The World Does Not Exist for ■■

Translator: FenrirTL
Editor: ford53
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< Chapter 6: A Coincidence for the Protagonist(2) >

The dawn in Incheon was no different from any other city in Korea.

The red-light districts and gambling dens began to close down, and people drenched in life and alcohol spilled onto the streets, their way home blessed by the various garbage strewn about, kicked here and there.

The only ones busy moving about were market vendors, street stall owners, and street cleaners.

Dung Beetle melted into the dawn streets, avoiding the gazes of people.

The first place he headed to was beyond an alley where people didn’t pass by, in front of filthy trash cans and a clothes collection box.

He stripped off his work clothes that were smeared with blood and dirt and threw them into the trash can, then randomly pulled out some clothes from a collection box to wear, a saggy turtleneck and shorts that were too short for jeans.

Though not appropriate attire for the approaching summer season, he didn’t care as long as it wasn’t attention-grabbing.

Having changed clothes, Dung Beetle went back to the streets and walked towards his next destination.

All the while, he kept his head low and his gaze downward, worried someone might recognize him. After all, his golden eyes were bound to stand out.

Fortunately, the cold indifference of the people of Incheon exceeded his expectations.

Not a single passerby made eye contact, let alone gave him a second glance.

‘…I’ve arrived sooner than expected.’

Dung Beetle casually lifted his head to look at his destination.

Incheon Market, also known as MacArthur Market, named after the imposing statue of MacArthur standing at the entrance.

Dung Beetle naturally entered the market, timing his steps with the other merchants entering.

The pungent smell of seafood and food greeted him, but his actual destination was on the opposite end of the restaurants.

Deep within the market, there was a small bar in a back alley that even the vendors seldom visited.

As Dung Beetle crossed the winding market alley and entered the bar, the owner, busy arranging the tables, spoke without even turning his head.

“We’re closed for the day.”

“Mr. Jangman.”

Upon hearing his name, the owner finally turned his head.

“…Dung Beetle? What brings you here at this hour?”

The bar owner, Jangman, was an elderly man with a sailor’s characteristic tan skin.

He had been a formidable sailor back when Incheon Port still existed, and anyone who saw his robust body nodded in agreement.

“Did the team leader send you on a liquor run?”

“…The team leader is dead.”

“What?”

Jangman stopped wiping the table and furrowed his brows as soon as he heard Dung Beetle’s reply.

“What are you talking about? Why is the man who bought liquor just a few days ago dead?”

“…Do you know about the incident where smugglers and elves were all murdered at the rendezvous point?”

“Yeah, I’m aware of it. It was just two days ago, wasn’t it? It’s still all over the news.”

Two days. Was it just one day after becoming a corpse that he resurrected? Dung Beetle recalled the time he had been dead and continued speaking.

“…The person who caused that incident requested a cleanup, and our team was assigned to it.”

“The person responsible? You mean the murderer himself?”

“Yes, right after the cleanup was finished, he turned his blade on our team.”

“…The Cleaners Guild isn’t stupid, are they? Are you saying they sent you without any precautions?”

“The Cleaners Guild were the ones who sold us out to the murderer.”

“…Huh.”

Jangman pressed his forehead in disbelief.

“The team leader had been with the Cleaners Guild for over twenty years. To discard someone like that as if he was nothing…”

He pondered for a moment before looking at Dung Beetle.

“Are there any other team members who survived?”

“No, the only survivor is… just me.”

Jangman shook his head in pity. He stood up and reached behind the counter for a bottle of alcohol.

“It’s good that at least you survived; there’s someone to conduct a funeral.”

“…Mr. Jangman.”

“I’ll look into getting you a place abroad. Maybe you can start over in Australia or Thailand…”

“…Mr. Jangman.”

Dung Beetle watched as Jangman alternated his gaze between him and the bottle.

Deciphering some resolve in those golden eyes, Jangman sighed and opened the bottle.

“Put away any thoughts of revenge, dealing with the murderer is the police’s job, not yours.”

“That person, he’s a superhuman who can manipulate mana. The police can’t catch him.”

“So you can? The Cleaners Guild is the same. How do you plan to get revenge on a government organization? Are you planning to become a terrorist?”

Jangman drank roughly and looked at Dung Beetle with a deadpan expression.

“I can’t help push you into a certain death situation. How am I supposed to face the team leader if you die?”

He drank again, or rather, he tried to.

As Jangman reached for the bottle, Dung Beetle swiftly approached and snatched the bottle from his hand.

Jangman looked incredulously at Dung Beetle as if to ask what on earth he was doing. Instead of answering, Dung Beetle simply clenched his fist.

Crack.

The bottle shattered miserably, spilling its contents. Jangman frowned at the spilled alcohol, bottle shards, and blood on the floor.

‘Tch, youth is…’

But the next moment, as Dung Beetle spread open the hand he had clenched, Jangman’s brows furrowed in a different sense of the word.

“I have no intention of dying a dog’s death.”

Dung Beetle’s hand was healing in real-time. The bleeding stopped, and new flesh grew over the wound in seconds.

“Regeneration? You, could it be… mana?”

Mana.

The power that humanity on Earth had dreamed of since the Nazis opened the dimensional gate and crossed over.

After two short wars and a long colonization, modern humans finally gained the ability to wield that power.

Mage, superhuman, hero, hunter, the blessed one…

The names they were called varied as much as the jealousy and expectations of the public who watched them, but in the end, they all meant the same thing.

A being who manipulated mana with purely their body and mind, not with machines or tools.

Jangman was speechless, realizing that the cleaner before him had become such an existence.

“How did you… no, you wouldn’t know either, would you?”

The ‘official’ methods of using mana confirmed so far were innate talent and special bloodline, the blessing of gods, and consuming a certain drug. Only four in total.

Of course, it wasn’t that there were no ‘unofficial’ methods… but either way, none of them were accessible to an ordinary cleaner.

‘A miracle? Or perhaps…’

Jangman, having thought that far, casually pushed the spilled bottle with his foot and took out a new one.

“Alright, I get that you’re not just going off to die a meaningless death. But what can I possibly help you with?”

“Mr. Jangman, I’m not asking for direct help. Just out of the kindness we once shared, introduce me to someone, that’s all I ask.”

“Someone? It’s true I have many connections, but how is a bar owner’s network going to help you?”

Jangman shook his head.

He opened the new bottle and took a glass from under the table, pouring the rum. The rich aroma of dark rum spread between the two of them.

“A smuggler. I heard you were the best in that area.”

Jangman’s body twitched and froze as he was about to take the glass. He looked at Dung Beetle with a hardened expression and spoke.

“Ha, the team leader… he told you quite a bit. He wasn’t the type to be loose-lipped.”

He neither confirmed nor denied that he had been a smuggler.

“So, you’re planning to meet a smuggler to buy what?”

“…Weapons.”

“Dung Beetle, I don’t know how you’ll take this old man’s advice, but there’s one thing I have to make clear.”

Jangman’s face became more serious as he continued.

“Real weapons are different from the toys in action movies. Mana is the same. Why do you think the superpowers are setting up academies to train superhumans?”

The issue was too serious to be passed off as mere youthful bravado. Jangman, intending to persuade him, took out another glass and placed it on the table.

“Right now, you’re nothing. If it becomes known that you’re a superhuman, before you can get your revenge, the underworld will be out for your blood.”

“…”

“And after they catch you? It’s obvious. Your body will be chopped up and sold to research institutions, and your liver will end up on the tables of the rich.”

The words that came from Jangman’s mouth were part of a commonly heard urban legend.

‘Eating the liver of a mana user allows one to use mana.’

It was an officially debunked rumor by the United States, but thinking about it inversely also implied that there were indeed people who had tried it.

However, even against such a brutal warning, Dung Beetle’s expression did not change.

“I’ve been prepared for that from the start.”

“Prepared? You’re too flippant with life-and-death matters.”

“It’s because it’s a life-and-death matter that I’m telling you this. It’s the only choice I have right now.”

“…”

Jangman let out a breath, astonishment or lamentation unclear. The youth’s determination might be reckless, but the resolve was different.

To both the old and the young. Resolve was always just that, resolve. Life was equally precious to everyone, as they only had one.

“To be or not to be, no need for Hamlet it seems.”

He gazed at the glass, lost in thought.

As dawn passed and the sun began to rise, and the rum in the glass created gentle ripples,

Jangman, still seeing Dung Beetle’s determined expression, nodded.

“If the youth is prepared, the old man can’t help but comply.”

Jangman filled the glass he had brought out to persuade with a generous amount of alcohol and handed it to Dung Beetle.

Atop the deep brown color typical of cheap rum, Dung Beetle’s expressionless face was reflected.

“Fine then, I will personally make arrangements with someone useful for you.”