Chapter 122
Chapter 122
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 122
Chapter Title: Boss, Uninvited Guest, and... (6)
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***
[Interpol confirms that a single individual is responsible for the civilian massacres at 22 orphanages, 3 orc villages, and 2 dwarf ghettos over the past five years.]
['Butcher'—the name given to the perpetrator—is estimated to be under 20 years old. Interpol fears the birth of a second Star Interior Minister...]
['Butcher' identified on CCTV near the Kaesong dimensional gate. Believed to have traveled back and forth between Earth and the dimensional gate multiple times...]
[Interpol finds traces of the 'Butcher' in the northwestern mountain range disaster, where 1,109 monsters and 135 border guard corpses were discovered. Forensics team secures evidence that the 'Butcher' led the monsters there...]
[Deep Tower CCTV and on-site forensics point to the 'Butcher' as the prime suspect in the Hilaria fire incident.]
[Cave discovered during 'Butcher' pursuit, presumed to be the suspect's lair. Magic Tower formally requested for assistance...]
[*According to Magic Tower Executioner Balmak, the lair contained vast quantities of magic tools and consumables until recently. How they were moved remains unknown...]
[Investigation hitting roadblocks...]
[Investigation temporarily suspended...]
[Mugshot analysis of Korea's 'Incheon Killer' confirms match with the 'Butcher.']
[Fatal error found in DNA evidence provided by Korean police on the 'Incheon Killer.' Korean side remains silent on whether it's intentional omission or a mistake. Interpol formally protests...]
[Interpol suspects improper relationship between 'Incheon Killer' and Korean police.]
[Korea deems 'Incheon Killer' label inappropriate... No Korean place name should be attached to a killer from beyond the dimensional gate...]
['Butcher' sighted on Dreiterial smuggling train.]
[Dreiterial's illegal body modifications and human augmentation mage guild wiped out. Over 50 presumed dead... Survivor testimonies point to 'Butcher' as prime suspect...]
['Butcher's' signature swordsmanship confirmed in Gemini City. Dimensional gate to Earth...]
...
Yeomyeong set the documents down and let out a sigh.
His head throbbed with every page he turned of the files detailing the 'Player's' movements.
He pressed his forehead, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.
According to the data from Aiba, the 'Player' had begun his murders five years ago.
It started with orphans from orphanages. The dregs of society, the weak and unprotected.
Like leveling up in a game, the bastard had gradually increased both the quality and quantity of his targets.
Orcs treated like livestock, dwarf underclass no better than refugees... and even back-alley cleaners.
Whether he truly grew stronger through murder or was just a plain psycho... it was still unknown.
One thing was certain: the opportunities he'd seized with his knowledge of the future were no small feat.
'...How strong is he now?'
He hadn't realized it at the time, with his head rolling, but the Player who laughed upon hitting level 10 was a superhuman at a mature realm.
Among the superhuman mercenaries he'd faced in Manchuria, few could be definitively called 'stronger' than the Player.
And factoring in the opportunities he'd gained at the academy since then, plus his future knowledge that let him evade Interpol and the Magic Tower's pursuit...
The moment his thoughts reached that point.
Shh.
A long ice pick materialized beside Yeomyeong's shoulder. An unconscious burst of magic.
“...”
Staring at the ice pick emanating cold as refined as Korbus's, Yeomyeong gave a wry smile.
The secret to manifesting such an ice pick in just one day came to mind.
—It's a rubber bullet, so don't worry too much.
The saintess's words as she blessed the revolver rounds.
Her blessed rubber bullets hurt as much as live ammo. The spot where he'd been hit still throbbed.
The sparring that followed was just as brutal. Especially Seti's hammer swings, loaded with real emotion.
Her cold expression as she shattered ice picks was downright terrifying.
It was sparring that mimicked real combat. Yeomyeong had mostly just dodged and flung ice picks.
Thanks to that, though, he'd mastered the ice pick this quickly.
'...Won't work twice, though.'
Yeomyeong chuckled and spun the ice pick in the air.
Thinking of the saintess and Seti lightened his heart.
Of course, such leisure didn't last. The killing intent writhing in his chest gave him no more time.
Soon, Yeomyeong picked up the documents again.
In case he'd missed some clue about the 'Player.'
'Before this month ends... I'll kill him.'
After rereading the files three times over.
He stopped and looked up at the ceiling.
An announcement over the campus broadcast was calling him.
[First-year Cheon Yeomyeong, Cheon Yeomyeong. Please come to the northern island airport immediately.]
***
Even in an era of dimensional gates, nuclear missiles, and superhumans, Earth still held one unchanging truth.
Money is always right.
Fundamentalist superhumans who claimed mana was the root of all, or romantics who believed love conquered all, might deny it.
But anyone seeing the massive plane at Lord Howe Academy's airport would be awestruck by money's power.
Just like Cheon Yeomyeong, who'd rushed to the airport after the broadcast.
“This insane dwarf...”
Yeomyeong muttered despite himself.
The enormous cargo plane taxiing onto the runway had 'Dungan Heavy Industries' and 'Cheon Yeomyeong' taped in huge letters.
An blatant billboard.
While Yeomyeong stood speechless, a stair truck positioned itself, and the plane's door opened.
Stepping out was a familiar dwarf, dressed far more extravagantly than before.
Fine suit, expensive watch, thick rings on every finger.
Dungan Heavy Industries' dwarf chaebol, Darulma Dun.
Descending the stairs with heavy thuds, he spotted Yeomyeong and waved.
“Cheon Yeomyeong!”
Only as he approached did Yeomyeong snap out of it.
“...Darulma.”
“Long time no see! I've been waiting for you since we parted in Manchuria!”
As Darulma grabbed Yeomyeong's hand shouting, camera shutters clicked from the airport side.
Turning, Yeomyeong saw reporters—god knows when they'd arrived—snapping away.
Swallowing a wry smile, Yeomyeong asked.
“Darulma, what the hell is this? The plane, the reporters...”
“Don't misunderstand. That's all side stuff. I'm here to give you a gift today.”
“...A gift?”
Darulma waved to the reporters as he spoke.
“The things you asked for when we parted in Manchuria. Workshop access for dragon bones and elixir trades.”
“...”
“But you never got in touch, so we came first.”
Why? A question mark popped over Yeomyeong's head, then vanished. Too obvious.
“...Dungan Heavy Industries wants to advertise me as your sponsor. Using my name value.”
“Hey now, 'using'? Free is using, but paid is business.”
Darulma waggled his brows, then led Yeomyeong toward the plane.
Yeomyeong considered refusing but followed with a sigh.
“What if I'd said no? Why pull this stunt?”
“Hmm... probably would've knelt?”
Imagining it made Yeomyeong grimace as Darulma led him inside.
True to a cargo plane, no seats. But no cargo either.
Instead, the interior was lined with display cases. Weapon displays.
Glass cases with ornate swords, walls hung with guns.
The weapons shared one trait amid their varied lengths, curves, thicknesses: faint mana.
Every weapon here was a custom job laced with mana metal.
Looking further, armor dotted the mix: chainmail, plate, breastplates.
Some exposed ivory bone material—clearly dragon bone.
Not even a weapon museum would boast this.
'Amazing, but... isn't this just decorations?'
True powerful weapons shone in a strong hand. Like the famous holy sword.
Finishing his appraisal, Yeomyeong turned to find Darulma watching tensely.
“What do you think? The might of our Dun clan's prized armaments?”
Yeomyeong hesitated to voice his honest thoughts, unable to ignore Darulma's eager eyes.
“...Impressive. Shows what a chaebol is made of.”
Even forced praise lifted Darulma's lips. A smug smile.
“As expected, you have an eye. Come on in. It's for you—pick what you want.”
...?
Pick? What? Yeomyeong tilted his head, and Darulma clapped.
“My bad, too brief. Cheon Yeomyeong? All these armaments are for you.”
“...”
Darulma pulled a remote from his pocket and pressed. Click—the glass fronts slid down.
“Go on, choose.”
***
“This one's by our clan artisan Danan Dun, three years back. Same material as stealth fighters—titanium alloy with mana metal coating. Tough yet light.”
Darulma held up an ornate sword, explaining. Yeomyeong, behind him, stared then spoke.
“Darulma.”
“Not to your taste? Yeah, Danan's stuff feels mass-produced.”
“No, it's not that... Just curious. Why invest in me like this?”
What Yeomyeong had asked in Manchuria was dwarf workshop access.
A considerate request on his part. Refining dragon bone and using a dwarf forge wasn't buyable with money alone.
But this... surpassed that.
He wondered at the motives of a money-mad tycoon showing such favor.
“Like I said. Business.”
Darulma shelved the sword and drew another from beside it.
“Sponsoring a human boosts a dwarf corp's image. Especially a proven superhuman—what better investment?”
“...Spare me the flattery.”
“Flattery? I'm serious—”
Darulma started to elaborate but shut up at Yeomyeong's gaze. Terrifying golden eyes piercing his soul.
He paused, fiddling with the hilt.
“...Truth is, it's the golden seal.”
“...”
“Someday—maybe years from now—I might need that seal. If you won't lend it... our bloodline's in a bind. Building goodwill early.”
Honest? Darulma's heartbeat said yes.
Yeomyeong glanced between sword and dwarf, then nodded.
“...I'll take your word.”
“Trust. Credit's gold to merchants. Shall we continue?”
Darulma proceeded.
Dwarf-forged blades, imperial relics from beyond the gates, American prototypes...
Treasures all. Some caught Yeomyeong's eye, but Darulma urged him on each time.
As if the real prize waited elsewhere.
After lengthy explanations.
Darulma stopped at the central case.
The sword inside had a pale yellow blade—otherwise unremarkable.
Not short, not long. Hilt crude, simple. No ornaments.
Out of place here, it'd pass for plain iron.
'...Nothing?'
Yeomyeong frowned at the oddity as Darulma slowly drew it.
“Named Tears of the Mountain. Grand, eh?”
Clearly storied. Darulma offered it, adding.
“...Mana metal mined from the deepest dwarf mountains, buried in mustard gas. Hammered whole by Uragan clan's last artisan.”
Gripping it, a familiar sensation climbed the hilt.
“Breathe mana into it.”
Yeomyeong did. Hidden magic stirred along the yellow blade.
No mana flow visible, no sound.
Silent, traceless, odorless... colorless.
“...Invisibility magic?”
Yeomyeong swung his empty hand. The sharp blade cleaved air—soundlessly.
On par with, or beyond, an invisibility cloak.
Fiddling, Yeomyeong recalled something.
“Darulma, this for assassinations?”
“Hm? How'd you know?”
“Just felt it.”
Darulma stroked his beard as Yeomyeong lowered the now-visible sword—eerily fitting.
“Well? Take it? Honestly, I'd recommend it.”
Yeomyeong didn't answer at once. He gazed into the blade, then nodded.
“...This one.”
Was it coincidence that a sword made to kill Stalin chose him?
Unknown now, but perhaps fate existed. Darulma clapped.
“Good. Now, the sheath.”
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