing anyway.

Ju Kang-rim quickly deleted that and started over.

If they had the manpower to invest in this crap, they could support me a little more.

Thinking it was damn hard to butter up the boss, Ju Kang-rim opened the shop window. But when he saw "Avatar Package: 3,000 nyang," he muttered "crazy bastard" under his breath and quietly closed it.

Who else but Yeomra would blow money on shit like this?

"……."

This time it was from Yoo Wol-ryeong. Her blank-faced chibi was throwing finger hearts in celebration.

If they had money for this, they could improve welfare for us starving intern reapers.

What the hell? No matter how many new reapers come, I'm just protecting their bank accounts. That would be the real rotten tradition.

Ju Kang-rim decided he needed to change the subject fast.

Honestly, Ju Kang-rim was torn between boosting stealth again or going for attack power. One more point in stealth already made him invisible to normal people in the dark. But against immortals ahead, would stealth alone cut it?

Ju Kang-rim was shocked by Yeomra's words. Yoo Wol-ryeong's presence was so faint and silent, he'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠assumed heavy stealth investment. But she snapped back at Yeomra irritably.

After a moment's thought, Ju Kang-rim agreed with Yoo Wol-ryeong. All-in on one stat left you vulnerable to surprises like this. He was still too weak to rely on organization or comrades for his blind spots.

Ju Kang-rim chose attack power.

He liked all the boosts, but the weapon proficiency adaptation stood out most. Switching weapons usually took time to adjust, but this trait would let him adapt flexibly no matter how his Saingeom changed. Perfect.

It was Jang Han-taek's. The moment the final soul-calling succeeded, his body crumbled, releasing a black orb. Ju Kang-rim knew from experience it was a black core, but this one was different—harder, rounder, with intricate, ominous patterns that dizzied the eyes.

Yoo Wol-ryeong's avatar winked blankly. Probably meant OK. Oddly expressive for her look.

No sanctions for superiors' shady sales pitches down here? But recalling Yeomra was the judge, Ju Kang-rim shivered at the thought this deep-rooted corruption was unbreakable.

Wheeeeeen. Sirens blared deafeningly. The early morning rain had left the ground slick, but no firefighters dared approach the still-smoldering warehouse district.

And for good reason—military weapons had been found at the fire scene in bulk.

"Pull the trucks back and minimize damage!"

"Don't touch anything unnecessary—just hurry and move the injured!"

In this powder-keg situation where anything could blow, only the bomb squad could act. Around the blast site lay casualties like they'd fought among themselves. But no one in their right mind was left.

Then, a stray dog emerged from an evacuated warehouse. Ignoring everything else, it strode straight to the center.

Outside, a woman in a raincoat crouched with a crossbow. Her eyes didn't see the rainy warehouse district—they reflected the stray dog's view inside.

The dog sniffed around until it found a massive pool of blood.

"……This."

The woman halted the dog to assess. Combat had definitely happened here—scratches on the floor, scattered flesh chunks, countless footprints. The smell confirmed it was Jang Han-taek's blood.

But what could have done this to him? She pulled out her phone and called someone.

"Elder, it's Ttakkachi."

Ttakkachi was her mercenary alias. Common for zombie hunters like her to use nicknames over real names.

Silence on the line. Soon, a young man's voice—not matching "Elder"—replied.

"Black boxes and CCTV are all smashed. Pro job. Survivors are there, but they're all out of it—no interrogating now."

"Yes, Elder."

Click. Call ended.

Ttakkachi sent the dog to scout more traces. Then she spotted something odd around the blood pool. The flesh chunks' positions were weird—not random splatter from being filleted. Like severed fingers or arms had crawled to arrange themselves.

Suddenly, she realized they formed strange patterns. From the dog's low view, it was hard to make out. She had it climb a car.

Now the full picture—or writing—emerged.

"……Grim Reaper?"

Those four characters, in big and small script, formed an abstract pattern ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠endlessly. Realizing it, chills ran down Ttakkachi's spine.

Indescribable grudge writhed in the warehouse center. A message of terror-filled screams and wails.

'Grim Reaper'? Does he hate them for killing him and wrote it as revenge?

Useless intel. But no time to dwell—"Grim Reaper" meaning would wait. Heavy rumbling from the road: military trucks rolling in.

"Troops incoming! Clear space!"

Soldiers for bombs and guns. But against firefighters' expectations, it wasn't ROK Army—it was US forces.

"What? Why US troops...?"

"Dude, guess those Yongsan rumors were true. US weapons stolen en masse..."

Firefighters whispered as the US troops brazenly entered the warehouse, no cover-up attempt. Reporters filmed it all for broadcast.

Ttakkachi withdrew the dog, puzzled.

They're airing this raw? Thought they'd stay quiet to hide the weapons smuggling.

Mass US arms theft would kill a commander's career. Yet no media blackout—just straight broadcast.

Troops ignored it, doing their job silently.

Something's off about how this is playing out.

Ttakkachi slipped away quietly. Her mind was a mess. She knew what Jang Han-taek was—chosen by the Elder, like her.

But if he was dead, even the world the Elder promised wasn't guaranteed.

How's Kangryeong Daegun planning to spin this?