Chapter 151
Chapter 151
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 151
Chapter Title: The Road to the Cold Hell (2)
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***
There was no longer any snowy field.
It was because the panicked sniper—no, the Key of Bloody Tears—had snapped his fingers, transforming the surrounding landscape in an instant.
The moment the snap echoed, the pristine white horizon became a wall stacked high with ammunition crates, and the snowfield turned into solid concrete flooring.
‘A bunker… no, an armory?’
While Dawn looked around, the Key of Bloody Tears sat on the nearest ammo crate like a chair and spoke.
“So… you’re saying you used the relic without knowing a damn thing about it?”
“…”
A brief silence.
In that moment, the silence was as good as tacit agreement, so he grimaced like a man shot.
“Damn it, this is gonna be a long story. Cheon Yeomyeong? Let’s start with introductions. I’m Ben.”
“…Ben?”
The moment he heard the name, the Holy Sword’s voice suddenly flashed in Dawn’s mind.
—Ben. Rat bastard boss.
What the Holy Sword had said when it met Willard in Incheon.
But the president of the Blue Rats that Dawn had actually met was named Morine, not Ben. So he’d thought the Holy Sword had gotten it wrong…
“…You’re the former president of the Blue Rats.”
It was a question laced with half doubt and half certainty. Ben twitched his still-bleeding jaw and replied.
“Former president, and the founding one at that. If you know my name… looks like you’re no ordinary guy after all.”
“…”
“Well… Morine may be a daughter-obsessed idiot, but she’s not dumb enough to hand the Key of Bloody Tears to just anyone. Unless you’re her son-in-law or something.”
Dawn neither confirmed nor denied it. He swallowed a wry smile with effort and sat across from Ben.
“So, why is the founding president of the Blue Rats inside a relic?”
“The reason? Same as why the mages beyond the dimensional gate make them. To leave behind a legacy and secret knowledge for future generations.”
Before he could even ask what legacy, Ben moved first.
He smeared the blood flowing from his ear onto his fingertip, then drew a line under his eye.
It looked just like shedding bloody tears.
‘…Is that why it’s called the Key of Bloody Tears?’
The moment Dawn had that thought, Ben’s mana writhed, and his face transformed into an entirely different one.
A straight nose, eyes sharp enough to resemble a hawk’s, and a slender jawline.
In the blink of an eye, his changed face was that of a familiar young woman.
Dawn stared at it for a moment before realizing who it was and furrowing his brow.
“…Morine in her youth?”
“Oh, sharp eyes. Pretty, right? So many big shots lusted after this face… Good thing I blocked them all, or she’d have ended up as some high-ranking official’s concubine.”
“…”
“Get this—it’s funny. After all that effort raising her as an agent, she falls for a Holy Knight on a mission and runs off in the dead of night.”
The tone was mocking, but Ben’s voice was as soft as a parent boasting about their daughter.
…Could he be Morine’s father? If so, that would make him the Saintess’s grandfather?
Dawn shoved the chilling thought aside and quickly changed the subject.
“Anyway, is that disguise ability the technique sealed in the Key of Bloody Tears? Fitting for an intelligence organization’s relic.”
“Disguise? No, look closer.”
As he spoke, Ben tapped under his eye once more.
This time, a bearded Georgian face emerged, one Dawn knew well.
There was no way he wouldn’t. It was Stalin’s face.
“Still think it’s just a disguise?”
“…”
Dawn didn’t argue.
Instead, he focused his mind, tracking the subtle mana flow beyond the face. The moment he sensed something off, Ben drew his finger across his face again.
His features shifted in succession, each one a historical figure.
Hitler, Churchill, Roosevelt, the Emperor, and… the Saintess.
Only after meeting the unfamiliar gaze not hidden by the eyepatch did Dawn grasp the true nature of Ben’s ability.
“…It’s not a disguise. It’s an illusion.”
“Sharp as ever.”
With that, Ben reverted to his ordinary face. He wiped the blood from his cheek and continued.
“Bloody Tears. A martial art that overlays an illusion on an object or face smeared with blood—for seconds at shortest, minutes at longest. Only a tiny handful of Soviet special agents ever learned it, and…”
“…And?”
“Now it’s a martial art only the Blue Rats’ president can learn.”
Only the Blue Rats’ president? Dawn narrowed his eyes without thinking.
“…I’m not even a Blue Rat employee, let alone president.”
“That’s my point. But Morine gave you the Key of Bloody Tears. The execs must’ve been fine letting that slide.”
“That’s…”
“I naturally assumed you were an agent I sent to this city, or at least connected to the organization… You’re not really her son-in-law, are you?”
“…I swear to the heavens, no.”
“But your reaction to the Saintess was hardly normal…”
Ben shot him a knowing look like he was teasing a grandchild, and Dawn rubbed his throbbing temple.
Son-in-law? Even if not the Saintess, getting tangled with her mother was a hard pass.
“…Let’s save that talk for later and go back to what you said at the start. The Soviet armory or whatever.”
“Right… that story. The Soviet armory. Our cherished dream.”
The moment the word “armory” left his lips, the air around Ben froze cold.
“…Know anything about the Cold War, Cheon Yeomyeong?”
Though it was all an illusion conjured by the relic, Dawn felt it all the same.
***
The Cold War.
An era of madness where the United States and Soviet Union, two superpowers, piled up mountains of nuclear weapons under the banner of ideological rivalry.
Ironically, the terror of nukes deterred direct military clashes, so the two nations unleashed their competitive fury in every other field.
Which side would produce stronger superhumans?
Which would put a man on the moon first?
Which would stockpile more nukes?
And…
Which would spread their system faster?
Perboashkask—a city now called Dreiterial—was the fruit of that rivalry.
[We’ll build a superior city beyond the dimensional gate, lay down railroads, and spread the greatness of communism far and wide!]
No one bought the Soviets’ stated purpose entirely.
At best, they figured it was to turn the southern reaches beyond the gate into an economic colony or establish a base to pressure Apollo City under American control.
But as always, the truths buried outside history books, deep in the flow of lost time, surpassed imagination.
The real reason Stalin built this city was…
***
Ben looked up after finishing his explanation, seeing Cheon Yeomyeong quietly lost in thought.
Having spent years as a sniper and spy, Ben easily saw through him.
The sunken golden eyes, the calm expression, and the humanity hidden beneath.
‘Was it right to tell this guy the city’s truth?’
The doubt didn’t linger. He trusted Morine, and above all, his own eyes.
“When you get back to reality, practice Bloody Tears first. Overlaying illusions with mana in blood will take at least a month.”
Feeling the relic’s time running short, Ben offered the advice. Dawn, who’d been silent till then, looked up.
“…”
After staring at Ben for a moment, Dawn subtly drew his sword. He then sliced his thumb along the blade, drawing blood.
Ben’s brow furrowed—what the hell?—as Dawn smeared the bloody thumb under his eye, drawing bloody tears.
And the next instant.
Dawn’s face transformed into Ben’s exact likeness.
Not fully mastered, but an illusion unbelievable for something learned in mere minutes.
“…”
As Ben stared dumbfounded, Dawn dispelled it and added,
“Easier than I thought. Understanding the principle wasn’t hard either… Seems to synergize well with my arts.”
“…Synergize well?”
Did Bloody Tears have synergies?
No way. It was a Soviet martial art literally squeezed out of vampires. Synergies didn’t exist.
Rubbing his brow, Ben asked,
“I thought it was weird from the start… You a Soviet?”
“…Never even set foot on Soviet soil.”
“Then a Gulag survivor? Product of some human experiment? Or maybe Juga Shibili style…”
The name Juga Shibili made Dawn subtly frown.
A blatant rejection. As suspected?
“Juga Shibili, huh.”
“…No. Shall I swear on the Five Gods?”
Dawn shook his head firmly. His denial was so resolute that Ben wondered if he’d misread, narrowing his eyes.
That’s when Ben’s sharp vision spotted something lurking behind Dawn.
“Why’s a non-Juga Shibili guy leaking killing intent like that?”
“…Killing intent?”
Dawn’s face showed slight surprise. Instead of answering, Ben pointed behind him.
What? Dawn turned toward the direction, then frowned.
There, in a spot where he’d felt nothing before, stood the familiar golden-eyed cleaner.
Holding a severed player’s head and a large bag, no less.
“You…”
Before Dawn could speak, the cleaner hurled the bag at him.
It was so heavy it nearly buckled Dawn’s waist as he caught it.
“What the hell is this?”
He barely steadied himself and asked, but no proper answer came. The relic’s allotted time was up.
—Inventory… take it out… Elixir…
Whether it was the cleaner’s voice or Ben’s, the faint whisper faded.
Dawn opened his eyes in reality.
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