Chapter 207
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 207
Chapter Title: Next Target
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Before calling Christine, Ryu Min phoned Jeffrey first.
“Yeah? She’s coming?”
It was news that Christine was heading to Korea anyway.
“What’s the reason?”
-The Prophet wants to hear the next round’s prophecy in person, it seems.
‘She could’ve just asked over the phone, but she’s coming herself.’
Well, considering the prophecies always proved invaluable, refusing her over the phone would be rude.
“Jeffrey. Tail Christine. I’ll contact you when the time comes. Lure her to the location I want.”
-Understood.
‘I was planning to summon her using the next round’s prophecy as an excuse anyway...’
If she was coming on her own, there was no need for a call.
‘Better to keep my involvement hidden as much as possible.’
What if word reached Ma Kyung-rok that the Prophet had summoned Christine?
The arrows might point straight at him.
And naturally, the target could shift to his brother, Ryu Won.
‘That’s why I haven’t dumped the stocks recklessly. I need to play the victim too.’
It might not make sense for the Prophet to lose money on stocks, but he could just claim he hadn’t foreseen the future.
‘When the time comes, I’ll call Seo Ah-rin too. But from Black Scythe’s number, of course.’
His plan was to draw both to the same spot and reveal Ma Kyung-rok’s true face.
All under the assumption that Ma Kyung-rok was the culprit, of course.
‘First, I’ll have Joo Seong-tak tail Ma Kyung-rok. I’ve got other business.’
Ryu Min had no time to tail Ma Kyung-rok himself.
He needed to scout Messiah’s movements immediately.
‘And meet John Delgado too.’
There was something he wanted to test with John.
Whether he could use Sariel, now turned into a summon, or not.
‘They’ll gather in that cabin again without fail.’
He could already picture the conversations inside.
‘They’ll be talking about me, the swingman, no doubt.’
He couldn’t show up as the swingman in that situation.
He needed to eavesdrop, so he planned to use invisibility to surveil them.
“Bro, where you off to now?”
“Yeah. Gotta head overseas for a bit.”
“No way, to see that Japanese girlfriend?”
‘Japanese girlfriend?’
Seems the onsen trip to Japan had sparked this misunderstanding.
“Uh, yeah, something like that.”
“Haha, so you admit it. Have a good trip, bro!”
“Yeah. Be back soon.”
Ryu Min figured it wasn’t a bad excuse, even if he hadn’t meant to get a girlfriend.
* * *
Boom-!
One punch split the cabin’s table clean in half.
“Is this some kind of joke? Our members got taken out!”
The one fuming with a flushed face was none other than Yang Chuiwen.
He’d confirmed the Black Scythe assassination op’s failure via the 12th round rankings.
Black Scythe sat proudly at number one.
But he wasn’t disappointed by the failed op.
The other Apostles present felt the same.
They still had the swingman’s backup plan.
Or so they thought...
“Fuck, which bastard did this to our members...”
Back in reality, something shocking had happened.
All 28 of Yang Chuiwen’s direct black society underlings were dead.
As a Player, Yang Chuiwen had been safe in a heavily secured bunker-style house...
Boom-!
“Goddamn it! Fuck!”
Now, he had no regular underlings left.
Just his right-hand man and fellow Player, Zhang Suo.
“Calm down. You’ll break the table.”
When Messiah founder Spanyard tried to intervene, Yang Chuiwen glared at him with bulging eyes.
“You think this fucking table’s the issue? All my direct underlings are dead!”
“We can recruit more. Plenty of thugs lining up to serve China’s rank one, Yang Chuiwen.”
“Fuck, you think I’m some heartless psycho? Those were family! Guys I shared rice with, overcame hardships alongside!”
“......”
Spanyard shut his mouth as Yang Chuiwen ranted wildly.
The organization must’ve been a big part of Yang Chuiwen’s life.
The cabin echoed with heavy breaths and frustrated yells for a while.
“I’ll kill ’em. Whoever it is, I’ll gut their belly, yank out their guts, and strangle them with it.”
Finally, Dark Soul spoke up, unable to stand it.
“The culprit’s already obvious, isn’t it?”
“Obvious? What bullshit is this?”
“Think about it. We were all in the otherworld during the attack. So it had to be a regular person. Only the black society members knew the plan. So who else? Internal job.”
“So you’re saying fuck, one of our own betrayed us? That it?”
“Nothing else fits. Unless it’s betrayal from Messiah? One of your guys snapped and flipped.”
“You done talking?”
Yang Chuiwen glared murderously, but Dark Soul stayed cool.
“Then answer this. Before hitting Black Scythe, you found bodies in front of the villa, right? Any member missing from those?”
“......One. Zhang Chen.”
“Ah, then that fucker’s the perp. Stabbed his buddies right before the hit, flew back, and cleaned up the rest neat.”
“But Zhang Chen was found dead with the other members.”
“Then someone silenced him, or he offed himself after.”
“......Fuck, it ain’t that simple. Zhang Chen wasn’t the betraying type...”
“Traitors don’t wear signs, do they? Or drop hints ahead of time?”
“......”
“Killers are always good actors. Masks on daily, then true colors when it counts.”
Thud-!
“What the fuck do you know, you bastard!”
Yang Chuiwen denied it, but Dark Soul turned to the others like his logic was airtight.
“You guys think I’m wrong?”
No one answered Dark Soul’s question.
Silence meant agreement.
Dark Soul grinned.
“I figure that Zhang Chen was a plant from a rival outfit. Biding time till the moment struck.”
“Nah, rivals don’t fit. Maybe Black Scythe is involved...”
“Black Scythe?”
Yang Chuiwen, somewhat calmed, explained steadily.
“I checked Korea after my guys got hit. Went into Black Scythe’s villa too—empty. Not a soul.”
“They must’ve stepped out...”
“No human traces at all. Like they knew and cleared out.”
“What? So Black Scythe anticipated our op?”
“Gotta be. Reports confirmed they were in the villa pre-op.”
Dark Soul snapped his fingers.
“Ah, got it now! Black Scythe figured our plan early, bought off that Zhang Chen. Then hired another killer to tie up loose ends.”
Plausible, but one issue remained.
“How’d they sniff out our op though...”
“Maybe a traitor among us?”
“Among us...?”
Yang Chuiwen’s words shifted the mood sharply.
Eyes sharpened, everyone eyed each other warily.
But John Delgado shook his head, like no need for suspicion.
“I agree there’s a traitor. And I think I know who.”
“Who?”
“Obviously, the one not here.”
Everyone pictured the same person.
The only Apostle absent from the cabin meet: Swingman.
“Why Swingman? John Delgado?”
Spanyard asked calmly, but seethed inside.
These were members he’d recruited himself.
A traitor among them meant his responsibility too.
“Not certain. Just highest odds.”
“So what’s the reason?”
“Truth is, in round 12, I partied with Black Scythe.”
“Makes sense. Backup was approach Black Scythe if op failed.”
“Zephy was with Black Scythe then. A Player.”
“Wait, Zephy? The assassin who provided Black Scythe’s place?”
“Yeah. Surprised me at first seeing the nick, but face didn’t match reality. Didn’t recognize me either. Figured our hired guy faked the name. But...”
John Delgado’s eyes gleamed.
“What if that Zephy was our Zephy, and Black Scythe’s ally? Explains everything. Fed us fake intel early, fooled us, helped Black Scythe.”
“But we only told him to tail, no specifics?”
“That’s why internal traitor. Who called in Zephy? Swingman. Black Scythe countered early thanks to Swingman’s help.”
Swingman, Zephy, Black Scythe, Zhang Chen.
Assume they were in cahoots, puzzle fits perfect.
“Fuck! Knew it. That Curryman prick! Hated him from first sight!”
Only Yang Chuiwen vented, but others felt the same betrayal.
Grinding teeth in rage.
“Where’s Swingman? Why no-show?”
“Contact cut off. Search won’t track him.”
“Can’t track?”
“Says non-existent.”
“Ah.”
Simple implication.
“Died in round 12, probably.”
“Ha, dumb fuck. Croaked at a measly 12.”
“Can’t even avenge now?”
Planned to execute the traitor, but dead? No dice.
“Zhang Chen’s dead, Black Scythe tough to hit—leaves one guy.”
“Zephy. Track that bastard.”
“But no real name—how?”
“Can’t in reality. Otherworld it is. I know face and nick, so findable.”
John Delgado spoke confidently; Spanyard concluded.
“Round 13, John Delgado and I track Zephy. Torture gets truth. Plus Black Scythe intel.”
“Fuckin’ assassin prick. I’ll avenge my men.”
“Don’t care the round 13 mission—that punk’s dead meat. Messed with us, doesn’t know his place.”
The four Apostles ended the meet grinding their teeth.
Their new target: Zephy, presumed Black Scythe ally.
* * *
“Whew.”
John Delgado returned home after the meet.
He’d scraped by partying with Black Scythe this round too.
‘Can I survive the next?’
Fear grew with each round.
Not just revenge on Black Scythe.
‘It’s fine. I’ve got the angel.’
In round 12, he’d undead-etherized the angel fighting Black Scythe.
Got caught, but Black Scythe let him go—for some reason.
With a warning not to climb higher.
‘Yeah. Revenge in this mess? Survival first.’
Just in case, John checked his status window.
As expected, the stigma message:
[Penalty applied.]
[All stats permanently -50%.]
[Summon stats permanently -50%.]
“Shit fuck!”
Half stats fueled his rage.
Why’d he end up partying with Black Scythe of all people?
Curses flowed, but silver lining:
‘I’ve got the angel summon.’
Unnamed, but insanely strong-looking.
Mouse to Black Scythe’s cat, sure—but beggars can’t be choosers.
‘Beyond most Players or monsters. Hands down strongest summon I’ve got.’
Undead dead targets at 50% lifetime stats.
Penalty halves that again, but still powerhouse.
‘Only thing I can trust from now: this unnamed angel summon.’
Gotta power up.
Revenge aside—survive to round 20 first.
‘Then wish: kill Black Scythe.’
Pure fantasy, of course.
Better wish to be 1,000 times stronger than Black Scythe?
“Rule the world, do whatever. Heh heh heh.”
Laughter burst out.
Cackling like a junkie alone at home.
No biggie.
“No one watching anyway? Heh heh heh.”
“Except me?”
Third voice jolted John Delgado.
Turning stern, he saw a masked freak.
‘White mask?’
Flash of the villa entrance footage.
The guy called Black Scythe wore the exact same.
“Y-you’re...”
“Right. Who you think.”
With that, the freak gripped a large scythe.
The familiar one that’d sliced his limbs.