[Chapter 4]
* * *
The Korean Environmental Beautification Union, no one really used its original name; they simply called it the Janitor Guild. And after all the staff had left for the day, a small party was taking place in the quiet office.
However, the party had only one participant. Just like how the union was never addressed by its original name, he was usually referred to as the operations director rather than his name. The middle-aged man poured himself some whiskey he had prepared for special occasions.
Clunk!
The Director, who had only drunk soju all his life, savored the aroma of whiskey before gulping it straight from the bottle. The sensation of alcohol over 30 degrees Celsius flowing down his throat was fantastic.
Could he call this the taste of satisfaction, from having taken care of it so meticulously?
Anyway, after cleansing his insides with whiskey, the Director sank into his chair.
It was a perfect night.
The towering stack of money sitting on his desk was his reward for resolving a long-standing issue. Moreover, it wasn't Korean won with the face of President Lee Seungbaek, but a bundle of U.S. $100 bills featuring Benjamin Franklin instead.
[A/N- The only president whose face has ever been featured on Korean banknotes is Syngman Rhee or Lee Seungman, the first President of South Korea from 1948 to 1960. Therefore, the name is a twist on his. In 1950-1952, his portrait appeared on 1,000-won banknotes, which were the highest denomination at that time.
But if we consider the setting to be modern times, currently, the highest denomination was 50,000 won.]
The Director picked up a bundle and sniffed it. The musty scent of cash was much sweeter drinking accompaniment than any side dish in the world.
"How nice, very nice."
All this was thanks to the crazed killer who was recently making a big commotion everywhere.
Three days ago, without providing any context, that killer demanded for exactly ten people to kill.
It was a demand typical of a deranged killer. The issue was, the Director was unable to identify ten people to be killed. For heaven's sake, he was the Director of the Janitor Guild, not a human trafficker!
However, he couldn't simply deny his request as that lunatic had already turned too many people into corpses.
In the end, he sent a request for help to the higher-ups. The request was made to stop that mad killer, but the higher-ups resolved the problem in a completely unexpected manner.
- Ten employees? Just send 'them' to him, problem solved. After all, don't we happen to have some guys that need to be killed?
The Director realized who the 'some guys that need to be killed' were.
The impudent foreman who had the audacity to talk back to the higher-ups, and the foolish janitors who blindly sided with their foreman. Hence, the higher-ups suggested to use this opportunity to get rid of that foreman this time. Coincidentally, there were exactly ten of them.
The Director didn't shrink in fear or feel guilty; instead, he faithfully followed the orders from above. Thankfully, his higher-ups didn't say anything about the bribe he received while handling the job.
After all, wasn't there a saying: silence is golden? Hence, he interpreted his higher-ups' silence in this manner:
Just handle it and keep it all for yourself.
And the Director gladly complied.
From the janitor's monthly wages, to the paltry sum the crazed killer paid for their lives... and even the assets the foreman owned. In just one night, an enormous amount of money had fallen into the Director's hands.
Among them, the foreman's assets made up a major chunk of the amount he gained. Rumors about him being very well-off were widespread, but the Director never imagined that it would be this much.
Well, seeing that he had that much money, it makes sense that he had the courage to challenge the higher-ups.
However...
He should have known his place. Not only did he not understand his position, but he also acted as he pleased and only wanted to be good towards others. But, isn't he also dead now?
The Director raised the whisky again, filled with condolence and gratitude. The strong buzz enveloping him provided a pleasant sensation.
Without resisting the intoxication, he savored the moment.
After about ten minutes, he rose from his seat and pulled out a large bag and a bunch of smaller bags from under his desk. They were cheap market bags without any adornments or labels.
However, the value of the bags could be judged from their content.
He then began stuffing bundles of bills into the bags. His reason for using those bags instead of a sturdy safe was simple.
Having too much money like this will cause problems if I keep it all to myself.
This money was like lifeblood, but it could never be more important than the blood flowing through his veins. The rule of thumb was simple: when you obtain dirty money like that, you should spread it around in advance to avoid any problems that might make you spill blood.
After a short while, money for the higher-ups, the public officials backing him, and the police were neatly packed into the bag. And even though he had only moved some bundles of cash, sweat was already trickling down his forehead, probably due to the alcohol.
After transferring around half the bundles of money, the Director straightened his back and wiped his sweat with a look of satisfaction on his face. Like a farmer who had just reaped the fruits of honest labor, he looked at the bags of money with a proud expression. The thought that they were all his lifelines brought a smile to his face.
The moment he reached out to put his share in the largest bag…
Clink— a sudden noise, as if something was broken, came from behind.
The Director turned around in surprise and saw something coming through the window.
What madness is this? This is the fourth floor.
Was that crazed killer coming for him as well?
The Director hurriedly took out a pistol from the desk drawer. Standing unsteadily, he pointed at the figure climbing through the window.
However… the figure's appearance was way too familiar. Even though he was covered in blood and filth, he was wearing the janitor guild's uniform and a gas mask.
"Director."
"W-what the hell are you doing?"
"Why did you do that?"
The janitor who broke through the window suddenly began spouting incomprehensible words. The Director wondered if he should run away, but his eyes caught sight of the bags of money piled on the desk.
That money gave him the courage he didn't have before. Grabbing the gun with both hands, he shouted at the janitor approaching him.
"You bastard! Who the hell are you!"
"Why did you sell us to that crazy bastard?"
Sell us? Realizing the meaning hidden in those words, the Director scrunched his eyebrows.
"...Foreman?"
There was no reply. The Director continued to ponder over it.
Could it be…? Did one of the janitors he handed over to the crazed killer manage to survive?
No, someone undoubtedly survived; that was why this man was causing such a commotion.
That moronic killer. All this trouble because he couldn't even kill one janitor properly?
He tried to guess which of the janitors he sold would be bold enough to act like this.
The foreman was too old, and the ones around Deokbae's age didn't have the guts to do something like this.
So that narrowed it down to the young ones... being a foreigner, James had a unique accent, and the youngest, Dung Beetle, was too quiet to cause trouble like this.
Naturally, the only one who remained, in his opinion, was Chunsik.
Arriving at that conclusion, the Director licked his parched lips before opening his mouth again.
"Chunsik, a man who's alive should think about staying alive. Hah, where do you think we are now? How dare you come in here."
Sweat gathered in his palm holding the gun. Unsure when that man would rush at him, the Director tensed up. However, that man didn't charge at him immediately. In a choked up voice, he continued to speak.
"Answer the question! Why the hell did you sell us?"
"Why did I sell you, you ask? This motherfucker! Don't you remember the orders your foreman received from the higher-ups? If you're maggots cleaning up corpses, you should behave like maggots. Did you really believe that something like this would never happen?"
"Just because of that...?"
"Just because of that? Do you know how much we've lost simply because you refused to strip the corpses bare before handing them over?"
Bang! The Director fired the pistol. The janitor was hit in the thigh and collapsed to the ground.
"I-I! I was a top marksman in the army. You know that, you motherfucker?"
He didn't mention that the bullet hit his thigh even though he was aiming for the janitor's head.
Sigh, Damn it! Regaining his composure, the Director reached for the bottle of whisky as he tried to steady his breath.
"You stupid bastard, is money a joke to you? At this very moment, numerous people in Africa and beyond the dimensional portal are dying because of money, you know!"
Right from the start, the Director's words were nothing but sophistry. If the Director himself didn't believe his own words, what more could be said?
However, what did that have to do with anything?
The important thing was that the Director stood unharmed, while that guy was on the ground after being hit by a bullet.
"...At least, there's one thing we can agree on."
The janitor lying on the floor didn't bother to counter his sophistry nor did show any signs of anger.
He only sighed deeply before giving him a ferocious glare that could pierce through the gas mask.
"Well, do you mean that you are now dead?"
The gun and the whiskey boosted the Director's courage. Taking a sip of whiskey, he approached the guy confidently.
"That some people die because of money."
"This motherfucker... Ha, it looks like you still don't understand the situation. You came back from the brink of death, and you still see nothing?"
The Director approached the man with absolute confidence that he would never miss and aimed at his head. Thoughts about how to dispose of the body and how much he would need to pay off the police who would respond to the gunshot crossed his mind, but such trivial matters were of no concern.
"Go die now."
Just as the Director pulled the trigger, the man suddenly sprang to his feet.
"Ugh...?!"
The Director was unable to react to the unexpected ambush.
Bang! The bullet the Director fired with all his might whizzed through the air, while the janitor slammed his head into his chin.
Crack! Accompanied by the sound of a broken jaw and teeth, the Director's head spun.
N-no. If I lose consciousness like this...
The Director's thoughts didn't continue beyond that.
Smack!
Excruciating pain engulfed him as something struck his head again.
Then, his consciousness plummeted into deep darkness.
***
"Keugh, ugh..."
The Director awakened, whining like a puppy soaked in rain. The place where he was hit still hurt, and he tossed and turned for a while without opening his eyes.
"Please help... help me."
No one responded to his pitiful cry. The Director tried to raise his hand to rub his eyes, but it was difficult to even move his head as all his limbs were tied up.
Eventually, the Director opened his eyes and it took him several more minutes to regain his senses.
"Are you awake?"
The first thing he saw through his blurry vision was a black gas mask commonly worn by janitors.
"W-who... who are you?"
"Why? Are you so surprised that I'm not Chunsik?"
"A-are you... Deokbae? Deokbae, this is all a misunderstanding. I can explain everything."
"Uncle Deokbae... How dare you mention that name."
He slowly took off the gas mask as he said that.
What first emerged was the jawline of a young man who wasn't fully matured. Black hair soaked in blood and sweat flowed down, and finally, the eyes hidden behind the strands of hair came into sight.
"Golden eyes...?"
Eyes glistening with a gruesome golden hue akin to melted gold. And as far as he knew, only one janitor had eyes like that.
"Dung Beetle, how did you...?"
"Why? Am I someone who is not supposed to be alive?"
"..."
The Director shook his head desperately. What could he do to survive? Should he appeal to his emotions or resort to threats?
"Y-you crazy bastard!"
He chose the latter.
"Do you know what you've done? Do you know who you're messing with right now?"
From what the Director recalled, Dung Beetle was someone with a dutiful temperament, always willing to do dirty work as long as he was ordered to do so. Perhaps this young man was perhaps out of his mind temporarily, but if he shouted a few times...
"W-Wait a minute. This motherfucker, what the hell are you doing?"
Contrary to the Director's expectations, Dung Beetle didn't shrink back.
Instead, he did something more terrifying. He pulled out a large canister of gasoline from behind his back and approached the Director with big strides.
"Wait! Just wait!"
Dung Beetle opened the lid and poured the gasoline directly over the Director's head. The horrid smell of gasoline, causing a chill to run down his spine, enveloped him.
"..."
It was only then that the Director took in his surroundings. Through the dim darkness, he could see a place with corpses piled up like mountains.
It was the massive warehouse where the janitors secretly stored the corpses they had 'cleaned'.
The Director realized something was profoundly wrong. Was it really possible for someone who was just shot in the thigh to drag an unconscious adult male from his office all the way here? Did that make any sense?
As he struggled to grasp reality, Dung Beetle spoke.
"Director, I'm going to give you an opportunity."
"Opportunity? What opportunity?"
"An opportunity not to get burnt and die here."
Dung Beetle took out a lighter from his pocket.
"It's not something difficult. I'll ask the questions, and you just need to give me an answer."
"..."
Click, click. Dung Beetle silently flicked the lighter on and off.
Gripped with fear, the director agreed to it without saying a word. Seeing that, Dung Beetle spoke first.
"Your first question. Was this job ordered by the higher-ups?"
"T-that... that's right. When that deranged killer made the demand to hand over someone for him to kill, they thought that was a good opportunity, so they ordered me... to send your team to that killer. Believe me! I-I just did as I was told."
"…"
The Director swallowed hard. The golden eyes of Dung Beetle staring at him looked too menacing.
"...Then, the second question. What is this corpse warehouse?"
The Director shut his eyes tight. This wasn't a question he could answer. Even if answering him could save his life for now, he would certainly pay the price later, as the higher-ups would never spare him for revealing the truth.
However, if he didn't give him an answer, he would die.
A liquid trickled between the wrinkles around the Director's eyes; no one could tell if it was tears or gasoline.
"This warehouse... is the raison d'être for the Janitor Guild's existence."
"The raison d'être?"
"'You must have heard the urban legends about the Janitor Guild."
"That nonsense that the guild is operating a human flesh factory and supplying corpses to Necromancers?"
"Yes, those false rumors. Half of them are true."
Half were true? Dung Beetle furrowed his brows.
Needless to say, a human flesh factory was undoubtedly nonsense. Butchery was surprisingly delicate work, requiring large-scale slaughterhouses and refrigeration facilities.
It made no sense to talk about supplying human flesh when these people were just stacking corpses in a warehouse. They were lucky that the guild didn't supply rotten meat.
Then, there was only one answer: they supplied corpses to Necromancers. But... that was just as nonsensical.
"Are you really asking me to believe that?"
When Dung Beetle voiced his opinion, the Director looked at him warily as he opened his mouth.
"I know that it's hard to believe. But that's the truth without a single falsehood. I can swear to it."
"Isn't the Janitor Guild under the government? Are you saying that they've teamed up with people who've been designated as terrorists by the United States?"
The Director pulled his neck and body backwards as Dung Beetle stepped forward with the lighter.
"We're living in an era where big-eared commies brazenly meet with the U.S. president. Is it really strange for the Korean government to team up with a terrorist organization?"
He kept talking as he cautiously moved his body as far as he could, just in case the lighter's flame reached him.
"I can't really tell you about how far the government's influence extends to. I'm just someone at the bottom of the hierarchy, responsible for delivering the goods. But one thing I can say for sure is that the Janitor Guild has been doing this for at least 20 years."
"Lies. What does the government have to gain from people like Necromancers?"
With a click, he moved the lighter closer. The Director screamed as if he were shrieking.
"The Awakening Potion! They receive the Awakening Potion!"
"The Awakening Potion?"
"Hell yes, damn it! It's an elixir that has a 20% chance of turning an Earthian into a mana user when you drink it! The Necromancers supply it to the government."
"..."
"He.. hehe... If not, how does this tiny country have more mages than all of South America? Did they build Hogwarts or something?"
It was a plausible story. It was true that South Korea produced more mages than any other country.
The government said it was due to a dimensional portal that opened in the Kaesong area, but... well, a contract with Necromancers made more sense.
"...Evidence? Do you have any evidence?"
"Damn it! This warehouse is the evidence! Does this look like a normal warehouse to you? What I'm saying is that this place has preservation spells to keep corpses from decaying easily and seals to prevent the smell from escaping!"
As the Director shouted, Dung Beetle looked around the warehouse with a new perspective.
Indeed, if so many corpses were decaying in here, the stench should have permeated the entire area. A single gas mask would be unable to withstand the overwhelming stench. The situation was beyond explanation—unless magic was involved.
"If they weren't Necromancers, why would they build a facility like this? Please, please believe me. I-I mean, is there any reason for me to lie after coming all the way here?"
The Director pleaded in a desperate voice. He wanted to stay alive—there were too many assets he hadn't used and things he hadn't enjoyed. He couldn't just die like this.
However, looking at Dung Beetle's gaze, he realized that the young man didn't fully believe him. Those narrowed eyes were staring at the Director, calculating whether his words were true or false.
"If what you say is true, when will the Necromancer arrive? There must be a schedule for collecting corpses."
"In three days. They'll come to collect the corpses in three days, as they do regularly. T-The secret meeting place is the closed Incheon Port Pier 13!"
The Director divulged confidential information without hesitation. It might have gone unnoticed if he hadn't said anything, but he had already disclosed way too much to remain silent now.
"Three days…"
Dung Beetle shut his mouth and remained silent. The lingering silence made the Director even more afraid.
"D-do you have any more questions? I will tell you everything I know; just spare my life."
"I have no more questions. I don't think you really know everything."
"Then... you will spare me, right?"
Dung Beetle stared down without responding. Tangled with disgust and hatred, the gold eyes met the Director's gaze head-on.
In the brief moment of silence, the gasoline on the Director's cheek mingled with the cold sweat trickling down. As if resolving himself, Dung Beetle clenched his fist tightly before putting the lighter back into his pocket.
"As promised. I will spare you."
The Director sighed with relief. Simultaneously, he mocked Dung Beetle in his mind. Stupid bastard, you are calling this sparing me?
"Thank you. Thank you very much..."
Yet he feigned weakness and misery outwardly. There was no need to cause unnecessary trouble.
As long as he survived now, there would be plenty of opportunities for revenge. Although he would likely lose his position as a Director and have to flee from the South Korean government.
Regardless, Dung Beetle abandoned the Director, walked toward the warehouse entrance, and disappeared from his sight.
Only once the sound of Dung Beetle's footsteps disappeared did the Director finally relax. He sighed, clutching his pounding chest.
"Damn it, he could have released my arms and legs before he left."
He tried to untie his bound limbs while groaning. As he freed one arm, a strange smell tickled his nose.
It smelt... like burning meat...
"Oh my… damn it…"
The smell wafted from the direction Dung Beetle had left. As the Director turned his head, black smoke and rising flames met his eyes.
"This... this..."
There was no space in the warehouse to avoid the fire, and there was no escape route. For the sake of flawless magic, there were no windows, let alone ventilation holes.
Maybe he could break through the entrance and escape before the flames grew larger.
However, it was a death sentence for the Director, who was drenched in gasoline from head to toe.
"You damn bastard!!!"
The Director sat quietly, realizing that all he could do was wait to be burnt to death in despair.