The World Does Not Exist for ■■

Translator: FenrirTL
Editor: ford53
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< Chapter 4: The Unlucky Day (4) >

No one actually referred to it by its official name, the Korea Environmental Sanitation Union; it was simply known as the Cleaners Guild. In an office that was silent after the employees had gone home, a modest party was taking place.

The sole attendee of the party was a middle-aged man, better known by his title than his name: the Manager.

Pop!

He had uncorked a bottle of whiskey prepared for a special occasion.

The Manager momentarily savored the aroma of the whiskey before taking a swig directly from the bottle. The sensation of the alcohol, which was over 30 degrees, burning down his esophagus was fantastic—it felt like validation for not giving in to the underlings’ hints to drink it sooner.

Anyway, after cleansing his insides with whiskey, the Manager leaned back in his chair.

Everything about the night was perfect.

He had rid himself of a long-standing headache and, as a result, had gathered enough bundles of cash to stack a tower on his desk. Not just any cash—the piles were U.S. $100 bills with Benjamin Franklin’s face printed on them, not the Korean won bills bearing the face of President Lee Seung-bak.

The Manager picked up a wad of cash and sniffed it. The musty scent of paper money, sweeter to him than anything else in the world.

“Good, very good.”

All of this was thanks to a murderous maniac making a name for himself lately.

Three days prior, the killer, without much preamble, had demanded exactly ten people to kill.

It was a mad request typical of a mad murderer. The problem was, the Manager didn’t have the capacity to provide people to be killed.

He was a guild manager, not a human trafficker.

But he couldn’t just say he couldn’t do it—not when the man had left so many corpses in his wake.

So, in the end, he asked for help from the higher-ups. It was intended as a plea to stop the mad killer, but the higher-ups solved the problem in a completely different way.

“Ten employees? Just give them to him. We have some who are expendable anyway.”

The Manager realized who ‘the expendables’ were.

The bold Team Leader who had dared to stand up to the higher-ups and the stupid cleaners who blindly followed him.

The higher-ups had proposed this as an opportunity to get rid of the Team Leader, and the number was exactly ten.

Instead of feeling scared or guilty, the Manager faithfully followed the orders from above. Thankfully, the higher-ups said nothing about the kickbacks that would result from the job.

Silence is golden, right? That’s how the Manager interpreted their silence:

“Take what you can.”

And he gladly did.

The wages that would have been paid to the cleaners, the modest ‘life price’ the murderer gave, and the assets amassed by the Team Leader… An incredible amount of money had fallen into his hands overnight, an amount hard to believe had come to him in just one night.

The largest share, of course, came from the Team Leader’s assets. He had heard rumors that the man was rich, but he hadn’t expected as much as it was.

‘Well, he must have had the courage to take on the higher-ups because he had that money.’

But…

‘He should have known his place. Crossing over the line is what got him killed, isn’t it?’

With a toast of mourning and gratitude, the Manager took another drink of whiskey. The pleasant buzz of alcohol warmed his body nicely.

He indulged in the moment without resisting the drunken haze.

Perhaps ten minutes had passed when he stood up and took out a large bag and a bundle of smaller bags from under the desk. They were cheap bags, the kind found on market floors, without any decoration or brand name.

But the value of a bag is judged by what it contains.

He began to stuff the cash into the bags right away. There was a simple reason for putting money in bags instead of a secure safe.

‘A large amount of money eaten alone will give you indigestion.’

It was blood money, but not as important as actual blood. When you come into money, you spread it around early, so you don’t bleed later.

The money for the higher-ups, the officials who watched his back, and the police was carefully packed into the bags. Perhaps it was the effect of the alcohol; he had barely transferred the cash when sweat beaded on his forehead.

After moving about half of the wads of cash into the bags, the Manager straightened up and wiped his brow with satisfaction. He looked at the bags of money with pride, like a farmer reaping the rewards of honest labor, chuckling to himself at the thought of them being his lifelines.

Just as he reached out to fill the largest bag with his share, a sound of something shattering came from behind.

Startled, the Manager spun around and saw something coming in through the window.

‘What the hell, this is the fourth floor?’

Was that murderous bastard coming to kill him now?

In a panic, the Manager pulled a gun from his desk drawer. Standing awkwardly, he aimed at the figure coming through the window.

But… the figure’s appearance was all too familiar. Though drenched in blood and filth, the person was wearing the Cleaners Guild’s work clothes and gas mask.

“Manager.”

“You, who are you?”

“Why did you do it?”

The cleaner who had burst through the window started with an incomprehensible question. The Manager considered running, but the sight of the bags full of money caught his eye.

Money grants courage where there is none. Gripping the gun with both hands, he yelled at the cleaner approaching him.

“Who the hell are you, you bastard!”

“Why did you sell us to that guy?”

Sold? The Manager narrowed his eyes as he grasped the hidden meaning behind the word.

“…Team Leader?”

No response came back. The Manager was deep in thought.

Could it be that one of the cleaners handed over to the killer today had survived?

No, it was clear someone had survived since they were making such claims.

‘Damn idiotic murderer bastard. Couldn’t even kill a cleaner properly and now this mess?’

He gauged who among the cleaners sent off today could do such a bold act.

The Team Leader was too old, and the guys Deokbae’s age didn’t have the guts for this.

That left the younger ones… James was a foreigner with a distinct accent, and the youngest, Dung Beetle, was too quiet to cause trouble.

By process of elimination, that left only Chun-sik.

Having reached his own conclusion, the Manager licked his parched lips and spoke again.

“Chun-sik, if you’re alive, you should be thinking about staying that way. Ha, what are you doing coming back here?”

Sweat formed on the palms of his hands gripping the gun. Damn it, the Manager tensed, not knowing when the guy might charge. But the cleaner didn’t rush him. With a voice that sounded absorbed in thought, he kept talking.

“Answer my question. Why did you sell us?”

“Sell? Don’t you remember how you guys, your Team Leader, pissed off the higher-ups? If you maggots are told to strip corpses, then just strip the corpses. Didn’t you see this coming?”

“Just for that…?”

“Just for that? Do you know how much we lost because you didn’t strip the corpses and handed them straight to city hall?”

Bang! The Manager fired the gun he had been aiming. The cleaner was hit in the thigh and collapsed to the floor.

“Take that, you bastard! I was a sharpshooter in the military, got it?”

He chose not to mention aloud that the bullet aimed for his head had hit his thigh instead.

“Ha… damn.” Regaining his composure, the Manager steadied his shaking breath and picked up the whiskey bottle.

“Stupid kid. You think money is a joke? Even now, there are people dying over money, in Africa and beyond the dimensional gates, you idiot.”

The Manager’s words were sophistry from beginning to end. If the Manager himself didn’t believe his words, why bother saying them?

But what did it matter?

The important thing was that the cleaner was squirming on the floor after being shot, and the Manager was standing just fine.

“…At least I can agree with you on one thing.”

The cleaner on the floor did not argue or get angry at the sophistry; he just let out a deep sigh, and those eyes, those murderous golden eyes, stared out from behind the gas mask.

“What, are you done now?”

The gun and the alcohol gave the Manager courage. He took a sip of whiskey and confidently approached the cleaner.

“Some people die over money.”

“You idiot… Ha, can’t you grasp the situation? You come back from death’s door and now you’re blind to everything?”

The Manager moved close enough that he was sure the shot wouldn’t miss, aiming for the man’s head. Thoughts of how to dispose of the body and how much to bribe the police if they come because of the gunshot flitted across his mind, but none of that mattered.

“Die.”

As he put pressure on his finger to shoot, the cleaner suddenly kicked up from the floor.

“Ugh?!”

Caught off guard by the unexpected assault, the Manager failed to react.

Bang!

The fired bullet whizzed through empty air, and the cleaner rammed his head straight into the Manager’s jaw.

Crack!

The sound of the jawbone and teeth breaking coincided with the Manager’s world spinning.

‘Ah, no. If I lose consciousness now…’

The Manager’s thoughts didn’t go any further.

Blam!

Something hit his head again, and an awful pain overwhelmed him.

His consciousness plummeted into deep darkness.

***

“Ugh, ugh…”

The Manager woke up groaning like a wet dog, squirming due to the pain of the injuries he had sustained, unable to open his eyes for quite a while.

“Help… somebody help…”

No one responded to his pitiful voice. The Manager tried to lift his hand to rub his eyes, but it was difficult even to nod his head because his arms and legs were all tied up.

Finally, after regaining some sense and a few minutes had passed, the Manager managed to open his eyes.

“Are you awake?”

The first thing he saw through his blurry vision was the black gas mask worn by the cleaners.

“You, who are you?”

“Wondering if it isn’t Chun-sik that’s got you worried?”

“Deokbae, is that you? This is all a misunderstanding. I can explain everything.”

“Deokbae… you sure like to drop that name.”

As he said this, the cleaner slowly took off his gas mask.

The first thing revealed was the jawline of a young man who had yet to become an adult. Above it, black hair soaked in blood and sweat trickled down, and finally, the hidden eyes glistened.

“Golden eyes…?”

Eyes shimmering with a terrifying golden hue, like molten gold. There was only one cleaner he knew with such eyes.

“Dung Beetle, you… how?”

“Why? Am I not supposed to be alive?”

“…”

The Manager desperately tried to think. How could he survive this? Should he appeal to his emotions, or perhaps threaten him?

“You insane bastard!”

He chose the latter.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Do you even know what you’re ruining?”

In the Manager’s memory, Dung Beetle was a guy born with the spirit of a pack mule who wouldn’t refuse even dirty work if asked. Maybe his head was turned now, but a few shouts would…

“Wait. You, what the hell are you doing?”

Contrary to the Manager’s expectations, Dung Beetle did not cower.

Instead, he did something horrifying. He took out a large canister of gasoline from behind him and strode confidently towards the Manager.

“Hold on! Just wait!”

Dung Beetle opened the canister and poured gasoline right over the Manager’s head. The chilling smell of the gasoline enveloped him.

“…”

Then, the Manager was finally able to take in his surroundings. In the faint darkness, a mountain of corpses piled up.

The massive corpse warehouse where the cleaners stashed bodies they had diverted.

The Manager realized something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. Was he supposed to believe that a man who had been shot in the thigh dragged an unconscious adult male from the office to this place? How could that possibly make sense?

As his mind struggled to keep up with the reality before him, Dung Beetle spoke.

“Manager, I will now give you an opportunity.”

“Opportunity? What opportunity?”

“Not to burn to death.”

Dung Beetle took a lighter from his pocket.

“It’s simple. I ask questions, and you just answer.”

“…”

Click, click

Dung Beetle silently flicked the lighter on and off.

By the time the terrified Manager gave a silent nod of agreement, Dung Beetle started with the first question.

“So, first question. Is this all the doing of the higher-ups?”

“…Yes, yes. When the murderer demanded people to kill, they saw it as a good opportunity and ordered your whole team… to be handed over to that murderer. Believe me! I just did what I was told.”

“…”

The Manager swallowed hard. The golden eyes of Dung Beetle looking down on him were too fearsome.

“…Then the second question. What’s the deal with this corpse warehouse?”

The Manager squeezed his eyes shut. This was a question he should not answer. If he did, he might save his life for the moment, but he would be certain to die later. The higher-ups would never let him live if he divulged the truth.

But if he didn’t answer, he would die now.

Tears or perhaps gasoline streamed through the wrinkles around his eyes.

“This warehouse… it’s the raison d’être for the Cleaners Guild.”

“The raison d’être?”

“You must have heard the urban legends about the Cleaners Guild.”

“That we run a cannibalism factory or provide corpses to necromancers, those ridiculous rumors?”

“Yes, those rumors. Half of them are true.”

Half-truths? Dung Beetle frowned.

A cannibalism factory was an obvious lie. Slaughtering is a surprisingly delicate operation. Not only would a large-scale slaughter facility be required, but also refrigeration equipment.

How could they supply human flesh by just stacking bodies in a warehouse? It would be a relief if they weren’t delivering rotten meat.

Then the answer must be the other half, delivering corpses to necromancers… but that too was unbelievable.

“Do you expect me to believe that?”

As Dung Beetle spoke with a flat tone, the Manager glanced at him and began to talk.

“It’s hard to believe, but it’s the absolute truth. I swear it.”

“The Cleaners Guild is under the government, isn’t it? You’re saying the guild has teamed up with terrorists designated by the United States?”

As Dung Beetle thrust the lighter forward, the Manager retracted his neck and shifted back.

“Even the big-headed Reds meet with the President of the United States these days. Is it that strange for the Korean government to team up with a terrorist organization?”

He added quickly, fearing the lighter flame might catch.

“I don’t know how far the government’s influence stretches. I’m just at the bottom, only handling deliveries. But this much I can say for sure. The Cleaners Guild has been doing this for at least 20 years.”

“Lies. What could the government possibly get from a necromancer?”

Click, click, click

The lighter flame came close again. The Manager shouted as if screaming.

“Awakening potion! The government gets awakening potions!”

“Awakening potion?”

“Yes, damn it, the elixir that turns earthlings into mana users with a one-in-five chance! The necromancers supply it to the government.”

“…”

“Haha… Why do you think this tiny country has more mages than all of South America? Do you think they’ve built Hogwarts here?”

It was a plausible story. It was true that Korea produced a particularly high number of mages.

The government claimed it was because of the dimensional gate that opened in Gaeseong… but, well, the explanation involving necromancers was a bit more convincing.

“…Evidence? Do you have any?”

“Damn it, this warehouse is the evidence! Does this place look like just a warehouse to you? It’s enchanted with preservative magic to prevent the corpses from decomposing and sealed to stop the smell from escaping!”

As the Manager exclaimed, Dung Beetle looked around the warehouse anew.

Certainly, if so many corpses were rotting here, the stench should have engulfed the entire area. A smell that could be blocked by a single gas mask? It was inexplicable without magic.

“Why would anyone create such a facility if it’s not the necromancers? Please, please believe me. Why would I lie about something like this after coming all this way?”

The Manager spoke with a desperate voice. He wanted to live. There were too many assets he hadn’t spent yet, too much happiness he hadn’t experienced; he couldn’t die like this.

However, Dung Beetle didn’t seem entirely convinced. He squinted his eyes at the Manager, as if evaluating whether his words were lies or truth.

“If what you say is true, when do the necromancers come? There must be a period when they collect the corpses.”

“Three days from now. Three days later is when they regularly come to collect the bodies. Th-the meeting place is the closed Incheon Port’s 13th dock!”

The Manager revealed information that was top secret without hesitation. It was too late now; he had already divulged too much.

“Three days…”

Dung Beetle fell silent. The Manager found his silence as frightening as a threat.

“Anymore, do you have any more questions? I’ll tell you everything I know, just spare my life.”

“I have no more questions. You probably don’t know much anyway.”

“Then, you’ll spare me?”

Dung Beetle didn’t respond but just looked down at him. Golden eyes filled with disgust and hatred met the Manager’s gaze head-on.

The silence lasted for only as long as it took for the gasoline streaming down the Manager’s cheeks to mix with his cold sweat. Dung Beetle, as if making a decision, tightly grasped his fist and then put the lighter back in his pocket.

“As promised. I will spare your life.”

The Manager breathed a sigh of relief. At the same time, he inwardly mocked Dung Beetle. Stupid kid, sparing me?

“Thank you. Really, thank you…”

However, on the outside, he played the part of being weak and pitiful. There was no need to stir up unnecessary trouble.

If he could just get through this moment safely, there would be plenty of opportunities for revenge against the kid. But first, he might have to abandon his post as the Manager and flee from the Korean government.

At any rate, Dung Beetle left the Manager behind and disappeared towards the entrance of the warehouse.

The Manager let his guard down only after the sound of Dung Beetle’s footsteps could no longer be heard. He clutched his throbbing chest and exhaled deeply.

“Damn bastard should’ve untied my hands and feet before leaving.”

He grunted and struggled to untie his bound limbs. As he managed to free one arm, a strange smell tickled his nose.

Something… smelled like burning meat…

“Oh no… damn it…”

The smell was coming from the direction Dung Beetle had left. As the Manager turned his head, black smoke and rising flames caught his eye.

“This… this can’t be…”

There was no space to evade the fire in the warehouse, nor was there an escape route. For the sake of magical integrity, they hadn’t even installed ventilation ducts, let alone windows.

He might have been able to break through the entrance before the flames grew too large…

But for the Manager, drenched head to toe in gasoline, such thoughts were meaningless.

“You son of a bitch!!!”

The Manager realized with despair that all he could do was sit and wait to be burned alive.