The Gates of Hell Swing Open

The massive iron gates creaked open with a groan that seemed to shake the very air.

“Aaaah… Aaaagh!! No! Why this time…! Why the hell is it opening?!”

Beside me, a one-armed old man wearing nothing but a pair of ragged, filthy pants dropped to his knees in the dirt. He threw his head back and screamed as if he were vomiting blood.

His eyes were filled with nothing but pure, one-hundred-percent despair, as though the horrific hell he’d experienced the last time those gates opened was replaying vividly in his mind.

And right next to him was the owner of the flour mill bakery—the woman I stole from most often.

She was the kind of woman whose hawk-like vigilance made it nearly impossible to swipe even a single loaf with my magic. She wouldn’t tolerate a single fly landing on her display stand. Not a single gap in her defense.

The only reason I’d ever managed to slip past that murderous surveillance was thanks to the miraculous split-second distraction whenever her two daughters caused some kind of trouble.

Yet that same woman, who would never leave her stand—her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠entire livelihood—had now abandoned everything. The precious bread, the sacks of flour, even the money box. She’d grabbed her daughters’ hands and was running like a madwoman.

“Run faster!! Don’t look back! Just run!!”

Her voice, as she yanked her daughters along so hard their arms looked like they might pop out of their sockets, was drenched in pure terror.

She was leaving all of that behind?

A warning siren began blaring inside my head. For a merchant in this slum, abandoning their stall was the same as abandoning their life. These stubborn bastards would bet their lives on a single breadcrumb even if it meant starving tomorrow. And yet they were fleeing while leaving their entire fortune behind?

This wasn’t just a commotion or an evacuation. This was a full-scale exodus.

Just what the hell was so terrifying about those damned iron gates opening?

What the hell was crawling out from beyond that stupid door to make people scream and run like this?!

In that instant, my instinct to flee collided with my desperate need to understand what was happening, freezing my feet to the ground.

A dusty wind blew in from the direction of the wall, smothering the stale stench of the market as it settled over us.

The perfect pandemonium—screams and frantic footsteps tangled together, assaulting the ears. Men, women, young and old, everyone was running without so much as a backward glance in a state of total panic.

And in the middle of it all, my abnormally sharp brain began to spark.

Everyone’s abandoning their shops while they run, huh? This is… a perfect opening!

I quickly decided to take full advantage of the chaos and began looting the stalls.

Gotta do what you gotta do, right?

I pushed against the tide of fleeing people and dove madly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠into the market stalls.

Two large, soft loaves of bread that still carried the warmth of the oven. And the bakery lady’s old, heavy coin box that she hadn’t had time to grab while running!

Hugging my dazzling spoils to my chest, I grinned through the layer of dust covering my face.

Lady, I won’t forget this kindness! When I make it big later, I’ll pay you back ten times—no, a hundred times what this bread is worth! So please forgive me!

After all, you chose to grab your daughters’ hands and run instead of saving the bread, didn’t you?

I’m not the bad guy here. The world is.

The important thing is that right now, I’ve become the richest person in this district. Probably.

After carefully stashing my spoils deep inside my shack, I splashed some water on my face and cautiously poked my head out through the rotten wooden door to check the situation outside.

The street had devolved into an even worse state of uncontrollable pandemonium than before.

A tidal wave of people with deathly pale faces, screaming as they ran, showed no sign of ending. They trampled mercilessly over anyone who fell, spitting out torn screams, yet they kept fleeing like beasts—running and running without end.

Pressed flat against the wall, I watched the horrific scene in a daze when a single question flashed through my mind.

Just how far do these people think they can run?

Think about it rationally. This slum is a perfectly sealed fish farm, completely surrounded on all sides by a massive wall with no gaps whatsoever.

Even if the Grim Reaper himself were chasing them with a scythe, no matter how hard they ran until their feet bled, the only place they’d reach was the cold wall on the opposite side. Trapped in this hole with nowhere to hide, what was the point of running so blindly?

Watching that mindless stampede—people running without even knowing where they were going—made them look incredibly stupid and pathetic…

Yet at the same time, a horrifying sense of dread crawled up my spine like a snake, choking the breath from my lungs.

Because they weren’t stupid.

It meant that something so terrifying and overwhelming had come pouring through those open iron gates that it had burned away even the most basic human reason and judgment.

Thud. Thuuud.

The sound suddenly cut off like a lie. It seemed the enormous gates had finally opened all the way.

People were still being swept away like a tidal wave, desperate to get as far from the gates as possible. But I stopped moving. Inside me, curiosity began to raise its head, suppressing the instinct to run.

What the hell came out of that gate to make them run like their lives depended on it?

I still had magic that no one else knew about. And hadn’t I survived that brutal chase last night and made it back safely?

Just what were they running from?

Objectively speaking, I clearly had a talent for running away.

Above all, for someone like me who knew nothing, information about what was happening was a perfect lifeline—something I would trade for gold in an instant.

If I was going to die, I at least wanted to die knowing why.

I turned against the flow of fleeing people and began moving stealthily toward the iron gates alone.

Flattened like a cockroach behind the wreckage of a collapsed shack, I once again pulled on the line in my mind.

Thick shadows gathered over my retinas, violently expanding my field of vision.

Through the thick dust, the true forms of the uninvited guests who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had stepped into this cesspit from beyond the wall became crystal clear in my eyes.

Monsters? Beasts? No.

They were perfectly normal people walking on two legs.

What first caught my eye was the clothing they wore. The fabric was so luxurious and exquisite that even the beggars of our slum could never touch so much as a sleeve in their entire lives.

If the clothes I’d seen on the street last night had been the pinnacle of luxury and splendor, the attire of the people before me now was on an entirely different level.

Splendor was the baseline. On top of that, there was a razor-sharp military discipline without a single flaw. Dozens, hundreds of people wearing identical designs and identical patterns, marching in perfect step like machines—the overwhelming sense of uniformity was breathtaking.

Yes. Those were uniforms.

Don’t tell me…

The word those bastards chasing me last night had spat out slammed into my head.

The identity of these human weapons in uniform was undoubtedly that Knight Order.

So what the hell were these oh-so-noble knights doing in this filthy slum?

As I hid behind the debris and observed them persistently, my vision caught another completely different group mixing in.

Unlike the rigidly disciplined knights, these people wore layer upon layer of bizarre and gaudy robes that looked completely unrestrained.

Some walked while leaning on staves as tall as a human torso. Others floated massive, heavy metal equipment through the air—impossible to guess what was inside. There was even one who wasn’t touching the ground at all, gliding through the air like a ghost.

Whoa, shit. Levitation? Are these guys actually real mages?

Wow. Are those people really mages?

The moment they stepped inside the wall, they all frowned deeply in unison as if they’d promised to do so, covering their noses with their sleeves. It seemed the unique rotten stench and foul odor of the slum had mercilessly assaulted their noble sense of smell.

Flat on the ground, I watched their shit-eating expressions and burst into silent laughter.

If it’s that disgusting, why don’t you just go back where you came from?

The ones I assumed were mages endured their dry heaves while slamming their unidentified equipment into the ground with loud thuds. With serious expressions, they began scouting the surroundings.

And around them, the knights formed a perfect circle.

In their hands, they already held drawn swords with edges sharp enough to make one shudder.

Their attitude was thoroughly defensive, yet perfectly hostile. It felt as if they considered even the air of this slum unclean. The terrifying killing intent made it clear that if even a single filthy beggar crossed the invisible line they had drawn, they would immediately dismember them on the spot.

In other words, as long as you didn’t approach within a certain radius or offend them, the knights wouldn’t bother chasing after the bugs rolling in the mud to kill them.

Their purpose was clearly not massacre. It was strictly centered on installing those bizarre devices and protecting the mages.

I needed information.

I had to find out what those devices were for and what exactly they were plotting here. Only then could I decide the direction I would take to live—or rather, to survive—from now on.

I swallowed hard. Using the deep shadows created by the collapsed garbage pile as my shield, I began inching closer to them. Extremely slowly. Without making a single sound.

It was a precarious tightrope walk with my life as the stake. But I had no other choice.