The World Does Not Exist for ■■

Translator: FenrirTL
Editor: ford53
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< Chapter 11: A Destiny for the Prologue Boss (2) >

Three days after Dung Beetle set fire to the corpse warehouse and two days after purchasing weapons, at the break of dawn when the darkness of night shrouded Pier 13, a black sedan approached.

Clearly an expensive car to anyone’s eyes, the sedan moved deep into the pier and settled into place.

In the dark of the pier where even the moonlight seemed to steer clear, the headlights of the sedan shone eerily.

It was almost 30 minutes later that someone finally got out of the sedan that had been stationary for quite some time.

Two men armed with guns and one in a suit.

The suit-wearing man, sweating profusely, had a worried expression as if everything was making him anxious.

‘Are they from the government, or could it be…’

The dung beetle watched them from a distance, not yet certain.

Could they truly be the people the work site manager mentioned?

Was it really true that the government was operating the Cleaners Guild to sell corpses to a necromancer?

Dung Beetle used a shadow-skipping technique just like Park Seti, mana gathering under his feet as he leaped lightly between the containers.

“Fucking Cleaners…can’t do the job right…”

Approaching a container just behind the sedan, voices started to become audible that were not heard from afar.

‘…Sir…potion received… civil servant… hero…’

Dung Beetle, focusing mana into his hearing, chuckled involuntarily.

It was laughter born of disbelief.

Cleaners, warehouse, civil servant, potion.

Yes, real people from the government side.

His hand fidgeted with the shotgun at his waist.

The cold touch of the gun cooled his mind.

‘Now the necromancer will come too.’

The wait was not long.

Shortly after Dung Beetle took his position, louder engine noises began to rise from the direction of the only entry to the pier.

The first thing to catch his eye was a set of headlights taller than the average car, not just one set but five.

‘A trailer?’

Five enormous trucks hauling containers of similar size to those laid out on the pier entered.

Though too conspicuous to believe they were driven by a necromancer, the man in a suit looked nearly ready to cry with unease, making it seem likely these were the necromancer’s vehicles.

And above all, the smell.

As the trucks drew closer, the familiar stench that he had often smelt during his time as a cleaner wafted in,

‘The rotting smell of corpses…’

Creak!

The trucks, having entered deep into the pier, stopped side by side in front of the sedan, and the central truck’s door opened.

“It’s been a long time, Secretary.”

Out of the truck stepped a man dressed in neat formal wear.

His skin was so pale it appeared almost ghostly white, looking corpse-like as he stood with the truck headlights behind him.

“Yes, Mr. Bujoon, it’s been a while. Seeing you after such a long time, you seem to have become quite, um, lean.”

The man in the suit was fawning to the point of appearing subservient.

The armed guards standing behind him also seemed a bit intimidated, resembling not so much a trade meeting as a debtor facing his creditor.

Even the necromancer seemed to feel the oddity of the subservient attitude, squinting as he asked,

“Secretary, where are the goods? Have they not arrived yet?”

“It, um, there’s been a… complication.”

“A complication?”

“It’s delayed… this delivery might be…”

The air grew chilly as the suit-clad secretary finished speaking.

Dung Beetle felt the chill even from his vantage point atop a container box.

“Is there a problem of some sort?”

“A tragic accident… the corpse warehouse has… it burned down.”

“Burned down? All of it turned to ashes, you mean?”

“Yes, that’s… how it turned out.”

“Heh, well now.”

A flicker of annoyance crossed and then left Bujoon’s pale face.

“You must have a good reason for showing up here without the goods. You’d better have one.”

“Yes, yes! Of course! The higher-ups are deeply regretful about this incident.”

“And?”

“They promised to deliver an additional seven hundred units on top of the undelivered corpses in the next trade.”

“Next time. Next time, you say…”

Bujoon scrutinized the secretary up and down with a cold expression.

“Were you planning on receiving our goods this time, too?”

“Mr. Bujoon, could you… you know our situation? Just one more wizard for this enrollment season…”

During the secretary’s plea, Bujoon waved his hand to cut him off.

“That will be enough. Secretary, when you think about it, this incident isn’t your fault, is it?”

“…”

“This deal isn’t new, it’s been two years. We should understand such things from our end.”

With a snap of his fingers, something stirred from the back of the truck and emerged from the container.

Groans and moans filled the air.

What was once human, and still resembled a human but no longer was one, came forth.

Zombies.

They brought forward a carefully packaged box as if escorting it to the necromancer.

Even upon seeing zombies, unmistakably made from Korean corpses, the secretary’s face showed no disgust or fear.

“Oh.”

His gaze remained fixed on the box the zombies carried.

“Let’s do the inspection first.”

The zombies carefully opened the box they carried, revealing three potion bottles inside, shining with a radiant color.

“Potions of Awakening… as beautiful as ever.”

The secretary admired the potion bottles, slightly larger than soju bottles, handling them as if they were precious jewels.

At that moment, Dung Beetle overhead rid himself of his last shred of doubt.

It was certain now.

The Cleaners Guild had been gathering corpses for the necromancer, all under the orders of the Korean government.

‘All because of that potion…’

He lost his comrades because of it.

Though a player had wielded the knife, it was the government that had sent them to their deaths.

As his suspicions turned to certainty, Dung Beetle took out a grenade from his waist.

The rage was brief, his actions quick.

Pulling the pin, he tossed the grenade beneath the containers.

When the necromancer and the government people heard something drop and looked up, the grenade was already detonating.

Boom!!

The explosion went off right above their heads.

The two armed men had no time to scream before being swept away by the blast.

However, the necromancer and the suit-man were barely spared from the explosion.

A small protective shield emanating from a badge on the suit-man’s clothes had saved them narrowly.

“An uninvited guest, it seems.”

The necromancer first looked at the secretary.

“Surely this isn’t a trap prepared by the Korean government.”

“No! Why would the government ever… that, that thing!”

Their conversation was cut short as two more grenades descended towards them.

“You undying ones. Block it.”

At Bujoon’s command, the surrounding zombies threw themselves into action.

Boom! Boom!

As the two grenades exploded, zombies swept up in the blast were flung away – an overpowering display for just two grenades.

“…These are no ordinary bombs.”

Bujoon frowned as he watched the spot where the grenades had exploded, annoyed that the zombies he beckoned with a simple call had ‘merely’ been torn limb from limb.

It couldn’t have been divine grenades, and certainly, they were anti-magic grenades that were not easily obtained.

“Is it the Korean government that’s been caught?”

No, who was caught mattered little.

Right above them was the madman hurling grenades.

Bujoon shook his head, murmuring an incantation.

“Wake up, you undying ones.”

Thud, at his call, something from behind the truck’s container doors began to stir, and with a creaking noise, the doors swung open.

Groans and moans spilled forth.

Beyond the door were freshly woken corpses, or rather, zombies.

“Protect your master.”

Zombies that had been crammed inside the container now shambled out awkwardly.

In an instant, a human barrier was erected around the necromancer.

“Whoever you are, you’ve picked the wrong fight. Do you even know who I am?”

“A maggot feeding off corpses.”

Dung Beetle leapt down from the container, alighting feather-light, and the necromancer’s pale face contorted with recognition.

“A superhuman?”

With anti-magic grenades and an unidentified superhuman, the necromancer drew his conclusions quickly.

“…The potion’s secret has been leaked.”

Without responding, Dung Beetle charged at him.

The necromancer, in turn, instantly drew forth a wand.

Dangling with a raven’s skull, the grotesque wand emitted a green glow as it aimed at Dung Beetle.

“An amateur? Such crude methods. Hoping to accomplish anything with merely one superhuman?”

Bujoon brandished the mana-infused wand.

Flash!

The wand’s magic responded, spewing green liquid.

Dung Beetle instinctively dodged the liquid, changing direction.

Hiss! As the liquid grazed past him and hit the ground, the concrete pier dissolved like butter.

“Kill the ones who need to die.”

Bujoon had anticipated his acidic magic missing and quickly commanded the zombies.

The swiftest responding zombies, those with unrotted legs, charged at Dung Beetle with ferocity.

Screech!

They lunged at him like beasts devoid of reason.

Dung Beetle, without a moment’s hesitation, stretched out his leg towards them.

A clean roundhouse kick demonstrated by Park Seti sent the front-line zombies tumbling down.

However, dispatching a few with a kick was like merely breaking the tip of a lance – more zombies surged over their fallen comrades.

Screech!

Dung Beetle evaded the incoming swarm, keeping a distance.

They couldn’t even touch the hem of his shadow-skipping attire, but the problem was the necromancer.

Dung Beetle frowned as he gauged the distance from the necromancer, who was protected by the advancing zombies.

‘Buying time, are they?’

Zombies couldn’t beat a superhuman.

Their already decayed flesh, incapable of dealing fatal harm to a superhuman, was simply a well-known fact, proven during the necromancer slaughter at the Miami Terror, thirty years prior.

Even Dung Beetle, a superhuman of only three days, knew something that the necromancer couldn’t possibly ignore.

He used the shadow-skipping technique to jump into action.

Reaching roughly twice his height, the necromancer, hiding behind the zombies, came into view.

Sure enough, he was closing his eyes, holding the wand, murmuring something.

‘He’s buying time to complete the spell.’

Now that he knew what the necromancer was up to, there was only one course of action.

Dung Beetle reached for another grenade on his belt.

And just like that, he pulled the pin and threw it.

As the grenade traced an arc through the night sky, the zombies scrambled around the necromancer to protect him.

Boom!

The resulting explosion sent a tremendous number of zombies flying.

The necromancer escaped the blast but the abrupt move to direct the zombies had broken his spellcasting.

With a fierce glare toward Dung Beetle, he said,

“Those grenades can’t last forever. Just try and struggle to the end.”

“Go ahead and struggle with your precious zombies to the end.”

Having landed on the ground, Dung Beetle sprung forward, charging at the zombies.

Screech!

Groan…

The dung beetle collided head-on with the incoming zombies.

The moment the leading zombie opened its mouth to bite, its head was smashed to pieces.

The next zombie, reaching out its arms to grab, was sent flying in the same outstretched posture; another who swung its claws had its arm yanked off.

Scratch, bite, embrace…

Their attacks were simple.

Yet there were simply too many of them.

Like an inescapable swamp, they kept on pressing toward Dung Beetle.

“How foolish. Have you gone mad?”

Bujoon, preparing another spell, chuckled upon seeing Dung Beetle’s actions.

He had been worried the superhuman might run away, dodging the slow zombies, but instead, Dung Beetle was rushing into their midst.

He felt foolish for having been wary of how many grenades remained.

“You wretch. If you want to die so badly, then fine. Kill h—”

Bujoon’s words choked as a loud gunshot interrupted him.

Bang!

The shot left a path of fallen zombies in its wake.

“…A shotgun?”

From the effect, as zombies were mowed down, it was clear that this shotgun, like the grenades, was no ordinary weapon.

“Madman. He’s come prepared.”

Bujoon’s voice became urgent as he continued to prepare his spell, and zombies rushed to fill the gap at that moment.

Once again, the Remington MH750 in Dung Beetle’s hand unleashed its fury.