Chapter 2: Refugees (1)

On the rattling back of the truck. 

Despite being armed to the teeth, the tension among the people aboard was palpable. 

"Just a little longer! We're almost there!"

A sudden roar and shouts pulled me back to reality.

An unfamiliar sight greeted me.

A dark, overcast sky.

Steel beams and shattered concrete ruins, like the exposed skeleton of a once-thriving civilization.

"What the…?"

But the words that left my mouth were not in my native language.

Yet, somehow, I spoke and understood it perfectly.

It made no sense.

"Carl! Quit spacing out and take this!"

…Carl?

What the hell?

Even as confusion clouded my mind, my hands instinctively caught the pistol thrown to me.

Cold. Heavy.

This was no toy.

Even though I had spent years holding a mouse instead of a gun, I knew the difference.

This was a real firearm.

"Why are you handing me this…?"

"Are you seriously still hung up about what that old man said?! No time for that, get ready!"

"…Ready? For what?"

"Goddamn it! Just do whatever you want!"

The tattooed man snapped at me before turning away.

'Carl?'

I hadn't misheard.

He had called me Carl.

'Why?'

Before I could make sense of the situation, the man shouted again—this time in panic.

"Shit! They're already catching up!"

And then—

A chorus of monstrous howls erupted from all directions.

[Kyaooooo!]

…An animal's cry?

No—

It wasn't.

This was…

"…What the hell is going on?"

"What do you think?! Those goddamn mutts are on us!"

I finally looked outside the truck.

[Grrrrr! Bark! Bark!]

[Kyaoooo!]

Three trucks—including the one I was on—were speeding down a ruined road.

And behind them…

Dozens of monsters.

But what made my blood run cold was how familiar they looked.

"Why do they look so much like…"

Hellhounds.

Grade 10 Beast-Type Monsters.

Creatures straight out of The Defense.

And now, they were hunting us.

"Shit! They're coming!"

With a furious shout, the tattooed man raised his rifle.

[Bark! Bark! Bark!]

[Kyaoo! Kyaoo!]

"Fire!"

The truck bed erupted with gunfire.

—Bang! Bang! Bang!

—Tat-tat-tat!

[Yelp!]

Several hellhounds collapsed, but their numbers barely thinned.

"Just a little longer! We're almost at the Ark!"

…The Ark?

"Hey."

"WHAT NOW?!"

"Are we really heading to the Ark?"

"ARE YOU BRAIN-DEAD?! OF COURSE WE ARE!"

…This was insane.

The only Ark I knew was the last human stronghold in The Defense.

Not only that, but I had been called Carl—the same name as the character I created.

And now, we were heading toward the Ark.

'…No. That's ridiculous.'

But so was everything else happening.

The impossible had already happened.

It was time to face the truth.

The Defense.

I had somehow been pulled into that world.

And I was in the body of Carl Marcus—the character I had created.

As absurd as it was, everything pointed to that conclusion.

'And judging by the situation… Carl Marcus isn't from the Ark.'

The trait penalties I had picked…

"Because of his foreign origins, he is treated with suspicion. He will face many hardships."

The Defense assigned characters based on their traits.

I had never seen a character start outside the Ark before.

'Then…'

A thought struck me.

I hesitantly touched my left ear.

It was the in-game gesture used to check character stats.

──────────────

Name: Carl Marcus

Rank: ─

Class: ─

Strength: 11

Endurance: 12

Dexterity: 10

Luck: 7

Ether Sensitivity: 5

Traits: [Superhuman Stamina], [Agile Movements], [Superhuman Willpower], [Insomnia], [Hand Tremors], [Nearsightedness], [Sudden Deafness], [One Shot One Kill], [Firepower Specialist], [Heavy Rounds], [Possession…

──────────────

'…It's real.'

And those stats.

A newly created character should have an average of 2 or 3 in each stat.

But mine exceeded 10.

That was on par with elite veteran soldiers.

'Stats like these only show up in Orange-Line characters.'

And my Ether Sensitivity was already 5—without needing surgery.

Suddenly, the penalty of being an outsider made a lot more sense.

'Which means…'

I had figured out where I was.

Now, I needed to figure out what to do.

Luckily, that was simple.

"Just hold on a little longer! The Ark is just ahead!"

I needed to survive until we reached the Ark.

I studied the pursuing hellhounds.

'…Most of them are just Grade 10 beasts.'

If we were inside the Ark, they'd be no threat.

But out here?

One mistake, and we were dead.

'Then…'

I quickly checked my equipment.

──────────────

[Rusty Makarov Pistol] [★(1-Star)]

—An old, deteriorating Makarov pistol.

—Uses 9mm rounds.

—High risk of malfunction.

"View Details"

──────────────

[9mm Standard Rounds] [★(1-Star)]

[Current Count: 15]

—Standard 9mm rounds.

"View Details"

──────────────

'…Pathetic.'

A decaying pistol and only 15 bullets.

Even if I landed every shot perfectly, I could maybe kill three hellhounds.

That wouldn't change anything.

I scanned the situation.

—A moving truck.

—Low-quality equipment.

—Destination: The Ark.

Given these conditions, there was only one option.

'Eliminating the monsters is impossible.'

I needed a better plan.

I climbed toward the back of the truck.

"Oh, great descendant of the spirits, Carl Marcus! What brings you here?"

"To help."

"HA! So, you've finally decided to lend a hand? Are you done with your nonsense?"

"Something like that."

I ignored the man's sarcasm and tightened my grip on the pistol.

The cold, heavy weight settled in my palm.

It had been a long time since I last held a gun.

Not since I was discharged from the military.

But one thing was clear—

'This gun isn't enough.'

My eyes naturally drifted to the rifle in the tattooed man's hands.

It wasn't great, but it was better than a pistol.

"That."

"…Huh?"

"Trade with me."

I held out my pistol and gestured to his rifle.

For a moment, he just stared at me—like I had lost my damn mind.

"…Are you kidding me?"

"I'm serious."

"Ha… haaa…"

He sighed in exasperation, shaking his head. Then, without another word, he unclipped the rifle's strap and handed it to me.

"I know what you're capable of. That's the only reason I'm agreeing to this."

"I know."

And just like that, I swapped my pistol for his rifle.

Honestly, I hadn't expected him to agree so easily.

Apparently, Carl Marcus had a strong reputation among these people.

Which was great for me.

'Let's see what we've got.'

──────────────

[Old M1 Carbine] [★ (1-Star)]

—An old M1 Carbine.

—Uses 7.62 x 33mm rounds.

—Needs maintenance.

"View Details"

──────────────

[7.62 x 33mm Standard Rounds] [★(1-Star)]

[Current Count: 30]

—Standard 7.62 x 33mm rounds.

"View Details"

──────────────

'Tch.'

Compared to Ark-issued equipment, this was trash.

Honestly, it was a miracle they had survived this long with gear like this.

'And more importantly… I don't have enough bullets.'

I only have 30 rounds.

That wasn't nearly enough to fight off the horde.

It wasn't even enough to hold out until we reached the Ark.

"Aaargh!"

As if to confirm my fears, several people on the rear truck were dragged down by the hellhounds.

"Kud!!"

But we had no time to save them.

"YOU BASTARDS!!"

Refugees on the other truck started firing wildly.

But the hellhounds were smart.

They easily dodged the panicked gunfire.

—Click, click.

"…Shit."

And then—

Hellhounds leaped onto the truck.

Screams.

Blood.

Flesh and bone ripped apart.

"AAAAAAGH!"

Some people jumped from the truck in desperation—

Only to be torn apart by the waiting hellhounds.

There was no escape.

"FUCK!!"

As a hellhound lunged for the truck behind us, I fired without hesitation.

—BANG!

[Yelp!]

The Hellhound's weak spots are its eyes which is unprotected by its skull and the center of its chest which is also unprotected by its armored ribs.

'The chest is a little harder to hit… but it's doable.'

My hands trembled.

Maybe from fear.

Maybe from the [Hand Tremors] trait I had picked.

Under normal conditions, my shots should've missed.

But thanks to Carl Marcus' enhanced abilities, I landed every shot.

'This is doable.'

I steadied my grip on the M1 Carbine.

First target—

A hellhound racing toward our truck.

—BANG!

[Yelp! Yelp!]

[Kieeeek!!]

Second target.

—BANG!

[Screeeeech!]

Third. Fourth. Fifth.

Not a single bullet was wasted.

Each shot struck true.

"Holy shit! You CAN shoot!"

The tattooed man—now swinging a battle axe—yelled in amusement.

"That axe suits you."

"THANKS TO WHO, DO YOU THINK?!"

"What's your name?"

"…Seriously? Are you saying you forgot my name?! You son of a—!!"

He swung his axe mid-sentence, cleaving through a hellhound.

"Listen up, dumbass! My name is Kurilta! Son of Iron Axe Kurild! If you forget again, I'll MAKE SURE you remember—with this axe!"

"Got it, Kurilta."

I had fired over 30 times.

My bullets should have run out.

And yet—

—BANG! BANG BANG!

My rifle kept firing.

And thanks to that, the hellhounds' numbers rapidly dwindled.

"LOOK! THE ARK!"

In the distance, a massive fortress wall rose over the horizon.

"WE'RE GONNA MAKE IT!!"

But then—

"WAIT—!!"

—BOOOOOOM!

A deafening explosion.

One of the two remaining trucks flipped over.

"What the hell—?!"

Kurilta's question was answered immediately.

A giant shadow emerged from the dust.

[Grrrrr…]

Its shape was similar to a hellhound—

But its size was monstrous.

Spiked bones jutted out like armor.

'…Shit.'

Grade 8 Monster — Skull Hound.

The alpha of the hellhounds.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!"

"DEAR GOD…"

"WE'RE… DEAD."

Despair spread through the group.

But my mind remained cold.

I had fired over 30 shots.

My bullets should be gone.

And yet—my rifle was still firing.

—BANG! BANG BANG!

Like my ammo was infinite.

'This isn't just my imagination.'

If I had really been pulled into the world of The Defense—

Then the trainer's effects had to be real, too.

"…Carl?"

Ignoring Kurilta's confused stare, I gripped my rifle.

I didn't know why I was here.

But I sure as hell wasn't going to die.

[Grrrrr…]

The Skull Hound bared its fangs—

And charged.

Boom! Boom!

With every step, the ground shook.

A house-sized beast barreling straight toward me.

My body screamed to run.

But I shook my head.

There was nowhere to run.

—Click.

I pulled the trigger.

'Right now.'

Flames erupted from the M1 Carbine's muzzle.

—BANG!!

[KIEEEEEEEEK!!]

A fountain of blood erupted from the Skull Hound's eyes.

***

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