Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Fate for the Prologue Boss (2)
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Three days after the dung beetle torched the corpse warehouse, and two days after purchasing weapons, in the dead of night.
A black sedan pulled up to Pier 13, shrouded in darkness.
It was clearly an expensive car by any measure, driving deep into the pier before coming to a stop.
In the pier's shadows, where even moonlight dared not tread, the sedan's headlights glowed ominously.
It sat motionless for a good half hour before anyone emerged.
Two armed men and one suit.
The suit was sweating bullets, his face twisted in anxiety.
'Government guys, or...?'
The dung beetle watched them from afar. He still wasn't certain. Were these really the people the workshop foreman had mentioned?
Had the government really been running the Cleanup Guild just to sell corpses to necromancers?
The dung beetle unleashed Flying Leg Art just like Park Neti had shown him. Mana pooled at his feet, and his body leaped lightly between the containers.
Fuck, ...fucking cleanup bastards... warehouse... screwed up the job so bad...
As he drew near the container directly behind the sedan, voices became audible that hadn't been before.
‘...sir... potions... received... civil servant... hero...'
Focusing mana on his hearing, the dung beetle couldn't help but chuckle. It was a laugh born of sheer absurdity.
Cleanup Guild, warehouse, civil servant, potions.
Yeah, these were definitely government people.
The dung beetle toyed with the shotgun at his waist. The cold metal touch cooled his head.
'Necromancers will show up soon enough.'
He didn't have to wait long.
Moments after he took position, a massive engine roar echoed from the only approach to the pier.
The first thing that caught his eye was headlights taller than most cars—and not just one set, but five.
'A trailer?'
Five enormous trucks hauled containers the size of those scattered around the pier as they rolled in.
It was too flashy for a necromancer's ride, but given the suit's near-panic, it had to be theirs.
And above all, the smell.
As the trucks neared, the stench he knew all too well from his cleanup days wafted over.
'The rot of corpses...'
Screeech!
The trucks pulled up in a line before the sedan deep in the pier, and the middle one's door swung open.
"Long time no see, Clerk."
The man who stepped out wore immaculate formal attire.
His skin was so pallid it bordered on ghostly white, and with the truck's headlights at his back, he almost looked like a corpse at first glance.
"Y-yes, well, l-long time no see, Lord Buzum. You look even more... splendid than before."
The suit groveled obsequiously.
The armed guards behind him seemed deflated too, like debtors facing a creditor rather than a business deal.
Even the necromancer sensed the odd vibe and narrowed his eyes.
"Clerk, where's the merchandise? Hasn't arrived yet?"
"W-well, about that..."
"About that?"
"There was... a bit of a problem. This shipment might... have to be postponed."
The moment the suit clerk finished speaking, the air turned icy.
Even the dung beetle, peering down from atop a container, felt the chill.
"...Some kind of problem?"
"A-an unfortunate accident... the corpse warehouse... b-burned down completely."
"Completely? All of it went up in flames, you mean?"
"Yes, that's... how it happened."
"Ha, well now."
Irritation flickered across Necromancer Buzum's pallid face, then faded.
"You must have a reason for showing up here without the goods. You better."
"Y-yes! Of course! The higher-ups are deeply regretful about this incident."
"And?"
"F-for the next deal, they'll deliver seven hundred extra corpses on top of this shipment's quota."
"Next time. Next time, huh..."
The necromancer scanned the clerk up and down with a cold expression.
"You're here expecting to take our goods this time too, I assume?"
"L-Lord Buzum, you know our situation... With admissions season, we need every mage we can get..."
Just as the clerk's forehead nearly hit the dirt, Buzum waved him off, cutting him short.
"That's enough. Look, Clerk, if we're being fair, this isn't your fault, is it?"
"..."
"It's not like we've only done this once or twice. We'll understand."
Buzum snapped his fingers crisply. Something emerged from the container behind the truck at the signal.
Uuuuugh...
Things that had once been human, still resembled humans, but were no longer.
Zombies.
They carried a carefully wrapped box to the necromancer like dutiful escorts.
Even seeing these repulsive zombies—clearly made from Korean corpses—the clerk showed no disgust or fear.
"Oh..."
His eyes were fixed on the box the zombies held.
"Check it first."
The zombies carefully opened the box. Inside were three vials glowing with ethereal light.
"Awakening Potions... Beautiful as ever, no matter how many times I see them."
The clerk handled the soju-bottle-sized vials like precious gems.
And in that moment, the dung beetle overhead erased his last doubts.
No—finally, he was certain.
The Cleanup Guild had been collecting corpses for necromancers, under orders from the Korean government.
'All for those damn potions...'
His comrades had died for it. A player swung the blade, but the government had pushed them to their deaths.
The instant suspicion turned to certainty, the dung beetle pulled a grenade from his belt.
Rage was brief; action swift.
He yanked the pin and lobbed it down toward the containers.
By the time the necromancer and government men looked up at the sound, the grenade's fuze was already hissing.
BOOM!!
It detonated right above them. The two armed men were swallowed by the blast without a scream.
But the necromancer and suit barely escaped.
A protective barrier from the clerk's tiny badge had shielded them just in time.
"We have an intruder."
The necromancer glanced at the clerk first.
"Surely not a trap set by the Korean government."
"No! Why would the government... L-look at that!"
Their conversation ended there. Two more grenades arced toward them.
"Undying ones. Block them."
At Buzum's command, the nearby zombies hurled themselves forward.
BOOM! BOOM!!
The grenades exploded, sweeping away the zombies in the blasts. Overkill for just two grenades.
"...Not ordinary explosives."
Buzum frowned at the craters. The zombies that had jumped in had died from mere limb loss.
No divine blessing on grenades, so definitely rare anti-magic ones.
"Did the Korean government tail us?"
No, who cared who tailed them? There was a madman lobbing grenades from right overhead.
Buzum shook his head and began chanting.
"Rise, undying ones."
Clunk. A stir came from beyond the truck's container door at his call, then it screeched open.
Uuuuugh...
Grooooan...
It was packed with freshly risen corpses—no, zombies.
"Protect your master."
The crammed zombies spilled out like sardines. In an instant, a wall of flesh surrounded the necromancer.
"Whoever you are, you picked the wrong fight. Do you even know who I am?"
"A maggot feasting on corpses."
The dung beetle leaped down from the container as he spoke. He landed light as a feather, twisting the necromancer's pale face.
"A superhuman?"
Anti-magic grenades and an unknown superhuman. The necromancer quickly pieced it together.
"...The potion intel leaked."
The dung beetle charged without a word. The necromancer whipped out a wand from his robes.
A grotesque wand topped with a crow skull glowed green toward him.
"Amateur? Sloppy work. What do you think one superhuman can do?"
Buzum channeled mana into the wand and swung. Flash! Green liquid spewed forth.
The dung beetle dodged instinctively, altering course.
Sizzle! Where it hit the ground past him, the pier's concrete melted like butter.
"Things that should be dead. Kill him."
As if anticipating the miss, Buzum ordered the zombies.
The least decayed ones responded first, charging like rabid beasts.
Kieeeek!
The dung beetle met them without hesitation, extending his leg.
Park Neti's clean roundhouse kick reproduced, toppling the front-runners.
But clearing a few with kicks was just blunting the tip. More zombies trampled their fallen kin, surging forward.
Kyaaak!
He dodged the horde, creating distance with Flying Leg Art. They couldn't snag even his hem, but the necromancer was the issue.
The dung beetle frowned, gauging the distance. The zombies herded him away like beaters in a hunt.
'Stalling?'
Zombies couldn't beat a superhuman.
No matter how they bit or clawed with rotten flesh, lethal damage was impossible.
Common knowledge proven in the Miami Terror thirty years ago, where hundreds of necromancers were slaughtered.
Even the dung beetle, superhuman for just three days, knew it. The necromancer surely did too.
He sprang up with Flying Leg Art.
At about twice his height, he spotted the necromancer behind the zombies.
As expected, eyes closed, wand gripped, chanting.
'Buying time to complete the spell.'
Now he knew. Only one move left.
The dung beetle grabbed another grenade from his belt.
Yanked the pin...
And threw.
The zombies swarmed their master the instant they saw its arc.
BOOM!
The blast annihilated a huge swath.
The necromancer avoided the explosion but broke his chant rushing the zombies.
He glared fiercely at the dung beetle.
"Those grenades aren't infinite. Keep squirming till the end."
"You too—squirm with your fancy zombies till the end."
The dung beetle dropped to the ground, then sprang at the zombies.
Kyaaak!
Uuuuugh...
He collided head-on with the charging pack.
The lead zombie's jaws gaped—its skull exploded.
The next flew back arms outstretched; another swung claws, only to have its arm ripped off.
Clawing, biting, grappling... Simple attacks.
But endless numbers, like quicksand you couldn't escape.
"Foolish. Lost your mind?"
Buzum, prepping another spell, scoffed at the sight.
He'd worried about the slow zombies failing to catch a runner—instead, the fool charged them.
Felt stupid for fretting over grenade count.
"Worm. If you want death that bad, fine. I'll grant—"
A massive gunshot cut him off.
BANG!
Zombies toppled in its wake.
"...Shotgun?"
His carefully prepared zombies shredded—like the grenades, no ordinary weapon.
"Madman. Came prepared, huh."
Buzum's chant grew urgent as zombies rushed to fill gaps.
The dung beetle's Remington MH750 roared again.
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