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The parking lot, heavily guarded by soldiers, was beginning to see the arrival of a truck etched with peculiar symbols.

Sanskrit characters were emblazoned all over the top of the vehicle.

As the driver’s side door swung open, my junior burst out, running over with a loud shout.

“Senior! I’m here!!”

“Right, I can hear you just fine. No need to shout.”

A slight laugh escaped me at the sight of my junior, who looked just as lively as ever.

With no time to spare, I’d entrusted a few essential tasks to my junior.

Given the tight timeframe, this level of efficiency was impressive.

When the cargo area of the truck opened, a strong scent of blood wafted into the air.

Amidst the heavy footsteps that followed, a gigantic figure emerged.

This wasn’t just any large truck’s cargo load; this was a person far too big to fit inside a regular vehicle.

A giant that was nearly 3 meters tall.

Even more astonishing was the sheer bulk of the massive muscles that matched that height.

His wrinkled face, contrasting with the bulging muscles, hinted at his old age.

“Looks like Grandpa’s grown even bigger.”

In his right hand, he wielded a massive stone slab, while his left held a large book, and around his neck hung prayer beads.

He resembled a monk, but in fact, he had no connection to Buddhism whatsoever.

Seeing the old man’s face, it was hard to think of him as a monk.

This was because his face was peppered with enormous nails sticking out of it.

He had driven nails into his own eyes in search of his daughter.

*

I guided the old man to where he would stay.

“Old man, just wait here.”

“Got it.”

The old man was a crucial figure in my upcoming plan.

He could be seen as insurance for if the search ended in failure.

The object the old man possessed was dangerous every time it was used, yet he readily accepted my request.

Perhaps it was because he had helped a lot back when he was searching for his daughter, and now he was repaying that debt.

The ability of the “Book of Foreknowledge” the old man held was simple.

It could indicate the location of nearby objects.

In a confined space like this, it was the perfect object for finding things.

However, to use the book, one had to destroy both their eyes with nails, which came with various side effects.

Those giant nails themselves were a side effect, clearly leading to fatal consequences.

He always warned me that if he wanted to live long, he should stop using the book, but the old man wouldn’t listen.

Of course, it wouldn’t be persuasive coming from someone who constantly carried Watson around.

While the “Book of Foreknowledge” might be seen as a lesser object compared to Watson, it was necessary for resolving this situation.

If I asked Watson about this incident, I would probably know the answer right away.

But I had a gut feeling that it was the type of request that should never be made.

“I must never ask Watson to solve the incident itself.”

That was the sensation I felt.

Ignoring this instinct, would something terrifying happen?

*

Soon after, many more people began to arrive.

From freelancers who roamed around Seoul Forest reporting objects and living off their rewards, to the investigation unit of the research institute primarily conducting search operations.

I borrowed hands as much as I could, reaching out to everyone within my influence.

The only regret was not being able to call the guy in the black suit from the Central Research Institute’s investigation unit; he was probably too busy with his hearings nowadays.

There were two plans: Search A and Object-using B.

Plan A involved a search operation by experts in investigation and searching.

If they could discover an object during their search, that would yield the best results.

The standard search from Plan A was nearly guaranteed to fail; still, it had to be attempted, hence it was Plan A.

If they couldn’t find anything, we had no choice but to switch to Plan B.

With the power of the object, the “Book of Foreknowledge,” we should be able to find the item for sure.

The range of the “Book of Foreknowledge” should comfortably cover the entire camp, so there was no worry about not finding anything.

But what if we still couldn’t find it?

Would we just have to sit back and watch missile attacks happen?

Or was it time to ask Watson for help?

*

Looking down from the high castle walls, I surveyed the camp.

Before missiles came flying in, I needed to fully take control of the camp and locate the object that creates butterflies.

However, the difficulty was apparent at first glance.

“Wow, is that really the Relief Camp? People are stationed around it like sentinels!”

“And that’s the problem. It’s hard to invade.”

If chaos erupted, reporters from places like “Daily Object,” who were always on the lookout near the Relief Camp, would flock in and snap countless photos.

To avoid headlines like “Forced Suppression of the Camp” or “Oppression of Public Authority,” I had to work swiftly and quietly.

Plan 0 – Capture everyone inside the camp as quickly as possible.

Plan A – Search through the camp with the search personnel.

Plan B – The old man finds the target object through the “Book of Foreknowledge” from the camp’s center.

“In the end, if Plan Zero doesn’t succeed, we can’t do anything, right?”

My junior stared at the operation map and plan sheet, deep in thought.

“But senior, can’t we just shoot them all? Aren’t there no survivors? Since there are soldiers, we could just shoot them dead!”

My junior began with another fresh piece of nonsense.

“Oh! But guns are loud, so the reporters would come rushing in! Plus, the soldiers wouldn’t be up to date on the details, right? Ugh, what should we do? Is there no way?”

It’s certainly clear that the Gray Reaper has some means to suppress the butterflies, yet given the continued stillness at the camp, it seems to take time to exert influence.

Or does the Gray Reaper have to actively do something?

Not being able to communicate is truly inconvenient.

Speaking of which, where did the Gray Reaper that was just here go off to?

*

Those detectives seemed unable to resolve matters without my help.

While the issue faced at the Central Research Institute was the “Hungry Ghost,” this time it seemed to be the “Butterfly Infected.”

Although they knew their adversary was not human, they were in the unfortunate situation of having to treat them as such due to a lack of proof.

Listening to the pointless discussions between the detective and their assistant, an epiphany struck me.

Sure, if they all just blew up, it would be resolved.

There wouldn’t be the kind of hardship seen with the Hungry Ghosts.

The butterflies would burst if I just touched them, after all.

Thinking about that led me to realize that even the wall I had considered pointless had its own usefulness.

*

After ghosting over the wall, I arrived and found a person who was practically dead, spewing blood from their mouth.

Wasn’t this a reporter from “Daily Object”?

They seemed to be mumbling something, but what were they saying?

A group of butterfly infected individuals surrounded the reporter, feeding them the butterflies.

The man, who had turned leathery, swiftly began to swell and regain a human form.

The butterflies behaved somewhat differently from what I had observed at the Central Research Institute.

One might say they had become smarter and more horrifying?

It seemed their pace for consuming a person had sped up significantly.

The butterflies, seeing me for the first time, didn’t show any distinct reaction.

With cheerful smiles, they approached at a leisurely pace and poked at me.

Then—

BANG!

I exploded into pieces.

Where I had once stood, only torn leather remnants and blood-soaked remains of myself were left.

The startled butterfly infected individuals finally seemed to register what had happened and began to scatter in all directions.

Let the fun game of tag begin!

*

Aaaah!

From a corner of the distant camp, a scream echoed.

I covered my mouth with both hands and took slow breaths.

I must not be discovered. I must not be discovered.

If I was found, I’d revert back into a butterfly.

Pat pat.

The soft sound of little paws slowly pushing the sand beneath me could be heard.

“Hic!”

In shock, I unintentionally made a noise while holding my breath.

I was sure they were far away; I was certain the sound came from afar!

Thud thud.

A small, adorable knocking sound rang out.

Thud thud thud thud.

The knocking grew faster, and I forgot to breathe, praying that the Reaper would just pass by.

Crash.

The container wall burst, and a tiny Reaper’s arm shot out.

“Ahhh!”

Crash.

Crash.

Crash.

The container wall kept bursting, with the Reaper’s arm appearing over and over.

I could only scream and shiver in terror.

A huge hole in the container opened, and the Reaper’s face popped out.

A ghastly Reaper with golden eyes gleamed at me.

Though their expression was blank, it felt as if they were saying, “I’ve found you!”

“Ahhh! Please help me!”

Clenching my teeth, I ran like a maniac.

But this camp was a closed space surrounded by walls on all sides.

There was nowhere to escape.

There was no place left to avoid the monster.

Eventually, I was caught, and I watched my flesh dissipate into blood as I transformed into a butterfly.