To you: After the End

'I have to check it out myself'

'Should I go up? No—that would be foolish.' 

'But can I just leave like this to get help? What if he tries to light the gas line again? Calling for help will take time. Even in a capital city like this, it still takes at least twenty to thirty minutes for the police to arrive.'

'The Church is closer. But they don't have a combat force for helping commoners—just holy knights to protect the Church. The Royal Guards, though… They should still be there, provided by the Kingdom to every church. Still, even that would take more than ten minutes.'

'Maybe the terrorist is about to ignite the whole pipeline. Yes… That must have been the cause of that sharp sound.'

'If that's true, there's no time to get help. Otherwise, everyone will die.'

"I have to handle this myself!"

A sharp breath filled his lungs. He held it, steadying the pounding in his chest. For a moment, everything slowed. His gaze locked onto the upper floor. His grip tightened around the butchering knife, sweat slicking his palms.

'HAAAA!'

With a roar, he charged forward, barreling up the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him. 'Even if I have to kill today… I won't stop. I'm sorry—I can't just run away.'

He rammed his shoulder into the door of his room. The impact rattled his bones, but he stood up immediately, stumbling forward, eyes darting across the room. Fanatically Searching.

And then—

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

Leor screamed like he just saw a ghost, and the terrorist, just as he saw the door open, both screaming as loud as they could at the same time.

'Something was… off.'

The terrorist was drenched—in some kind of green, slimy, and grotesque substance. The goo clung to every surface, dripping from the walls, the furniture—Leor's books.

Beneath the mess, the 'terrorist' looked like a seventeen-year-old from a wealthy family. But that wasn't the strangest part.

He was naked. Completely naked.

The 'Terrorist' curled up on the wooden floor, trembling, his blonde hair plastered to his face by the slime, mixing with streaks of tears and snot.

The room smelled like spoiled yogurt.

'Why the hell is he crying? Is this guy really a terrorist?'

Leor's gaze flicked downward. His face twisted in sheer disgust. 

'I didn't need to see that.' 

But even as revulsion curled in his stomach, his grip on the knife tightened, His knuckles turning white.

'Whatever. He still broke into my house. I can't trust him—no matter how pathetic he looks.'

'Or… what if this was some kind of weird distraction tactic?'

'No. I'm not falling for it.'

"Wait… wait a second!" The intruder stammered, his voice quivering as he struggled to get up from the goo-coated floor.

The knife rose higher. Leor's fingers clenched tighter.

The young man took a shaky step forward, then—

BAAM!

He slipped, crashing face-first into the floor with a loud, painful thud!

'What the hell is wrong with this guy?'

"Why are you here?" The knife shook in Leor's grip as he jabbed it toward the intruder, trying to scare the terrorist into giving up his act.

The young man broke down even harder, his sobs turning hysterical.

'Oh Goddess, give me strength.'

"Don't cry. Answer first." Leor's voice dropped into an icy monotone, making the intruder flinch.

"Please… please listen to me before killing me!"

Desperation flickered in the terrorist's wide, teary eyes. Then, suddenly, something shifted. His expression changed. Realization dawned on his face. His gaze scanned Leor from head to toe—curious.

"Wait, wait… Can you understand me?"

'Huh?' The question threw Leor off slightly, but he quickly composed himself.

"Yes… I can. Why do you ask? Are you stoned or something?"

'Maybe that was it. Maybe this guy was just a random drunkard.'

'No. Then who turned on the lamp? His mind wandered back to it. That cigarette…'

His gaze swept over the man again, scanning him more carefully. 'What if there's someone else?'

This made sense actually. The man looked too scared to even raise his voice, how could he come up with something so ruthless?

'Maybe this idiot just got caught up in the situation.'

Pity finally settled in Leor's chest. 'This world is just too cruel for wealthy kids, 'they' sell Opium, and cannabis to such children who can afford it. Keep targeting them till they buy it.'

The young man noticed the shift in Leor's cold gaze to a soft gaze.

His shoulder shuddered, sweat pouring down from the goo-covered forehead. 

His guard went up immediately, his hands scrambling to cover his 'thing'.

'Is this guy serious?' Leor's mouth twitched.

"Answer me first. What's your name?" Leor asked in a cold tone, masking his doubts about him.

"My name is Johan Orlven…" The boy's voice trembled as he spoke, frantic and uncertain. "I don't know where I am. This feels like London but more like 1920s London, like in the movies. Maybe this city is some kind of relic to remember the past? But how the fuck did I get here? Can you help me?"

A deep frown creased Leor's brow. Movies? London? Those terms were certainly unfamiliar.

"Huh? No, this is Wellington. You're in the Lavenham Empire."

Now that Leor looked closer, the man did resemble an Aurelin noble.

"Where are you from?"

Johan's eyes went impossibly wide. His hands started twitching. His breathing quickened, sharp and erratic. A crazed, unsettling grin creeping up on his face.

'What's wrong with him now?'

"…Are you alright?" Leor took a cautious step forward.

"I'm from GERMANY!" Johan burst into a cold, hysterical laughter. His entire body shook as he laughed like he was just about to vomit from laughing too hard.

After laughing hardly for a few minutes straight, he finally stopped. Taking in Leor's appearance.

His voice dropped into a serious whisper. "Do you know where that is?" His head snapped up. His eyes locked onto him. "Do you know it?"

He asked again, leaning in. He looked as if he already knew the answer, but still leaned forward.

His breath hitched. 'I've never heard of anything even similar to this before.'

He tilted his head. 'This could be a place beyond the 'Seas'? Like in the legends.'

A slow shake of the head. "No. Where is it?"

"HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

The laughter exploded out of Johan again, louder, more frenzied. It looked as if he lost all hope at this moment.

"It wasn't a dream. I really got hit by that truck… and I didn't die."

Then—a sudden change.

The hysteria vanished. Coldness seeped into his stare. His fists clenched.

'Shit—Is he about to attack.'

'Leor instantly took a step back. The knife raised again.'

Then, without warning—

Johan lunged.

He crawled toward Leor, fast, his face twisted into a terrifying grin, his yellowed teeth bared.

"Are you the evil wizard conspiring against the Kingdom who summoned me?! I'm just a random guy! How could I help you destroy?! Are you going to awaken my system?! Can I choose my skill, pleaseee?! I want necromancy! One which you can turn the dead into loyal shadow soldiers!"

What. The. Fuck.

A sharp kick to the chest sent Johan sprawling back.

"What the fuck are you talking about?!"

Leor's breath hitched. His body trembling slightly.

'Is he possessed by something?' 

Due to the kick, Johan's hand retreated back as he clutched his chest in pain, still mumbling to himself about some system bullshit.

This resulted in his 'thing' being revealed again.

Leor shuddered.

His eyes stung, getting Moist.

 He took a deep, slow breath, and straightened his back, with a cold expression.

'I can't appear weak.'

Then his fingers started twitching from disgust and anger.

'Can I kick him again?'