It wasn’t too difficult to exterminate the lizards on the second floor.
In fact, aside from the one monster lurking on the third floor, the security was so laughably weak that the place might as well have been empty.
Of course, the fact that those forces had likely already occupied our original target—the Office of the Inspector General—made this whole operation feel a bit like putting the cart before the horse.
“Mmmuuuhh…”
At the foot of the stairs leading to the third floor.
Rumi, who had been cheerfully swinging her tail and fists to knock out enemies left and right, suddenly began trembling violently.
“Something… something scary is up there, woof…”
An intangible killing intent, perhaps?
For an ordinary person like me, it was something beyond my perception.
But—
“It definitely feels unsettling, nyaaahh…”
“Huuu… I also feel a bit of goosebumps, if I may say so.”
Tina and Ellis corroborated the feeling.
Even Neb had pulled out a pillow and was clutching it tightly in her arms.
It wasn’t a good sign, but in a way, it made sense.
In this game, male characters rarely appeared—and if they did, they were usually in the form of beasts or monsters.
But among the few male characters that did exist, one stood out.
An old man with white hair, a white beard, and an overwhelming presence.
In reality, the elderly might be frail, but in subculture, an old man character is a symbol of strength.
Why?
Because subculture games usually take place in dystopian, chaotic worlds.
Surviving to that age in such a world is, in itself, proof of extraordinary power.
And then—
“Mwoof!”
Just as we hesitated for a moment—
“I do not recall permitting outsiders to enter the Uigeumbu.”
A voice, cold enough to send shivers down my spine, echoed from the top of the stairs.
Soon after, the owner of that voice strode down confidently.
And then—
“Guh…!”
I couldn’t help but let out a choked gasp.
Since he was still an “enemy,” the text above his head was clearly visible to me.
[LV. 120]
Our heroes were only Level 70.
In a one-on-one fight, they’d probably last about three seconds.
In games, there’s no more honest indicator than level.
He was practically on the level of a boss from Hollow Knight.
And with a surname like Cheok, weakness wasn’t an option.
In the West, there’s Chuck Norris.
In the East, there’s Cheok Jungyeong.
It’s common sense.
However—
“I have no business with the weak. Disappear from my Uigeumbu before I kill you.”
True masters tend to go easy on newbies.
He spoke indifferently, clearly uninterested in our party, who looked like complete rookies.
For now, he was neutral.
But if the story progressed even slightly, he would eventually side with them.
So before that happened—we had to either recruit him…
Or eliminate him.
In the limited game data I had, Cheok Jungyeong’s information was etched vividly in my mind.
Though it was a somewhat embarrassing memory—
Back when forum debates were spiraling out of control, I had made the decisive move to deploy the “Old Man Cheok” meme.
So when it came to knowing every little detail about Cheok Jungyeong, there was probably no one more knowledgeable than me.
Or so I liked to think.
“Old Man Cheok. How about a little wager?”
“…Hm?”
According to the developers’ official lore, Cheok Jungyeong loved gambling and challenges.
A strange glint flickered in his eyes as he turned back to face me.
“Listen here, young man. A wager is a dangerous thing. Are you that confident in yourself?”
“If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have brought it up.”
In gambling, poker face and guts matter more than anything else.
At the very least, I was confident in that regard.
The Uigeumbu had a separate interrogation ground for criminals.
The ominous-sounding Gukmunjang.
I wasn’t well-versed in archaic terms, but in historical dramas, when someone yells, “Interrogate the criminal!!” and ties them up for torture—
That’s Gukmun.
Fortunately, there weren’t any bondage chairs lying around.
It was just an open space where Cheok Jungyeong and I stood facing each other.
“Master…”
“Master…!”
“Huuu…”
I had thoroughly explained my plan to the heroes, but seeing me in danger still made them fidget nervously.
I was a little touched.
But—
I couldn’t hide behind them forever.
Besides, even if they pooled all their strength right now, they’d still lose unconditionally.
The only one who could create a variable in this situation was me.
“Are you prepared, young man?”
“I’m a little scared, to be honest.”
I answered with complete honesty.
The old man laughed for the first time.
“You look weak, yet you’re eager to throw your life away so soon. Well, it’s your choice.”
With those words—
He pointed his sword at me.
A hazy aura rose from the tip of the blade—likely some kind of sword energy or sword aura.
“Huuuuh…”
I took a deep breath.
“Here I go.”
In that instant—
Time seemed to slow to a crawl.
Expressionless, the old man swung his sword at me.
An unavoidable death crept toward me at a glacial pace.
Closing my eyes might have lessened the terror, but—
I kept them wide open, staring straight at the blade.
The sword inched toward my neck—
Rumi’s eyes squeezed shut in the distance—
Tina let out a panicked “Nyaaah!”—
Ellis hugged Neb tightly—
Huuuuuuuuuung—!
“Guh—hah!”
The breath I’d been holding burst out as time resumed its normal flow.
Cheok Jungyeong’s sword had stopped just short of my throat.
…Why?
“Respecting the young is one thing, but it’s still unbecoming for an old man like me to strike first. You go ahead.”
Hearing that, my legs nearly gave out.
…If my self-control had been just a little weaker, I might have wet myself.
***
This kid’s got some nerve.
Cheok Jungyeong silently revised his assessment of the young man before him.
The proposal had been absurdly arrogant.
“Have you heard of a chicken race? Well, it’s slightly different, but…”
The rules were simple.
We would take turns attacking each other with full intent to kill.
If either of us flinched or dodged, that would mean instant defeat.
If the attack landed and the target survived, the roles would switch, and the process would repeat.
When he first heard the ridiculous proposal, Cheok Jungyeong had wondered if the young man had a death wish—or if his brain had short-circuited.
He had women with him, too. What kind of madman would suggest something like this?
…Maybe that was why he had accepted the bet.
Was it youthful recklessness?
Or did he genuinely have the guts—or the skill—to back it up?
From what Cheok Jungyeong could sense, the boy was just an ordinary man.
Originally, he had planned to cut him down on the spot as punishment for his arrogance.
But those eyes—
Eyes filled with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t die—
They piqued Cheok Jungyeong’s curiosity.
“Respecting the young is one thing, but it’s still unbecoming for an old man like me to strike first. You go ahead.”
If he had just beheaded him then and there, it would have been over.
But what could someone so fearless possibly want?
Did he have some hidden trump card that could threaten him, Cheok Jungyeong?
Something that made all those women worry for him so desperately?
Unable to suppress his curiosity, Cheok Jungyeong had decided to see for himself.
“Now it’s your turn.”
Perhaps the close brush with death had left an impression.
The young man hesitated for a while, fidgeting with a stone tablet in his hand.
Was he mentally preparing himself?
Cheok Jungyeong had only indulged him once.
There wouldn’t be a next time.
With that thought, he waited calmly.
Then—
The young man put the tablet away and instead pulled out a pistol.
“…Just that?”
He was honestly disappointed.
If the Emperor had come at him with his full power, that would have been one thing.
But a toy like that couldn’t possibly harm him.
(Though the Emperor had grown frail in recent years and had even lost his firearms.
Still, he was his liege, which was why—despite his distaste—he was following the Yongin’s orders.)
“This might sting a little.”
“Hmph.”
If he wanted to hurt him, he’d need a tank, not a revolver.
Confident in his own strength, Cheok Jungyeong puffed out his chest.
The young man fiddled with the side of the revolver, then let out a deep sigh.
“I warned you.”
Then—
He pulled the trigger.
In that instant—
“…?”
Cheok Jungyeong felt it.
The energy of nature around him was converging unnaturally into a single point.
At first, he thought it might be some hidden trump card and chuckled to himself.
But—
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
“Hmm…!”
Unconsciously, a groan escaped his lips.
The energy kept growing stronger, far surpassing even his own maximum output.
Goooooo…!
Kugugugugu…!
It was an intensity no ordinary person could possibly produce with such a small tool.
Only then did Cheok Jungyeong realize—
Something was very wrong.
His instincts screamed at him.
Before that energy hit, he had to throw his sword and behead the man.
Or at the very least—
Dodge.
As his pride and survival instinct waged war—
Time seemed to slow to a crawl.
This wasn’t the heightened focus of battle, where every fraction of a second could be stretched into eternity.
Instead—
What unfolded before his eyes was—
A time when he had been younger, more valiant.
Not the retired official of the Uigeumbu, but the great general leading his troops to victory after victory on the battlefield.
His late wife, still young and vivid, waving at him.
His missing son, still seven years old and full of mischief, running toward him—
“Oh, fuck.”
This was his life flashing before his eyes.
The moment he sensed death, Cheok Jungyeong moved.
Reinforcing his body with the strongest defensive energy he could muster, he threw himself to the side—
Tuck and roll!
The forbidden escape technique of soldiers—the Naryeotagon!
Kwa-booooooom—!!!
The bullet that barely grazed him left a crater where he had stood, as if a star had fallen from the sky.
“Huuu…”
Cheok Jungyeong, lying flat on the ground, felt cold sweat trickle down his back.
Death had never felt so close.
Lifting his head slightly, he saw—
“I win the bet, right?”
The young man, one arm dangling limply from a dislocated shoulder, wore a triumphant smile.