Echoes of the Great War
A few days later. On the planet Isolde in Dimension 16, where chilly autumn winds whipped through Tombstonica, the city of the undead who equated life and death as one—we had arrived.
Slick Ellama, branch manager of the Dimensional Credit Vault's Kikiwai Multidimensional Outpost.
Ectopl Razma, section chief in charge of private banking at the multidimensional outpost.
Irool Hinea, assistant manager in the audit division at headquarters.
And finally, me, Kim Jian, assistant loan officer at the multidimensional outpost.
"It's more ordinary than I thought."
Irool, who had just arrived in Tombstonica, muttered with a look of surprise at the normally functioning city.
Sure enough, the proportion of undead among the citizens here was unusually high, but there was no discernible difference from any other major city in Dimension 6-2.
"What, did you expect some horrific dystopia just because the undead make up a high percentage of the population?"
Razma, who rarely showed any emotion, apparently took offense to Irool's remark; naked hostility seeped into their voice.
"Oh, my apologies, Chief Razma. The branch manager warned me repeatedly to be careful on the way here, but I slipped up."
Angels used terms like "brother" or "sister" for fellow bankers regardless of rank, and out of respect for their faith and culture, the Dimensional Credit Vault tacitly allowed it. But with the undead, they always properly attached the title.
It was probably lingering resentment from the Great War era, when angels and undead had been on opposing sides.
From what I'd heard, back then the undead had used necromancy to revive the dead as soldiers—without distinguishing between friend or foe.
For the angels, it must have been bizarre to see their fallen comrades rise as corpses and charge at them. I could imagine the thoughts that sparked.
I'd once heard over drinks that Irool was much older than he looked. Apparently around the same age as Branch Manager Del Monte, who had fought in the Great War himself, though a bit younger.
I didn't know if Irool had charged into battle like the manager, but either way, he clearly harbored ill feelings toward the undead.
"Irool. Hold on a sec."
I made an excuse about getting coffee for Elama and dragged Irool into a café, where I placed a takeout order.
"What the hell are you thinking? You know exactly what Dimension 16 is like."
"I'm sorry, Brother Jian. I knew this might happen and was anxious, but my true feelings keep slipping out...."
As expected, Irool harbored deeply negative emotions toward the undead.
"I don't know what happened back then, but we're here to work, so separate personal from professional."
"You're right. Our Lord forbade discrimination... No matter how much seeing the undead triggers my trauma, I shouldn't react like this."
Irool wore a calm expression, but his hands trembled faintly. It wasn't just anger.
The halo ring floating above his head glowed red-hot, as if ready to burst. I'd heard that an angel's emotions showed most honestly not in their face, but in their halo.
What Irool felt now wasn't mere rage—it was clear killing intent. He seemed swept up in uncontrollable impulses while staring at an undead enjoying coffee at the early-morning café.
"How the hell have you survived at headquarters...?"
What had set off his trigger?
"...Actually, at headquarters, I've been taking medication steadily."
Irool bowed his head quietly.
What kind of PTSD required meds? I regretted lecturing him about separating work and personal matters.
The guy had clearly endured unimaginable pain in the past. Otherwise, he wouldn't need pills to work at headquarters swarming with undead.
"Where's the medicine?"
"Well, actually...."
I was speechless after hearing Irool's story.
"...It's gone?"
"Yes."
Then I remembered: in the trainee group chat yesterday, Irool had mentioned his meds were missing.
Who would've thought they were for mental symptoms?
"How'd you lose it?"
"The day before yesterday, I left it on my desk and went to lunch. When I came back, it was gone."
"No backup stash?"
"It's a rare item made only in our dimension, sold in limited quantities at certain times. Even if I rushed to get more, the other audit seniors don't take it...."
This was beyond absurd.
I'd seen what Branch Manager Del Monte, a Great War-era weapon, was capable of. Likewise, I didn't naively assume an angel was just a human with wings and a halo.
Right now, Irool was like a PTSD-plagued vet straight out of Rambo.
And someone knew that, stole his meds, and shoved him into Dimension 16 anyway.
"...Irool. Sorry, but could you take sick leave and head back to 6-2?"
"Impossible. As an audit division banker, I must fulfill my duty."
I'd forgotten momentarily: Irool's professionalism and conscience were unmatched.
"......"
I didn't know Irool's Job Authority. Or what powers angels held.
But one thing was certain: Irool wasn't the type to misplace meds he needed daily.
Losing them at the worst possible time—right before a trip to an undead world—screamed sabotage. Someone's design.
If so, what they were targeting was probably—
"Order for table 7-B is ready."
The worst-case scenario I'd foreseen flashed in my mind. I stared at Irool, who forced a gentle smile, lost in thought.
* * *
At the same time. At the Dimensional Credit Vault headquarters in Linden, capital of Great Huuriten.
In the IT Management Division, rookie banker Oatanocha—special hire, one year on the job—was lounging across two chairs just an hour after arriving, leisurely passing the time.
Yet no one, not even the division chief, scolded them. There were a few reasons.
First, the IT Management Division at headquarters had a uniquely quirky atmosphere due to its members' personalities, unlike other departments.
Second, Oatanocha had finished not only their assigned tasks but also helped with all the seniors' work in that first hour.
Their assistance slashed workloads several times over, but Oatanocha never bragged or demanded performance reviews. They just wrapped up and spent the rest freely.
This enigmatic tentacle creature avoided chit-chat unless it was about work. Everyone knew they only conversed normally with a few trainee buddies.
Unreadable as ever, but the bankers benefiting from Oatanocha's help always treated them kindly.
They brought snacks and drinks unprompted, careful not to sour the mood.
A single rookie handling the entire division's workload was unprecedented in the bank's history. But their flawless, lightning-fast execution left no room for complaints.
Of course, some had tried nitpicking Oatanocha's "laziness" out of jealousy or reported them upstairs. But that's ancient history.
Specifically, those attackers were no longer bank employees.
Oatanocha had preempted hostile seniors' moves using drones and surveillance cams, nabbing their weaknesses—without a trace.
They showed no emotional ripple afterward. Finish work, lounge freely till quitting time, repeat.
The IT crew, spooked by this mechanical lifestyle, never demanded anything, avoiding anything that might annoy.
Oatanocha helped the friendly ones professionally; the rest left them be. Thus, a peaceful symbiosis formed.
But Oatanocha, who rarely showed emotion outwardly—
"Haha. Masterpiece, this is."
—was glued to the monitor today, unable to stop laughing.
The IT bankers were dying of curiosity about what had them so amused. But none dared peek at the sixteen screens.
"So that's it. Wondered why they insisted on dragging that hothead along for the on-site inspection...."
Sensing seniors sneaking out for smokes, glancing nervously, Oatanocha flashed a sinister grin with its sensory organs.
What they watched was footage from the Great War era, sealed tight in the HR division's secret database.
Oatanocha had found it exactly three months ago.
Bored out of their mind with excess time, they'd scoured the bank's network. That's when they spotted the covertly hidden mystery database.
In under ten minutes, they bypassed security and copied it all. But the contents disappointed—no thrills.
Just war records from the Great War era. Oatanocha, who viewed war as peak inefficiency, lost interest fast.
Figured some HR military buff stashed their fave historical fodder on the server.
But yesterday, hearing trainee audit assistant Irool was heading to undead-packed Dimension 16 for a personal loan inspection, Oatanocha realized what they'd missed.
Today, post one-hour work blitz, they replayed the footage.
"Fucking lunatics."
The sealed video captured it crystal clear.
A heavily armored seraph, Irool Hinea, wielding a blade of light infused with god-granted immense power—
slicing through an undead-packed city in one strike, reshaping the map itself.