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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Xrecker
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[Level Up]
Oh.
The dozen or so gathered in the cafe had earned me a level-up.
I put the point into Strength, bringing it to 56, and moved on to the next house.
Human beasts had a distinctive breathing sound.
A raspy, guttural growl.
I listened at the next house, but I couldn’t hear anything.
I carefully checked the windows; it was silent.
Two houses in a row were empty.
The next house that appeared…
An American-style house with a yard.
The open house, with no fence, even had a driveway. There was probably a swimming pool in the backyard.
It wouldn’t be a bad place to live.
But no matter how I looked at it, it didn’t seem like a house for an enlisted soldier.
A doctor working at the hospital? Or an officer?
That was my guess.
There would be some inside.
But not many.
I placed my hand on the hilts of my swords and approached the window. The curtains were drawn, so I couldn’t see inside.
…I hoped there wasn’t a mother with a baby.
I could handle the mother, but I still felt uneasy about killing children.
I sighed quietly and crouched down, slowly walking along the wall beneath the window.
Beep, beep, beep-
Growl- Growl-
I could hear it.
A strange sound mixed in.
As I approached the front door, the ceiling light flickered on.
It must have a motion sensor.
If I’d come at night, I would have been easily spotted.
I tried the doorknob.
…It was locked.
Of course.
I looked around, confirmed that no one was there, and grabbed the doorknob firmly.
And twisted.
Crack! Crunch!
The doorknob shattered and turned uselessly in my hand.
I pulled, and the door opened slightly.
It seemed they didn’t use double locks or digital locks like in Korea.
Were they that confident in their security?
Or…
“Kraaa!”
The door burst open.
[Auto-cast: Accelerate]
A woman with one missing eye.
A beautiful blonde, blue-eyed woman.
She was wearing an apron, as if she’d been cooking.
I immediately drew my sword and stabbed her in the forehead.
Crack!
“—Aagh!”
Thud!
The white woman’s body crumpled to the floor as the door swung open violently.
I looked down at the corpse for a moment and took a deep breath.
And then I stepped inside.
Beep, beep, beep-
Something was beeping.
…And the smell of burning.
Gripping my swords tighter, I cautiously walked towards the sound.
I couldn’t tell if there were any growls.
The beeping sound was distracting.
The sound was coming from the kitchen.
I cautiously peeked inside, scanning left and right, and saw a kettle whistling loudly.
A gas stove…
No, it was an induction cooktop.
The kettle was completely burnt.
Charred black.
I turned off the still-active cooktop and stared at the kettle.
It must have been burning for a month.
The plastic part of the handle had melted into a gooey mess.
It was fortunate the house hadn’t caught fire.
Damn, I felt like coughing.
I stared at the soot-blackened kitchen for a moment, then opened a window slightly and turned around.
The rooms on the first floor were empty.
The bathroom was clean and comfortable.
It was definitely a well-to-do home.
I went up to the second floor.
Four rooms.
I gently pushed the door of the room closest to the stairs.
It opened silently.
A little girl in Kitty pajamas was lying face down.
Her feet were pointing towards me.
I didn’t see any blood.
Growl… Growl…
I sighed quietly and approached the child, raising my sword.
Silently, trying not to make a sound.
I aimed the tip of my sword at her head.
And thrust.
Crack.
I pulled out the sword, and blood spurted out.
The carpet beneath the child turned red.
She was maybe five years old.
“…Tsk.”
…Damn it.
I punched the doorframe.
I had killed thousands so far, but killing a child still made me feel sick.
I gritted my teeth and opened the next door.
…It was an empty bathroom.
And the next.
The door was heavily damaged.
Scratched, dented, and splintered, with bloodstains.
I carefully opened it; it was the master bedroom.
A large bed, a wardrobe, a dresser – nothing out of the ordinary.
Except for the body lying face down.
A body in military uniform.
A Latino US soldier.
This was definitely a corpse.
The back of his head had a gaping hole, and the blood that had soaked into the carpet was dark and dried.
And next to his blue hand, a pistol.
The child must have turned when the apocalypse began.
She had bitten her mother, and the husband, returning home, had fled to the master bedroom.
Unable to bring himself to kill his family, he had locked himself inside and committed suicide.
I bent down and picked up the pistol.
It was heavy.
I ejected the magazine; it was full.
A faint smoke rose from the pistol.
It must have been damaged and was being repaired now that it was in my hand.
There was a pack of wet wipes on the vanity table next to the bed.
I wiped the bloodstains off the pistol and inserted the magazine.
Click.
…One pistol.
I’d used guns during my military service, but I wasn’t particularly interested in them, so I didn’t know the name of this pistol.
I placed it in the utility pocket of my Adidas backpack and went to the last room.
I opened the door; it was a storage room.
…A storage room?
It looked a bit strange.
Various boxes.
And a baby crib.
A chest of drawers.
Cute drawings on the wall.
…Ah.
They must have been planning to have another child.
…Damn it.
I wished I hadn’t seen this.
I could tell what kind of people they were just by looking at their house.
There were framed drawings by the child hanging in the master bedroom and bathroom; they must have been a happy family.
“…Huu.”
Like I had done in the master bedroom, I searched the storage room, which was meant to be a nursery.
A small wardrobe.
Nothing of interest.
A chest of drawers.
A toolbox sat on top, as if someone had been using it.
I opened a drawer and saw neatly folded baby clothes, socks, and shoes.
…They had stockpiled diapers.
Even though they didn’t have a baby yet.
…Was she pregnant?
“…Tsk.”
I shook my head and looked at the stacked boxes.
There was probably nothing in them.
I opened one; it was filled with old clothes.
The second box.
It was heavy.
I noticed it was taped shut on all sides.
What was this?
I took one of the duplicated arrows and cut the tape.
Inside were two wooden boxes.
And a leather strap?
…Oh.
This leather strap…
I picked it up and examined it, then set it aside and quickly opened the wooden boxes.
Click.
Inside were two pistols.
No, pistols?
…What were these?
They were too big to be pistols, but too small to be rifles.
…Submachine guns.
Holy shit?!
Even if he was a US soldier, how could he have these at home? Two of them?
Three guns in total, including the pistol?
…Wait a minute.
Did the other houses have guns too?
I quickly dismissed the thought and stared at the submachine guns.
They looked crude.
Like a square metal box with a long metal pipe attached as a handle.
And a curved piece of metal at the back.
A shoulder stock?
What was this?
I took out my phone and searched for the submachine gun.
…It was an American Ingram MAC-10.
The gun Neo used in the elevator fight scene in The Matrix?
I took one out and examined it.
It was surprisingly light.
Or perhaps it felt light because of the HP skill.
It felt like I was holding a matchbox.
But…
Two SMGs capable of firing 18 rounds per second.
“…Ha.”
This was strange.
How did he even bring these into Korea? Even if he was a soldier, could he personally own these?
Judging by the uniform, he was an officer, so maybe that was allowed? No, it couldn’t be.
And he had them in his personal collection, not in an armory.
I held the Ingram in both hands and examined it.
…This was the US military, I guess.
…I liked it.
I wouldn’t have been able to easily find submachine guns like these in a Korean military base.
The Korean military used submachine guns too, but Ingrams, which were almost as small as pistols?
They would be incredibly difficult to find in Korea.
I examined the Ingram.
I wished the stock was detachable.
Was it?
I took a tool from the toolbox on the dresser and tried to remove the stock.
Just then, my phone rang.
Buzz-
It was Special Task Force Leader Sung Kyu-hyuk.
Ah, this was annoying.
“Hello.”
“Are you alright? It’s been a while since you entered that house.”
“Ah, yes, I’m fine. I was resting. I told you it might take a while, didn’t I? I walked quite a distance and used my swords a bit, so I’m tired. I’ll head out after I rest a bit.”
“Alright. I understand.”
I hung up and removed the Ingram’s stock.
After removing both stocks, they were…
…Perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
And the leather straps I’d found earlier.
Leather straps with buckles.
They were short.
Not belts.
A leather loop was attached firmly to the center of each strap.
…I knew what they were for the moment I saw them.
I wrapped a strap around my thigh and tightened it.
And then I inserted the Ingram into the leather loop.
…This was it.
I did the same with the other leg and the other Ingram.
Two submachine guns, one on each thigh.
…My arsenal had expanded.
“…Huu…”
My heart pounded.
The wooden box that had contained the two Ingrams…
It was fairly thick.
There was more inside.
I lifted the compartment for the Ingrams, and a white note appeared.
[Dear My Son.]
A letter.
…To his son?
…From his father?
His father…
I didn’t know what he did for a living, but thank you very much for sending these fearsome American submachine guns to Korea, where gun control was so strict, even though North Korea was right next door.
I bowed my head silently and tossed the letter aside.
The lower compartment.
Neatly arranged in blue memory foam were six high-capacity Ingram magazines.
They were ridiculously large, about 30 centimeters long.
I couldn’t even imagine how many rounds they held.
A father’s love, desperately worried about his son’s safety…
I gratefully accepted this gift.
I knelt down and carefully placed the six tokens of an American father’s love beside me.
There was another wooden box underneath.
Smaller than the one that had contained the guns.
I opened it, and it was full of even smaller boxes.
There was a picture on each box.
And some text.
45 ACP.
And a picture of a bullet.
…Ingram ammunition.
I opened one of the small boxes…
The bullets… they were quite small.
Dozens of boxes filled with them…
Ah…
This was truly a ‘father’s burning love.’
Feeling the affection of a father I’d never met, with a gesture of deep gratitude, I took off my Adidas backpack.
Long live the US military…
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