Chapter 152
Chapter 152
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 152
Chapter Title: Road to the Cold Hell (3)
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Over the past few days, absurd rumors had begun circulating throughout Dreytelial.
[There’s a secret Soviet vault somewhere in the sewers.]
From back-alley taverns to the factories in the east, and even the theater district in the west where mages and merchants roamed.
As if someone had deliberately spread it, the rumor spread like wildfire in an instant.
Of course, the reaction from sensible folk was lukewarm. How long ago was it that this city was abandoned by the Soviets? And now this?
Even if such a vault actually existed, the former palace lords would have already looted it clean.
There was nothing more to question or investigate.
But as was typical with rumors in this city, rebuttals from the sensible were drowned out.
There were far too few with common sense, and far too many drunks willing to spread tales for a drink.
[The secret artifacts from the archmage and the World Tree Crystal that made waves before? They say those came from the secret vault too.]
[The outsiders who came hunting for treasure are all actually communists! That elf who wrecked buildings last time is proof!!]
[The palace lords deliberately destroyed the northern station? To stop people from fleeing with the secret artifacts. Proof? Take it or leave it.]
Was it because a string of coincidences that were too perfect to be chance? Or thanks to the drunkards’ vivid imaginations?
No one knew the exact reason, but the rumor snowballed uncontrollably. Bigger and faster than even the originator could have imagined.
Just as question marks of “Could it be?” popped up over the heads of gullible citizens, and any three cityfolk gathering would chatter about the secret vault.
Those with power made their move.
[As a palace lord tasked with maintaining the city’s order, I cannot tolerate such nonsense.]
The first to act was West Palace Lord Jo Pantoriano.
When the commander of the city’s strongest mage corps declared that rumor-mongers would be harshly punished regardless of status, the gossip seemed to die down.
Until the next one spread.
[The West Palace Lord is scheming to monopolize the vault.]
[Monsters gather under the Pantoriano Building every day, digging into the earth.]
Even more outlandish than the first rumor, but to the citizens, truth didn’t matter.
Some found it amusing, others had lost jobs to the rail sabotage, and some just hated palace lords on principle.
They all united in trash-talking the West Palace Lord.
Why’s he acting up all of a sudden? He usually sticks to the west and doesn’t bat an eye at serial killings elsewhere.
The rich get richer. He’s probably planning to hog the vault all to himself!
Someone actually saw a real Pig Head monster?
With his reputation already in the gutter, suspicion toward the West Palace Lord easily hardened into conviction.
Even mages under his command subtly asked him about the vault’s existence. What more was there to say?
At that point, the West Palace Lord didn’t sit idle.
Under the pretext of maintaining order, he deployed his mage corps to seal off the western sewers and sent guards to round up rumor-spreading citizens.
A few protested the blatant intimidation, but fists outrank common sense. Especially when wielded by the enforcers of the law.
After a handful of the oblivious were hauled off, no bold souls remained curious about what went on beneath the Pantoriano Building.
But this chain of events planted one firm conviction in the citizens’ minds.
The Soviet secret vault… It’s real, isn’t it? Why else would the West Palace Lord go that far?
Rats in a dumpster move fastest at the whiff of food.
It took less than half a day for conviction to turn to action.
Unemployed, drunks, thugs, homeless, even mages.
Mocking the void left by the severed rails, hordes poured into the sewers. Like the forest folk of the Second Western Pioneering Era.
The West Palace Lord warned the other lords to control their citizens, but the South and East Palace Lords mocked him by opening their own sewers.
As a result, the city’s sewers became a hotbed of unprecedented, brutal competition.
All within a week of the first rumor.
***
Bang!
The gunshot echoed through the sewer, and Netty ducked on reflex. Another lunatic firing off rounds.
‘These crazies again?’
As if the shot were a signal, combat erupted in the sewer where she stood.
Vagrants wielding broken bottles and spewing curses, chittering Ratkin, thugs clutching pistols bought cheap from Joseph.
All tangled in a frenzy of swinging weapons, spilling blood, and howling. A scene straight out of a war movie.
Absurdly, the spark for all this madness was a small pouch of gold coins found in the sewer. Precisely the ones she had secretly scattered.
‘Is everyone in this city insane?’
Not that the scatterer had room to talk, but Netty frowned. These people seemed devoid of any decency.
The humans she’d been roaming the sewers with turned on each other the moment they spotted the pouch. Murder was commonplace, backstabs routine.
Netty couldn’t fathom it.
Hadn’t they all come to the sewers to hunt the Soviet secret vault? Why fight over gold the instant they saw it? Those coins were bait to keep people from leaving empty-handed.
She’d asked her sister the same that morning, but the answer was simple.
Sunk cost fallacy. Coming all the way to the sewers and leaving empty-handed felt unfair, sharing the gold even more so—hence the fights.
As if to prove her sister right, Dreytelial’s citizens slaughtered each other without hesitation.
“Get lost! This is Black Eyepatch Gang’s!”
The madman who’d fired earlier shouted again while blasting away. His wild shots ignored aim or ricochet, overwhelming those around him with sheer insanity.
But the vagrants didn’t back down easily. They’d found the pouch first.
To the city’s vagrants, those coins meant life-changing money. They refused to flee even as bullets and Ratkin bites claimed them.
“Can’t you see the gun? Scram!”
When threats failed to scatter the rest, the thug yelled in panic. Sweat beading on his brow was proof enough.
Then, a Ratkin that had been mauling a vagrant sneered at him.
“Chit, chit! Bullets! How many left? Gold thief?”
“How many? Enough to wipe you all out. You rat bastard.”
“Guns like that, chit! Max fifteen rounds! When you run dry, you’re dead!”
The Ratkin cackled, flaunting its gun knowledge like some Earth soldier.
Netty sensed something off and furrowed her brow slightly—just as the thug’s pistol went click-click.
The slide snapping on empty air. Proof the magazine was spent.
“Chit! Outta bullets! Charge!”
At one Ratkin’s cry, vagrants and Ratkin surged toward the thugs.
But thugs were thugs even without guns. Backed against the sewer wall and tightly packed, they held their own against the numbers.
‘…Won’t last long anyway.’
Netty thought, adjusting her cloak of invisibility. How much longer must she keep this up?
Her sister said until brother-in-law woke, but he’d been in a trance for a week already. All preparations to flip the board were ready, yet the one to do the flipping remained asleep.
Hence scattering gold to lure crowds into the sewers…
Then, she sensed dozens of humans approaching from deeper in.
More vagrants?
Netty turned—and froze, face hardening.
These weren’t vagrants. No vagrant drooled with bloodshot eyes.
And above all, none walked side-by-side with Pig Heads and Cow Heads.
‘Shepherds and zombies…’
Netty instinctively backpedaled. The instinct of sheep facing a shepherd.
Without the invisibility cloak, she’d have fled in terror.
‘…Gotta tell sis. The shepherds have finally left the west.’
As she crept backward, the fight between vagrants, Ratkin, and thugs neared its end.
Most thugs were dead or down, and Ratkin and vagrants eyed the pouch warily—when the Cow Head Shepherd spoke.
“Bring me the gun. Kill all witnesses.”
At the eerie shepherd voice echoing through the sewer, the zombies charged. Countless footsteps thundered like drums.
“Wh-what the hell are those?”
Vagrants spotted the zombies late and panicked. The Ratkin who’d bragged about guns earlier realized and screamed.
“Chit, chit! Zombies! Zombies!”
“Zombies? Fuck, run!”
The sewer turned to pandemonium. No clue how they were made, but the shepherds’ zombies outpaced the fleeing vagrants and Ratkin by miles.
The next instant, guttural roars filled the sewer.
Kyaaargh!
The zombies pounced. Netty squeezed her eyes shut, expecting sprays of blood and flesh.
But no such sounds came.
An awkward silence blanketed the sewer.
Puzzled, Netty peeked. A stranger stood between the zombies and Ratkin.
Kyaaaaagh!
The silence shattered. Zombies drooling lunged at the man. Netty kept her eyes open.
‘That’s…’
The man silently slashed horizontally with his sword. A familiar blade flashed, and five zombie heads tumbled.
The watching Cow Head yelled.
“That guy’s an Earthling. A superhuman!”
Of course he was. Netty swallowed as the man leaped lightly. He’d plunged straight into the zombie horde.
Zombies swarmed him, but he crushed heads underfoot and dashed atop them. Netty realized then: his target wasn’t zombies, but the shepherds behind.
“Stop him! He knows us!”
Unlike the panicking Pig Heads, the Cow Head grasped it instantly and gaped its maw.
Mana twisted, red light gathering in its open mouth.
The man didn’t dodge. He leaped higher off a zombie.
No, not there! As Netty gasped, red light beamed from the Cow Head’s mouth.
Kyaaaaah!
The mid-tier curse spell, Red Light of Death, struck him dead-on.
He didn’t shatter. Prismatic light burst from his waist, deflecting the beam.
“…Unicorn horn?”
The Cow Head faltered, Pig Heads late to weave spells—but the man landed first.
He swung lightly. His pale yellow blade cleaved a Pig Head’s skull.
Splurt! Blood sprayed; one shepherd became a headless corpse. Before its blood hit the ground, the Cow Head punched and a Pig Head drew a pistol.
Anticipating even that? The man retracted his sword and slashed horizontally again. Not mere speed—precise technique honed against shepherds.
That was his sword. It severed the Cow Head’s arm, sliced the pistol-drawing Pig Head’s waist.
Arm flying, belly splitting, pistol dropping.
“Gaaah…”
With the Pig Head’s death rattle, all three shepherds collapsed. One lived.
“Wh-who the hell are you?”
The man didn’t answer. He flicked his sword to shake off filthy shepherd and zombie blood, then advanced on the Cow Head.
A done fight, yet the Cow Head didn’t yield. Its bloodshot eyes gleamed, prepping a final spell.
Simple, efficient: Corpse Explosion using the dead Pig Head and its own body.
Even Netty behind her cloak spotted it—but speed was the issue. Mouth barely moving to finish.
“Die—!”
But the Cow Head never completed it. An ice spike waiting at its nape pierced its skull.
‘…Insane.’
Netty swallowed unwittingly. Shepherds downed that easily? Who was he? Anyone like that in the city?
As she pondered, the man whipped around. His gaze fixed on her.
No way?
Netty held her breath, plastering herself to the wall. Orphaned zombies milled blankly; no escape.
Step.
He approached. How, with invisibility? No, what now? Fight? Flee?
Her mind raced, but he sheathed his sword and rubbed his face.
As if wiping something away, his face changed—to one she knew well.
“…No way, brother-in-law?”
Netty blurted, half-exasperated, half-astonished.
Yeomyeong started to smile, then sensed something and urgently pressed a finger to his lips. Hush.
The obedient little sister clamped her mouth shut. Meanwhile, his face shifted back to the stranger’s.
As Netty tilted her head in confusion, a familiar voice echoed from the Ratkin’s escape route.
“I’d like to take those monsters’ corpses. How much?”
It was East Palace Lord Bikov.
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