Chapter 41
Chapter 41
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 41
Chapter Title: Life After the Apocalypse
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The villa at the foot of the mountain had a total of six members.
How many had survived?
I scoured every corner of the villa, but there wasn't a single sign of life.
"It's completely empty."
That means all the supplies here are mine.
I headed up to the second floor and pulled out a glow stone to look around. There were dozens of cartons of cigarettes stacked up.
"What'd they hoard all this for?"
I don't smoke, but having them isn't a bad thing.
They could become a valuable trading currency down the line.
"Once the auction house opens, these will fetch a nice price."
I'd heard cigarettes have a shelf life, but that's for the smokers to worry about.
I opened the balcony door and found it packed with pet bottles of beer and soju.
Getting drunk in a dire situation is risky, but people don't always act rationally.
Sometimes you just can't handle the stress and reach for a drink.
Of course, I wouldn't touch it unless I was in a safe spot.
I moved every last supply from the house to the shelter.
As I struggled to my feet, my head spun.
Even after a short nap, the fatigue hadn't lifted.
"Well, after all that ordeal yesterday..."
I wanted to crash on the mattress, but since I'd come out, I had to finish what I set out to do.
Loot the fireworks, then rest up for a while.
"Dingo, come here."
I followed the planned route with Dingo.
It was a fair distance to Gwangalli Pier, but sticking to the riverside road should keep things clear.
Once out of the residential area, the devastation of the high-rises came into view.
"Holy shit."
Not a single building stood intact.
Piles of concrete rubble towered like mountains, with a few zombies shambling nearby.
The riverside park, once bustling with crowds around this time, was deserted.
"Just us, huh?"
Dingo trotted ahead confidently.
Heading to Suyeong-gu, the bridge was predictably out, as expected.
"Couldn't handle the weight, I guess."
Makes sense—with how heavy bridges are, concrete alone couldn't hold it.
I scanned the northern bridge with plastic binoculars, but it was the same story.
"Guess we boat from here."
I pulled out a rubber boat and inflated it.
Couldn't use the outboard motor, so I left it.
I launched the boat into the river, hopped on, and clapped at Dingo.
"Jump!"
He leaped aboard nimbly.
No one around to row for me.
I paddled slowly, but the current was strong, slamming the boat into the embankment repeatedly.
Docking at Gwangalli Pier, an enormous stockpile of fireworks awaited me.
"Nice... they really didn't move them."
They'd planned to load them onto a barge but stashed them here when shit hit the fan.
If they'd made it to the barge, the metal plague would've sunk the whole lot into the sea.
Now I just had to quietly take them.
"No one's around..."
From the pier, the pitch-black cityscape looked utterly desolate.
Still, someone in there had to be hanging on.
Dodging zombies, scavenging food, teaming up with people, fighting...
That's how we'd live, day by day.
Until we drop dead.
"At least I'm better off..."
With the otherworld forest, I could retreat and rest anytime.
The forest wasn't perfectly safe, but it beat this monster-infested hellhole by miles.
"Once monsters start popping up, it'll be pure hell."
Goblins, kobolds, and other otherworld critters showing up won't make the zombies vanish.
The remaining supplies would get looted by monsters, bottoming out fast.
Survival would get even tougher.
Only a tiny fraction would make it...
But I was confident I'd survive to the end.
Inspecting the plastic-wrapped fireworks, I was startled.
"What the hell, these are huge?"
Each one was as thick as my forearm.
Some were jar-sized, barely qualifying as fireworks.
These were basically rockets, right?
One wrong spark during storage, and the shelter's toast.
"Too big to even throw properly."
I could disassemble them for other uses, so I had to take them all anyway.
"Transport's easy enough, but storage is the issue."
One stray ember, and my forest life ends in a bang.
Burying them risks moisture ruining them.
After some thought, I decided on a two-step move.
Stash them in the shelter first, then haul to the house next door.
Zombies wouldn't care about gunpowder.
Looters? Maybe.
Hide them in the rundown next-door place.
Block the entrance with rubble, and most won't bother.
"Decorate with zombie corpses for extra flair."
Truth be told, they were so massive, even a few were a haul.
Grinning ear to ear, I dragged them to the open lot.
Exhausted, but I wanted to crash at home.
Sleeping anywhere random might get me a zombie wake-up call.
"Long trek back."
I stowed the boat in the dimension gate and walked with Dingo.
Zombies swarmed the road in front of Gwangalli Beach.
I lit a firework and tossed it.
Boom boom boom!
Felt like a damn bomb went off.
Fireworks exploded everywhere.
Zombies groaned and charged; I bolted with Dingo in the chaos.
After an hour of running and walking...
I made it back to my home base.
Completely drained, body and soul.
I moved the fireworks next door, decorated the entrance with zombies, and staggered.
Hit the mattress, and my head spun like crazy.
Worried about tomorrow morning...
I drifted off to the sound of the wind as my lullaby.
Whiiine— Whirr—
The wind howled like mad from morning.
Peering out the peephole with the binoculars from Hyeon, signs were whipping around wildly.
"Typhoon."
Summer time—right on schedule.
Zombies roaming outside were in deep shit.
Blown around, tripping over each other.
One got its head smashed by a flowerpot and stayed down.
In that scenario, does the flowerpot get the points?
Looked comedic from afar, but up close it'd be tragedy.
"Gonna have to hunker down for a bit."
Head to the forest, finish the moat, prep for winter.
Shoot the valley boss Owl Bear with the rifle.
Stock up on smoked red trout too.
"Today's to-do list..."
I jotted it down in my notebook.
Greenhouse veggie patch would be ideal.
We'll see how far we get.
Crossed to the forest with Dingo.
It was practically hail—ice rain pounding down.
"Typhoon out there, ice storm here... gonna lose it, Dingo."
So cold my fingers and toes felt like they'd snap off.
Dingo seemed unfazed, though.
At this temp, the stream's probably frozen...
I glanced at the sky and scrapped the drone idea.
Drone's too precious now—gotta hoof it myself.
With hot packs on, I dug the moat.
Mini excavator made it bigger and deeper than planned.
This'll deter most small monsters.
Plus barbed wire fence, and ice walls for winter.
"Even orcs couldn't breach this."
Anything bigger, no guarantees.
I skipped meals, pushed through, and finally finished the moat.
"Skip the glass shards..."
Done with work, no more energy.
Breaking bottles felt wasteful too.
I covered the excavator with a tarp and patrolled the valley with Dingo.
K2 rifle slung proudly over my shoulder.
Five shots for the Keeper, 15 rounds left.
How many for an Owl Bear?
"Headshots, maybe three."
Problem is, it's not slow.
If Dingo were bigger, he could distract while I sniped. Shame.
"Gotta eat up and grow fast."
Random comment got a Woof from Dingo.
Just testing.
Ice rain froze the ground slick.
We crept carefully to the valley.
"Whoa... not frozen yet."
Red trout moved sluggishly.
Could grab 'em by hand at this rate?
Dipped my hand in—yanked it out fast.
"Ugh."
Yeah, dumb ideas stay ideas.
Cast the net, hauled it in.
A few red trout; bagged 'em tight.
Cast again, tasked Dingo.
"Keep eyes peeled for that Owl Bear, got it?"
Woof.
In the forest, I can wear my watch—perception hits 14.
Dingo and I are even on sensing presences.
But Dingo beat me this time.
He caught the Owl Bear's scent, crouched, growling.
Normally I'd bolt without looking back, but not anymore.
"Got this."
Chambered a round in the K2, set to semi-auto.
Aimed at the charging Owl Bear.
A little scary—okay, a bit more—but eyes locked.
Forest life and the rifle toughened my nerves.
"Please hit..."
Dexterity 2 gloves boost accuracy big time.
Sights off, but range is 30m—close.
Its charge was ferocious, but bullets don't discriminate.
Pulled the trigger—Owl Bear crumpled.
Groooar—
Not dead; it struggled up.
Dingo charged, barking furiously; I fired again.
Bang!
Unnamed mountain birds scattered.
Bang!
Final shot pierced its forehead.
Shouldered the rifle, watched for movement.
Owl Bear was done.
No metal plague here—rifle rounds pack insane penetration.
In the city, it'd take ten shots easy.
+ 25 Points Acquired
+ New Skill: Movement Without Presence
"Oh ho."
This skill erases presence.
Drastically cuts footsteps, breathing, clothing rustle when moving.
Pair it with Stealth trait? Cheat level.
Too bad I ate that one.
"Still handy for escapes."
No dimension gate? Hide, and most monsters miss me.
Zombie tracking's nerfed too.
Now, what to do with Owl Bear meat.
Digging a pit's a pain; too damn big.
"Gotta be 400kg."
Just hack off two legs.
Buried the Bone Creeper sight unseen before, but no choice now.
"Hate butchering, but practice for wild boars later..."
Looted its claws, cut two legs lightly, tossed far.
Six massive Owl Bear claws in hand.
Wing ones long enough for knife use.
"These fetch decent cred."
Shop items better, but rarity has charm.
Lots of players preferred monster-looted gear over shop stuff.
Till they went vet and punched everything bare-fisted.
"Dingo, home."
Gunshots might draw monsters.
Packed up, back to shelter.
July 26th.
Quite a few things happened over the past few days.
I scouted nearby, picked a house with decent supplies, tipped off my brother.
Left some cigarette cartons—must've hit the spot.
Family losses had left people down, but they were regaining some spark.
I watched, then suggested moving.
That rickety little building looked ready to collapse every time.
They agreed, relocated to a nearby two-story academy.
Former taekwondo dojo—spacious enough for them.
Hunted zombies and monsters, leveled to 15.
Trait bonuses up to slot 0.
Convenient, but something bigger mattered more.
"Auction house."
A UI nearly identical to the shop unfolded.
Difference: menu to list my own items.
"Fees... jacked up again."
10% of final bid—doubled from 5%.
Fuming, I clicked auction items—and froze.
Already a listing.
Worn ebony club, "aged" durability tag—but irrelevant.
"Who the hell posted this?"
Calm down.
Possible to outlevel me.
I'm no combat build—shelter builds, farming, busy as hell.
What if a vet with killer combat trait farmed nonstop?
Late start, but powerleveled for sure.
With knowledge like mine.
"Item 1."
Inside, comments left behind.
I chuckled softly.
I know who you are.
End of Life After the Apocalypse