Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: An Unlucky Day
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It takes but a moment to cross the line, and a day to become a villain.
*An ancient proverb descending from the Deep Tower*
*
"This world isn't reality."
The "customer" who had shown up at the cleanup site started off with that.
"It feels like I got dropped into the game I was playing, but maybe not. Comics, movies, novels, games... it's a franchise worldview that does everything like an octopus with tentacles everywhere."
No matter what nonsense he spouted, the cleaners didn't stop working. There was especially a lot to clean up today.
Two commie elves, four smugglers, and probably the smugglers' back-alley thug bodyguards to boot.
The cleaners stuffed them into plastic bags before they could become maggot food and sprayed chemicals on the blood-soaked floor.
The customer didn't seem to expect a reply anyway, just kept babbling while sitting in front of the cleanup truck.
"Honestly, I wasn't thinking much about it, but then it hit me all of a sudden. What if there are other humans dropped into this world besides me?"
"Like the author who wrote a side-story novel for the worldview, or a CF director or something."
"People like that wouldn't end up as game characters like me... so how did they get here? Possession? Reincarnation?"
His half-joking ramblings lacked any consistency or logic.
His voice, interspersed with snickers, sounded just like the ravings of a lunatic you'd hear in a mental hospital corridor.
Something ominous and creepy about it.
By then, some of the cleaners started eyeing the guest warily.
Of course, none of them acted on it.
No one there wanted to tangle with a murderer who had butchered over forty people, elves included.
Instead, they just moved their hands and feet even more busily to finish the cleanup faster.
"Feels like I'm the only one talking."
Reading the mood, perhaps? The customer shut his yapping mouth.
But the silence didn't last.
Just as the cleaners tossed the last plastic bag into the truck, the guest suddenly pointed at one of them.
"Hey, you there."
The one he pointed at was a cleaner scrubbing the floor with a filth vacuum.
Like the others, he wore thick work clothes and a gas mask covering his face. He turned to look at the customer.
"Yeah, you. Let me ask you something."
"...A question, sir?"
From inside the gas mask of the cleaner holding the filth vacuum came the voice of a young man.
"Nothing big. They say if you reincarnate into this world, you're a reincarnator, and if you possess, you're a possessor, right? So what should they call someone like me who came as a game character?"
The cleaner glanced at his fellow workers before answering the customer.
"The protagonist... wouldn't that fit?"
"Protagonist? Why do you think that?"
"You said you entered a game, right? Someone who goes through something that extraordinary... doesn't deserve to be called the protagonist?"
The customer snickered at the cleaner's response. It was closer to a sneer than satisfaction.
"You could think that. But you're wrong. This worldview already has its own protagonist."
"...Is that so?"
"I told you. It's a franchise worldview. How could a game character be the protagonist? So think of another name. What's the first thing that comes to mind with 'game'?"
Despite the barrage of questions unrelated to the cleanup, the cleaner with the filth vacuum pondered quite seriously.
Or pretended to.
His sharp-eyed colleagues snatched away the filth vacuum and erased the other traces, and only when one signaled with his eyes that the cleanup was done did he speak.
"...Player. How about that?"
"Player? Oh, I like that. Player, player..."
Pleased with the answer, perhaps, the customer rolled the word around on his tongue a few times with a smile.
And shortly after, he stood up and said,
"You came up with a pretty good nickname, so you're the last one."
"...The last? Last what?"
Instead of answering, the customer "grabbed" something from thin air.
And just like that, as if it had always been there, a long iron sword appeared in his hand.
"Wait, hold on...!"
The moment he saw the sword, one quick-witted cleaner reached for his gun. But the customer charged at them faster.
"Damn it! Run!"
"Hit the alarm! Hit the alarm!"
"Aaagh!"
Screams rang out, followed by sprays of blood.
James, who had drawn his gun first, collapsed without even a scream.
Deokbae, trying to hit the emergency alarm, was sliced open from chest to groin in two pieces, and beside him, Chunsik let out a final scream that wasn't even a last word before falling.
Starting with those three, the cleaners were slaughtered mercilessly. Quickly and brutally, like clearing trash.
"Why... won't the alarm..."
The last to fall was the work foreman. Until his dying breath, he desperately pressed the silent alarm.
The signal was clearly sending, yet no sound came from the device.
"Of course it won't go off. It's been ages since your body prices got settled."
Grinning like it was all so amusing, the customer stomped on the foreman's corpse. Over and over, until the freshly cleaned floor was drenched in blood again.
Only after the foreman's upper body was a mangled mess did he stop and turn his head. The cleaner who had named him was trembling, staring at him.
"W-Why...?"
"Oh, don't get the wrong idea. It's not like I have some grudge."
"..."
"I'm just a tiny bit short of the EXP for level up."
The player wiped the blood splattered on his cheek with a smile.
"...EXP?"
"Might as well start the prologue at level 10 instead of 9. Unlocks traits, new skills... the academy route needs a strong early-game impression to make the late game easier."
The customer casually spouted madness, then shook off his sword. Drip, drops of blood spread across the floor.
"True to our deal, you're the last. Perfect EXP too."
The player approached, but the last cleaner didn't even try to flee. He just stood there silently, glaring at the customer... no, the player.
Bravery, or had he given up knowing escape was impossible? It didn't matter to the player either way.
"Hey, what's your name?"
The player pressed the sword to his throat and asked.
"...Dung Beetle."
"Ha! Dung Beetle for the shit-cleanup guy? They've got a real knack for naming."
The player pressed lightly on the sword. The blade dug into Dung Beetle's neck, blood trickling down.
"Dung Beetle, got any last words? I'll hear 'em for level 10 commemorations."
"...How much?"
"What?"
"Our life prices."
"Life prices? Cheaper than I thought. 250,000 won per head. The rest gets deducted from your salaries, apparently?"
Dung Beetle clenched his fists, trembling. He gritted his teeth to stifle a scream, holding his breath.
"...Fuck."
He struggled to accept reality. Their own bosses had sold them out. All to save on labor costs.
...Was this really reality?
No matter how much he questioned it, reality was cold. The cleaners he'd shared hardships with were now sprawled blood and filth on the floor. And soon, he would be too.
"Don't take it too hard. That's just how mobs are, right?"
"Mobs? Mobs? You see the people you killed... these people as mobs?"
Spitting it out, Dung Beetle got a giggling response from the player.
"If they give EXP and items when you kill 'em, they're mobs. Otherwise? People?"
"You crazy psycho bast— Gahk!"
Dung Beetle's final words didn't finish.
The sword passed through his throat, and blood poured out instead of last words.
Then, a gas-masked head and a headless corpse toppled over.
"Level up."
The player didn't even glance at the corpse he'd made.
He swatted at the empty air like something was there, muttering about strength this and agility that, then left.
The midnight slaughter drama ended like that. Quietly, with no witnesses or survivors.
...But the story didn't end there.
From the spot the player had left, the headless corpse rose.
The corpse wandered in circles for a while, unable to get its bearings. With cooling hands, it groped desperately along the floor for something.
*Squelch.*
After stumbling around, the corpse found what it sought in a pool of blood. The cleanly severed head.
The corpse lifted the head with careful, delicate hands and placed it back where it belonged.
*Sizzle—*
As the head settled on the neck, black smoke rose from the sliced wound, flesh and blood reknitting.
A miracle, but the corpse was still a corpse. The heartless body remained cold, breathing nothing.
But it wouldn't stay that way long.
The dead cleaner would revive. Stronger than in life, and... far more joyfully.
*Oh, my chosen one.*
From the place where the player had sown death, "it" laughed silently.
* * *