Chapter 66

A management office building situated on a high hill offered an undeniably peculiar view of the Temporary Camp below.

The night sky, devoid even of starlight behind clouds, pressed down on the camp, amplifying the darkness and silence of the night.

Streetlights scattered throughout the camp pierced through the shadows, creating faint yellow pools of light that seemed to hover above the ground.

These dim lights illuminated neglected buildings with peeling paint and alleyways weaving like veins through the camp’s layout.

And occasionally, they also revealed the silhouette of a mysterious black-clad figure wandering through the camp’s darker corners.

“Things are getting serious.”

While the deaths of residents at the hands of these ‘ninja-like’ intruders weren’t exactly alarming…

“I can’t find where my juniors are hiding no matter how much I look. And now my phone is out of service too.”

The biggest issue was being unable to regroup with the juniors.

Plus, after the ninjas appeared, the phone signal completely cut out.

The juniors must be waiting by now.

My steps led me straight to this management office.

Am I supposed to do something here?

Or should I just spend some time here?

From up here, I could see plenty of dead camp residents sprawled across the grounds.

Though I’d treated them like zombies before, it was clear now they weren’t.

Camp residents who had moved blindly like zombies turned out to die all too humanly—losing blood from slashed arteries or stabbed hearts.

The ninjas were effectively proving that these people were not zombies after all.

Outside, the purposeless killing ninjas still roamed in droves.

It didn’t seem like the right moment to leave the safety of the office. Time to explore further inside.

I walked quietly into the dark corridors, relying only on a flashlight shielded in my hand.

Step by step, I made my way until I reached what looked like a storage room in the basement of the office.

Shining the light around revealed rows upon rows of filing cabinets, giving the place a bleak, lifeless feel.

As expected, the air was thick with the smell of old paper and dust.

Opening a random drawer, I found files. A familiar face—an ahjussi client—stared back at me from a photo.

This guy always bragged about his connections to the client.

Didn’t he own a butcher shop?

The document contained trivial details: age, address, family relations—all part of a standard personnel file.

Flipping through each one, I came across records of various people connected to the client’s building landlord and others.

Some chased me like zombies, while others were just hanging out eating chicken skewers with my juniors.

But there was no sign of the client themselves.

Something felt off about the file for the client’s younger brother as well.

If this isn’t a simple clerical error… what does it mean?

Who exactly is our client? And what’s the deal with their supposedly kidnapped younger sibling?

***

Strange.

“Alright, repeat after me. One word at a time, Sua!”

“Suu… Aaa.”

There was something off about the client.

They struggled to grasp their own name when told.

At first, it seemed like camp residents were just mixing up the client’s name, but now the client themselves appears to have forgotten it entirely?

What could this mean?

While I was startled by the chaos earlier, deep down, I began to suspect the client wasn’t lying after all…

Now, though, everything feels confusing.

In fact, the name issue seems minor compared to something far more bizarre:

The client has been shrinking!

I hadn’t noticed at first, but now it was undeniable.

The client’s height has decreased significantly!

Hammer Sunbae, oblivious to this development, pulled out a “proselytizing hammer” from their bag and swung it around enthusiastically.

“Now, listen up! This is both a great tool and perfect for self-defense!”

“Hammer?”

With pride, Sunbae handed the hammer to the client, who awkwardly mimicked the swinging motion.

“Sunbae.”

I approached Sunbae quietly, calling them with a small voice.

“What’s up?”

“Sunbae, isn’t this weird?”

“Huh? What’s weird?”

I gestured toward the client fumbling with the hammer.

“The client’s height. Doesn’t it seem strange?”

“Hmm… Now that you mention it, yeah, they were taller than this before, weren’t they?”

“They were about 165cm, but now they’re under 150cm, and this is your reaction?”

“Just wait, keep quiet.”

Suddenly, Sunbae grew serious, cutting me off mid-sentence.

Their gaze fixed on the container entrance.

A man cloaked entirely in black stood there, exuding an eerie atmosphere.

***

An unsettling feeling drew me to an eerily empty marketplace street.

Lonely lampposts cast long shadows over abandoned market stalls.

Goods left unattended littered the stands, remnants of hurried departures.

Releasing my ghosting ability, I sat at a nearby stall and bit into an apple.

The oppressive aura I sensed earlier had long since vanished.

Should I pursue this unease further or return to the cat?

Before I could decide, black-clad men emerged from every corner of the market.

The overwhelming stench of blood filled the air.

Not ordinary blood—they smelled like the fake humans from the camp.

And these black-clad figures stared intently at me.

Are they challenging me to a fight?

“!”

Their actions surprised me entirely.

They formed a circle around me and bowed deeply.

Comfortable moments ago, I now felt distinctly uneasy.

Why are they doing this?

Even the firewood absorbed emotions, not affection but reverence.

An emotion I’d never experienced before.

Typically, I attracted love, admiration, fear, or hatred—but never worship.

Escape this odd situation? That thought crossed my mind 30%.

Stay and savor this unusual sensation? That took up 70% of my thoughts.

Deciding to stay, I indulged in the new emotional feast.

Unlike affection or fear, worship tickled my heart and gave a sense of omnipotence.

I’m feeling more powerful by the second!

Hehe.

***

Clutching the file containing details about the missing younger brother, I exited the management office.

Descending the hill, I arrived at a square filled with corpses.

Blood-soaked lampposts bathed the area in crimson, enhancing the sinister atmosphere.

Once a neatly landscaped gravel square, it was now stained red with bodies strewn everywhere.

Among the fallen camp residents lay occasional black-clad bodies.

It was fascinating to see evidence of how skilled these quasi-ninjas were with cold weapons despite their eerie nature.

Though rare, the state of their corpses was grim—they had been stabbed repeatedly with knives, cleavers, and pitchforks.

Selecting a relatively intact body, I began my analysis.

Removing the mask revealed grotesque skin—no hair, no eyebrows, only severe burns covering the face.

“This looks suspiciously like an object-induced scar.”

Despite the severity, the scarring didn’t appear overly damaging.

It almost seemed natural, as if this were their original form.

Given the extent of such burns, one would expect either peeled skin or death, so clearly this was an object-induced scar.

Furthermore, these individuals lacked tongues.

What kind of group are these guys?

Burning their entire bodies to create scars, removing their tongues.

Covering burn marks with cryptic tattoos, wielding useless cold weapons in modern times, and highly trained assassins willing to sacrifice their lives.

Could this be some sort of cult organization?

While it makes sense for an object-related cult to exist, their reason for showing up here remains unclear.

Most baffling of all was an item found within the folds of a black-clad corpse’s robe.

A beautifully wrapped, premium pudding.

What is this?