There Is No World For ■■

"Looks like that fool of an emperor is dead set on turning his entire nation into communists."

— Richard Nixon, in response to the Bloody Tuesday incident, one year after Stalin's disappearance.

****

"...How?"

At the sight of the intruder landing on the stairs, Western Court Lord Jo Pantoriano muttered unconsciously.

The question held many meanings.

How had the countless guards stationed in the sewers fallen? How had they breached the thick concrete walls?

The answer dropped from above.

Two women, masked with only their eyes visible, armed with a colossal hammer and an anti-tank rocket.

Their bodies were drenched in blood and concrete dust, a sight that made the Western Court Lord realize what had occurred above.

They killed everything in their path and smashed through the concrete floor with brute force?

Unbelievable. Yet, no other explanation fit.

While the Western Court Lord swallowed hard and stepped back, a voice spoke from a distance—the voice of Horsehead, who had been observing the intruders.

"You... you're all Earthlings."

None of the three intruders responded.

Instead, one of them moved—the man who had landed first.

His sword, glowing with a milky-white aura, shot straight toward Horsehead. No deception, just a direct strike—simple, but terrifyingly fast.

By the time Horsehead reflexively summoned a shield, the blade was already at his throat.

CLANG!

The shield crumpled like paper, and Horsehead was flung backward as though struck by a cannonball. Desperately reaching for anything to stop his fall, he grabbed onto the stair railing.

His fingers snapped, and his palm tore open, but he barely prevented himself from plummeting down the concrete abyss.

Panting, Horsehead clung to the railing. He should have been casting another spell or transforming—but shock froze him.

Not because of his opponent’s skill, but because of their footwork—a movement he recognized all too well.

"Flight Art...? Impossible!"

A martial art born from the sweat and blood of his homeland. Why did this intruder wield it?

Rage overtook confusion.

"A Dwarven sword... and Flight Art? Are you American collaborators?!"

“...”

"Ha! Jun Yongseop... That traitor! So, he finally sold even the sacred arts!"

The intruder—Yeomyeong—did not correct him. What use was truth to a man about to die?

Yeomyeong surged forward once more, his blade now cloaked in the rippling mana of Wave Severance. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

"Immortal King, bear witness!"

As if waiting for those words, Horsehead invoked his spell—distorted mana erupted from his mouth as a torrent of crimson flame.

Yeomyeong neither dodged nor halted. Instead, he brought his blade down through the fire.

Player’s stolen sword techniques, his honed aura, and the power of Wave Severance combined—the strike split both the flames and the warped mana, carving deep into Horsehead’s shoulder.

He barely avoided a fatal blow to the neck, but it didn’t matter.

Yeomyeong drove the blade downward, severing Horsehead's arm.

SPLAT!

Foul Shepherd’s blood splattered the concrete as the severed limb flew into the air.

As Yeomyeong raised his sword for the finishing blow, Horsehead acted. His spell targeted not Yeomyeong, but his severed arm—

“Corpse Explosion.”

BOOM!

The arm detonated, releasing blood and bone like shrapnel, blasting them both apart.

In the fleeting pause, Horsehead summoned his remaining mana to transform. If he could shift form, losing an arm would be trivial—

“Guh...!?”

But his thought ended abruptly.

An unseen force seized his throat mid-air.

“Telekinesis...?”

Magic? Too late, Horsehead tried to focus his anti-magic power.

Yeomyeong, cold-eyed, flung him down the abyss.

“Y-You... bast—!!”

His curse turned into a scream as he vanished into the darkness below.

Yeomyeong wiped blood from his face, gazing into the abyss. No sound of impact returned from the depths.

"They always come back from a fall like that."

"..."

Neti’s deadpan voice broke the silence.

Yeomyeong turned to his companions.

Seti and Neti had already secured and bound Jo Pantoriano, but to his surprise, the Western Court Lord looked composed.

"...You. Are you truly Earthlings? Americans?"

"..."

Had Horsehead’s false assumption spread? Given the circumstances, it was easy to misunderstand.

"I am Jo Pantoriano... Western Court Lord of this city."

"I know."

"You... know? Then this is simple. By the authority granted by His Majesty... I propose an alliance with you and your United States."

Despite his forced composure, his voice trembled, betraying a mix of fear and anticipation.

What was he scheming? Well...

Yeomyeong met Seti’s gaze and gave her a subtle signal: Don’t speak.

Then he answered.

"An alliance? From a terrorist, no less."

"T-Terrorist?! You misunderstand! I was forced! Manipulated!"

The pounding of Jo Pantoriano's heart was loud. A lie.

Yeomyeong folded his arms.

"Go on. Amuse me."

Jo Pantoriano continued speaking with forced enthusiasm, as if trying to mask his trembling voice.

“I’ll say it again—it wasn’t my choice! They took my beloved citizens hostage and threatened me!”

“...”

“But I didn’t just sit and suffer. To seize a chance to strike back, I pretended to cooperate and stole information from them...”

A shameless lie, accompanied by a sly glint in his eyes. Yeomyeong pressed his lips together to swallow down a bitter smirk.

Did he mistake the silence for approval? Jo licked his lips and added:

“Aren’t you curious about what I know? If you promise to cooperate with me...”

“No. You’re getting it backwards. Prove your value first.”

“...”

With perfect timing, Seti yanked the rope binding Jo tighter.

“Guh—!” The sudden pressure made Jo gag, but he kept talking.

“They’re after the underground armory! The armory...”

“We already know that. Say something more useful.”

The rope tightened even further, turning Jo’s face red.

“T-The passwords they know... are all fake!”

Only then did the rope loosen slightly.

“...Fake?”

“I—I gave them false passwords on purpose! So I could crush them when the time came...”

No, he was keeping a last safeguard for himself.

Yeomyeong finally let out the bitter smirk he had held back, his gaze dropping toward the staircase below.

If Jo was telling the truth, those who had gone ahead were likely stuck at the armory entrance, unable to proceed or retreat.

“What do we do?” Seti, still holding the rope taut, asked.

Yeomyeong flicked his sword clean and replied:

“There’s nothing more to get out of him. Dump him.”

“W-Wait! Without me, you won’t get the real passwo—!”

Before Jo could finish, Seti snapped his neck. Crack! His body dropped limply like a broken puppet.

As they started descending the stairs, Neti, who had been watching quietly, spoke:

“...Do we really not need the password?”

Yeomyeong answered with a gesture rather than words—pulling a golden seal from his coat and giving it a casual shake.

A magical artifact that could unlock any sealed door in this world.

More convincing than a hundred words, but Neti only tilted her head, her confusion deepening.

“Uh... What’s that supposed to be?”

****

Duncan couldn’t shake the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.

When he first led his crew down into the western sewers, he had been drunk on his dreams.

The dream of finding the secret vault, striking it rich, and returning to the Mage Tower with the lost relics of a former Tower Master.

But what he found in the sewers was far from any dream.

The mutilated corpse of a pig-headed creature, the acrid stench of gunpowder, and vermin-like thugs crawling through every tunnel.

But the biggest problem was, as always, people. In this city, the real threat was people.

“Boss... shouldn’t we just pull out? This isn’t our fight.”

By the time furious screams and death cries echoed from deeper within the sewers, one of his subordinates had already voiced the thought.

Even a mana-blind fool could sense how rotten the situation was.

Duncan wasn’t blind. He knew. But he couldn’t say the words “Let’s go back.”

His gang was already in ruins—crippled after a mysterious ambush shattered his limbs and scattered his forces. His wealth was all but gone.

If he pulled out now with nothing to show for it, there was no telling how much lower he’d fall.

Greed, desperation, and that peculiar madness that grips men cornered to their limit made him roar:

“Shut the hell up and FIND THAT VAULT! I’m here—what’s there to be afraid of?!”

His men hesitated but obeyed. Whatever hell lay ahead, the sorcerer before them was far scarier.

It didn’t take long for them to realize how wrong they were.

“Huh...? What’s that sound?”

The furthest scout’s ears twitched at an odd noise.

A chorus of soft splashes. Slap. Slap. Countless footsteps, stepping in the sewer water, perfectly synchronized.

“Boss! Something’s coming from—”

Before he could finish his warning, the soft splashes turned to a full-tilt stampede.

DU-DU-DU-DU-DU—! Like the charging of a thousand rats in unison.

The scout whipped around—too late.

A blade shot from the shadows and sank deep into his throat.

—Squeal! Kill them! Kill them all!

—Revolution! The time for revolution is now!!

—Uraaa! Uraaa!!!

As blood bubbled from his mouth and his body crumpled, the last thing his dying eyes reflected—

—was an endless swarm of rat beastmen, flooding the sewers in a tidal wave of steel and fury.