There Is No World For ■■

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

In the entertainment and gambling districts that were beginning to close, people, worn down by life and drink, stumbled out onto the streets, while the trash that had piled up overnight was kicked around, as if blessing their way home.

The only ones moving with any sense of purpose were the market vendors, street sellers, and cleaners.

Dung Beetle slipped into the early morning streets, avoiding people's gazes.

His first stop was a secluded alley where no one ventured, near a filthy dumpster and a clothing donation bin.

He peeled off his work clothes, caked in blood and dirt, and tossed them into the trash before grabbing whatever he could from the donation bin.

A drooping turtleneck and a pair of short jeans.

It wasn’t the most suitable outfit for the warming season, but as long as it didn’t draw attention, it didn’t matter.

Having changed his clothes, Dung Beetle stepped back into the streets and began walking toward his next destination.

He kept his head low and his eyes downcast the entire time.

He was worried that someone might recognize him. If nothing else, his golden eyes were bound to stand out.

Luckily, though, the cold indifference of the people of Incheon exceeded his expectations.

Not a single passerby even glanced in his direction, let alone made eye contact.

‘...I got here faster than I thought.’

He lifted his head slightly to check his destination.

Incheon Market, also known as MacArthur Market, after the large statue of MacArthur that stood at its entrance.

Dung Beetle blended in with the other vendors entering the market, stepping inside naturally.

The smell of fish and food hit him, but his destination was far removed from the restaurants.

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

After navigating the winding market paths, Dung Beetle entered the bar, where the owner was tidying up the tables.

“We’re closed for the day,” the owner said without looking up.

“Jangman ahjussi.”

At the sound of his name, the owner finally turned his head.

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

The bar owner, Jangman, was an old man with the tanned skin typical of sailors.

He had supposedly been a sailor who ruled the seas back when Incheon Port was still thriving. His strong physique was enough to make anyone believe it.

“Did your team leader send you to run an errand?”

“...The foreman has passed away.”

“What?”

At Dung Beetle’s response, Jangman stopped wiping the table and frowned.

“What are you talking about? The man who bought drinks just a few days ago, dead?”

“...Are you aware of the incident involving smugglers and fairies being killed at their meeting point?”

“Of course, I know. It only happened two days ago. People are still talking about it.”

Two days, huh? So, I was dead for just a day before I came back? Dung Beetle thought, recalling how long he had been gone as he continued speaking.

“The perpetrator of that incident requested the cleanup, and our team was dispatched to handle it.”

“The perpetrator? Don’t tell me the killer himself?”

“Yes. As soon as the cleanup was done, he turned his sword on us.”

“...The Cleaners Guild isn’t stupid enough to send you in without any precautions, are they?”

“It was the Cleaners Guild who sold us out to the killer.”

“...Unbelievable.”

Jangman placed a hand on his forehead, seemingly at a loss.

“The foreman worked for the Cleaners Guild for over twenty years. And they discarded him like trash...”

He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment before looking back at Dung Beetle.

“Were there any other survivors?”

“No, I’m the only one.”

Jangman shook his head in pity. He stood up, walked over to a shelf behind the counter, and grabbed a bottle of liquor.

“At least you survived. Now there’s someone left to hold a funeral.”

“...Ahjussi.”

“I’ll look into a place for you abroad. Maybe start fresh in Australia or Thailand—”

“...Ahjussi.”

Dung Beetle glanced between Jangman and the bottle of liquor. Sensing the determination in Dung Beetle’s golden eyes, Jangman sighed and opened the bottle.

“Forget about revenge. Catching a killer is the police’s job, not yours.”

“That guy is a superhuman who wields mana. The police won’t be able to catch him.”

“And you think you can? The Cleaners Guild is the same. How are you going to get revenge on a government-backed organization? Do you plan on becoming a terrorist?”

Jangman downed a drink and gave Dung Beetle a disgruntled look.

“I can’t help you. You think I’m going to push you into a deathtrap? How am I supposed to face the foreman in the afterlife if you die for nothing?”

He took another swig, or at least, he tried to.

Just as Jangman raised the bottle, Dung Beetle strode over and snatched it from his hand.

Jangman stared at him in disbelief, but instead of answering, Dung Beetle clenched his fist.

Crack.

The bottle shattered, spilling its contents onto the floor. Jangman frowned at the sight of the spilled liquor, glass shards, and blood.

‘Tsk, the recklessness of youth...’

But then, something made him frown for a different reason.

When Dung Beetle opened his fist, the wounds on his hand began healing in real time. The bleeding stopped, and new skin formed within seconds.

“Healing? You... can use mana?”

Mana.

Since the moment the Nazis opened the dimensional gate, it was the power that humanity on Earth had longed for.

After two brief wars and a long period of exploitation, humanity finally learned to harness that power in the modern day.

Mages, superhumans, heroes, hunters, the blessed...

The titles were as varied as the public’s jealousy and expectations of them, but they all meant the same thing.

Those who wield mana not with machines or tools, but with their own bodies and minds.

Jangman stared at the cleaner before him, now realizing that he had become one of those beings, speechless.

“How on earth... No, I suppose even you don’t know how.”

There were only four officially recognized ways to use mana: innate talent, special lineage, divine blessing, and consuming a specific elixir.

Of course, there were ‘unofficial’ ways too, but none of them were accessible to a mere cleaner.

‘Is it a miracle? Or...’

Before he could finish that thought, Jangman kicked away the broken bottle on the floor and pulled out a new one.

“Alright, I see you’re not just heading for a pointless death. But what can I do to help?”

“Ahjussi, I’m not asking for direct help. I just need you to introduce me to someone, for old times’ sake.”

“Someone? Sure, I’ve got connections, but what use is a bartender’s network?”

Jangman shook his head.

He opened the new bottle, pulled out a couple of glasses from under the table, and poured some cheap rum.

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

Jangman’s hand froze as he lifted his glass. He shot Dung Beetle a sharp look.

“Hah, that foreman... He sure told you a lot. He wasn’t the talkative type.”

Jangman didn’t deny that he had once been a smuggler.

“So, what are you planning to buy from a smuggler?”

“...Weapons.”

“Dung Beetle, I don’t know how you’ll take this, but there’s something I need to tell you.”

Jangman’s expression grew serious as he continued.

“Real weapons aren’t toys from action movies. And mana is no different. Why do you think the world’s superpowers are building academies to train superhumans?”

This was too serious an issue to brush off as mere youthful folly. Jangman pulled out another glass and placed it on the table.

“You’re nothing right now. Once it gets out that you can use mana, forget revenge. The underworld will be hunting you down.”

“...”

“And when they catch you? Well, it’s obvious. Your body will be chopped into pieces and sold to various labs, and your liver will end up on the tables of the rich.”

What Jangman said was a common urban legend.

-If you eat the liver of a mana user, you’ll gain the ability to use mana yourself.

The rumor had been officially debunked by the U.S. government, but that only meant some people had actually tried it.

Even with such grim warnings, Dung Beetle’s expression didn’t change.

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

“Prepared? Prepared, huh... You throw around matters of life and death too easily.”

“I’m talking about life and death because that’s the only choice I have right now.”

“...Ha.”

Jangman let out a sigh, whether it was one of exasperation or admiration, he couldn’t tell.

While the young man’s resolve might seem like mere bravado, his determination was different.

For both the old and the young, resolve was always resolve. After all, everyone only had one life to live.

“To be or not to be. You’re like a modern-day Hamlet.”

He stared at his glass, deep in thought.

Time passed, so much so that dawn turned into day, and the rum in his glass rippled gently.

Seeing the unwavering look on Dung Beetle’s face, Jangman finally nodded.

“If a young man is determined, then an old man has no choice.”

Jangman poured rum into the glass he had set aside and handed it to Dung Beetle.

The pale brown hue of the cheap military-grade rum reflected Dung Beetle’s expressionless face.

“Alright, I’ll introduce you to someone worth your time.”