There Is No World For ■■

[Master, be cautious. The stench grows more repugnant with each step.]

No sooner had the unicorn's voice echoed in Yeomyeong's mind than the gunfire intensified beyond the sewer walls.

Drrr-drrr-drrr!

Not a pistol, but the distinct burst of an automatic rifle spewing bullets.

Sensing imminent danger, Yeomyeong drew more mana into himself. Each step against the sewer floor propelled him forward in swift strides.

Turning two more corners in the labyrinth of darkness, Yeomyeong spotted a figure up ahead.

'...A beastfolk?'

The figure was massive, so tall that Yeomyeong had to tilt his head to take it in. Covered in gray fur, its grotesquely emaciated body seemed more skeletal than alive.

Perhaps it had noticed the light emanating from Yeomyeong's sword hilt. The creature slowly turned its head toward him.

It was only when their eyes met that Yeomyeong realized it was no ordinary beastfolk.

No beastfolk could survive with half its face melted away, exposing bare bone.

[A beastfolk zombie? What kind of foolishness is this...?]

The unicorn’s dry commentary barely registered before Yeomyeong swung his sword.

Tear of the Mountain cut through the sewer's gloom, its arc aimed squarely at the wolf-like creature's head.

“Kyaaaarrrgh!!!”

The creature let out a scream—or perhaps a wail. It wasn’t magical or cursed, just raw, primal noise.

Yet the sound provoked an immediate reaction.

Beyond the fallen wolf zombie, dozens of eyes gleamed in the sewer’s shadows, all focusing on Yeomyeong.

And then...

Aa-woo-woo-woo!!

A chorus of howls erupted as the pack of zombies screamed in unison, their voices reverberating through the sewer.

Annoyed by the deafening noise, Yeomyeong frowned and dashed toward them.

The zombies surged forward, claws clicking on the wet sewer floor.

The moment they entered each other's range, the lead zombie lashed out. Its claw, longer than the average woman's height, swung down at Yeomyeong’s head—a simple yet effective attack.

But distance meant nothing to Yeomyeong.

He sliced clean through the zombie's arm, severing it entirely. The mana-charged blade tore through decayed flesh, and Yeomyeong advanced two more steps.

Two down.

The same swing that took the arm cleaved through the zombie’s torso. Another set of claws and teeth lunged at him from both sides.

Yeomyeong didn’t dodge. Taking a short breath, he tightened his shoulders and swung his blade in a crescent arc.

The sword, illuminated by Uragan’s hilt, carved a flawless path. Behind it, blood and rotting flesh splattered as zombies within range were reduced to pieces.

Five down.

Yeomyeong didn’t pause, and neither did the zombies.

Claws clashed with the sword. Blood and bits of flesh flew over the sewage.

Like a torrential flood, like waves crashing against the shore.

The sewer filled with the dismembered bodies of the mindless horde.

Five became ten, ten became thirty.

Yeomyeong moved with mechanical precision, slaughtering the zombies as if he were an automated butcher. Just as he had done in Incheon. Just as he had done in Manchuria.

Occasionally, a claw would graze his thigh, or teeth would sink into his flesh. But he paid no heed.

Even living beastfolk couldn’t match the regenerative power that sustained him.

How many had he killed? He didn’t bother counting. The numbers felt meaningless.

Finally, Yeomyeong noticed the gunfire—once a distant background noise—was now startlingly close.

One more corner, and he would meet the source.

Suppressing the strange anticipation fluttering in his chest, Yeomyeong swung his sword once more.

Deep within the darkness of the sewer.

Beneath a stone altar shrouded in black mist, a boyish figure—the butcher—muttered to himself.

“Damn it. Why are they so weak?”

His gaze was fixed on the stretched skins scattered around the altar. These grotesque hides displayed scenes from across the sewer in real-time, like a twisted array of CCTV monitors.

Annoyed, the butcher sighed, exhaling frustration.

“...Maybe that bastard’s just too strong?”

Narrowing his eyes, he focused on the images.

The boy on the screen hacked through the horde of beastfolk zombies with terrifying ease. He didn’t flinch or hesitate—there was no trace of fear or doubt in his movements.

But most baffling of all....

'...Why isn’t his stamina dropping?'

The butcher—no, The Player—snapped his fingers, summoning a semi-transparent screen visible only to him.

Numbers and statistics, objectively laid out, represented everything in the world.

He scanned the boy’s stamina bar.

[100% / 100%]

As expected, it hadn’t budged.

The zombies’ occasional successful attacks only briefly reduced the bar before it immediately restored itself.

“Regeneration? Is he a half-beastfolk? Or did he inherit dragon blood? He did fight a dragon in Manchuria, so maybe...”

Muttering information known only to him, The Player turned his attention to the altar.

More specifically, to the massive lump of flesh atop it.

“Hey, can’t you make anything better than zombies?”

The mound of flesh stirred in response, and from its grotesque surface, a wolf’s face slowly emerged.

Panting heavily, its dark eyes glinted as it spoke in a hollow voice.

“...C-can... m-make... a fiend....”

The Player clicked his tongue. A boss, sure, but still just a first-level boss. Even after consuming such a large Fallen Stone, this was its limit?

“Then make a fiend instead of these zombies. If this keeps up, we won’t be able to kill the Saintess.”

“The S-Saintess... cannot... die?”

The mention of the Saintess made the entire flesh mound tremble. Hidden within its folds, fragments of the Fallen Stone glinted ominously.

“Black Lamb...! Need the Lamb’s blood... as a sacrifice!”

“Black Lamb?”

“Blood...! A sacrifice...!”

The Player stared at the ranting priest for a moment before sighing and standing.

“This is useless.”

He tapped at empty air a few times, causing a small blue potion to materialize in his hand.

Neither magic nor a miracle, but a peculiar technique.

The priest showed no reaction, even as The Player uncorked the potion and drank.

A refreshing scent, incongruous with the sewer’s filth, filled the air. As the liquid slid down his throat, The Player’s eyes glowed green.

Predatory, piercing—like a beast hunting in the dark.

“...Guess I’ll check it out myself.”

After blinking to adjust his enhanced vision, The Player glanced at the hides one last time.

More specifically, at the two figures displayed on them.

At the narrow crossroads of the sewer, chaos erupted.

Boom!

The Saintess’s shotgun fired, blowing a hole through the chest of a beastfolk zombie that had come dangerously close. Blood sprayed as the creature crumpled to the ground.

“Grrk, grrk-!”

But immediately, another zombie filled its place.

She pulled the trigger again, only to hear the empty click of a dry magazine.

“Ah, seriously!”

She tossed the shotgun aside and grabbed a different weapon from the pile on the floor—a slightly oversized automatic rifle.

Ratatatat!

Ratatatat!

Precise bursts of fire dropped the incoming zombies in droves, but the cursed magazine size posed a problem.

She’d barely taken down ten before the clip ran dry.

Bang!

Pulling a pistol from her holster, she fired a round while wedging the rifle between her legs to reload.

"One-handed reloading... never thought I’d actually need this skill."

Was it the result of all her practice? The Saintess successfully reloaded the rifle and resumed firing.

Shoot, reload, shoot, reload.

Empty casings clattered to the sewer floor, outnumbered only by the bodies of fallen zombies. But it wasn’t enough.

At least the zombies didn’t have the regenerative power of living beastfolk, but that was only helpful against a few at a time.

Glancing at her dwindling ammunition, she bit her lip.

“Damn it.”

If she’d had time to bless her bullets, she could’ve saved at least half of them.

But the zombies weren’t giving her even a moment to breathe. They surged forward relentlessly, as if their sole purpose was to end her life.

By the time the corpses of zombies were piled around her like a makeshift barricade, she grimaced.

I can’t hold out like this.

Should she abandon the weapons and run?

Or hold her ground, hoping for reinforcements?

Just as the thought crossed her mind, she noticed something strange.

The flood of zombies was slowing down. What had been an unending wave was now a trickling stream.

Huh? What’s going on?

Even as the question lingered, she didn’t waste the opportunity.

She quickly blessed a magazine and shot the remaining zombies in the head.

Then she reloaded again.

For a brief moment, silence filled the sewer. Then, footsteps echoed from the darkness.

Step. Step.

Unlike the clumsy shuffle of zombies, these were human footsteps. The Saintess readied her rifle, blessing the magazine once more, and aimed down the sewer.

Moments later, the figure emerged.

"Yeomyeong?"

Despite being drenched in blood from head to toe, she recognized him instantly. After all, no one else had eyes like his.

Dropping her rifle, she ran toward him, arms outstretched for a reunion hug.

“Stop.”

Yeomyeong’s stern voice halted her in her tracks, her arms still wide open.

“Why?”

“...Do you seriously want to touch me like this?”

He glanced at his blood-soaked clothes, then back at her.

The Saintess simply laughed and pulled him into a hug anyway.

“What’s a little blood?”

The smell of blood was overwhelming, but she didn’t care.

After all, she was covered in zombie fluids herself. More importantly, Yeomyeong’s body was surprisingly warm—comfortingly so.

As the hug lingered, she absentmindedly patted his back and asked, “Yeomyeong, do you know where we are?”

“Not a clue. I was about to ask you.”

Yeomyeong’s gaze shifted to the pile of weapons further down the sewer.

“Those are Darulma’s, right? How did you even get them here?”

“Oh, that?” She waved dismissively. “After you left the plane, I noticed something weird....”

“And your first thought was to grab weapons?”

“A lady must have her priorities.”

Yeomyeong chuckled dryly, and the Saintess finally released him from her embrace, dragging him toward the weapon pile.

As if it had been prearranged, they began sorting the guns and ammo while continuing their conversation.

“Anyway, there has to be a reason we got summoned here. Do you have any idea what it might be?”

“There’s one possibility....”

“What is it?”

Yeomyeong examined the shotgun she had tossed earlier and began recounting his encounter with the terrorist. He explained how, cornered, the man had shattered an ominous black gem.

As soon as he finished, the Saintess tapped her temple with a finger.

“...A Fallen Stone.”

“A Fallen Stone? You know what that is?”

The Saintess fidgeted with her fingers before answering.

“Yeomyeong, have you heard of the Cult of the End?”

“...Only the basics.”

“So, you don’t really know.”

With a sharp click, she loaded her rifle and continued.

“Well, the Cult of the End believes this world is a false one and that everything needs to be destroyed to make way for a new one. You know, the usual crazy cult nonsense.”

“A false world?”

This wasn’t in Baonic’s notebook. Narrowing his eyes, Yeomyeong listened carefully.

“They claim all gods in this world are fakes from a fake world. Yet the things they worship are nothing more than unholy abominations—demons or monsters, who knows what.”

“....”

“The Fallen Stones are created by offering human sacrifices to those abominations. They’re said to be the ultimate catalyst for dark magic. So... I’m guessing this place is some kind of barrier formed by a Fallen Stone.”

The Saintess shrugged off her outer jacket, revealing her damp school blouse. Yeomyeong cleared his throat awkwardly, but she paid no mind, using the jacket to wrap up ammunition and smaller weapons.

“Ahem. You sure know a lot about them.”

“Before the dimensional gates opened, they were the greatest enemies of the Five Gods Church. I’d say about 30% of the historical texts in the temple are about killing them.”

As she spoke, she even took Yeomyeong’s jacket, bundling it up with the rest of the supplies.

When that still wasn’t enough, she hung several firearms from her belt.

Click.

After loading her final pistol, her gaze settled on the bottom of the weapon pile.

There lay a massive warhammer, reminiscent of a construction tool.

“Why’d you bring this? You don’t even know how to use a hammer....”

Yeomyeong’s question trailed off as the Saintess interrupted him.

“Seti.”

Ah. Yeomyeong furrowed his brow, recalling the Black Lamb.

“...Seti got pulled here too? Are you sure? Did you use your foresight?”

“No, foresight doesn’t work in a place this saturated with warped mana. But... it’s love’s intuition. Seti’s here. I’m certain.”

“Love’s... what?”

“Don’t you feel it too, Yeomyeong?”

He was about to dismiss her words as nonsense, but the strange, ticklish sensation in his chest made him stop.

Noticing his sudden silence, the Saintess smirked knowingly.

“...Shall we go find Seti?”