Marauder of the Apocalypse
Chapter 123: Moving

A small sling could only throw stones, but a staff sling was different. It could launch larger objects. Like Molotov cocktails.

"You want to throw a Molotov cocktail?"

"Yeah."

Jeon Do-hyung frowned uneasily, looking back and forth between the staff sling and me.

"I don't think it'll secure properly. And we're using this for the first time. I think we might mess up."

"No, I've got the feel of it."

I swung the staff sling back and forth. The string at the end of the sling cut through the air like a fishing rod. After swinging it a few times, I got used to it. Simple throwing was easy to begin with.

"I probably won't hit exactly where I'm aiming, but it'll be fine if it just lands near the barricade."

"I don't know about that..."

While we were talking, the townhouse survivors continued their attempts to divide us, but it was just noise. No one was seriously listening to what they were saying.

Instead, my bored companions started jeering back.

"You idiots. You're the ones who should surrender. Don't you know you'll all die at this rate? We don't spare our enemies. No matter who they are."

"Just surrender and find a way to live!"

They were countering propaganda with propaganda. My companions, who had been roaming with me and were covered in blood, had become skilled raiders who could handle various situations well.

Even now, they were spontaneously trying to sow division among the enemy.

Of course, it wasn't working. Having already seen us use prisoners as meat shields, those survivors weren't even considering surrender.

"Talking about surrender! That would be suicide! After seeing how you use people, you think we'd fall for that?"

The battle of public opinion continued while one of my companions went down to fetch a Molotov cocktail.

After briefly closing his mouth, the survivor lowered his demands. He spoke calmly, stating new requirements.

"Either way, if we keep fighting like this, both sides will suffer heavy casualties. Let's just forget about it. Go back now. There's no real need for us to fight, is there?"

His confidence was impressive. Without the certainty that they could die alongside armed raiders, such words wouldn't come out.

And he wasn't without reason.

Staff slings. They were skilled with a weapon that was difficult to aim. No, it wasn't just skill, but how well they had set up the situation.

'They positioned themselves perfectly to throw from behind concrete walls.'

They had created a field of fire centered on the only road leading into the townhouse. They only needed to practice dropping projectiles on that road, and with multiple people throwing simultaneously, they could compensate for poor accuracy.

What if we got closer? They'd drop furniture from windows.

"But fire renders all that meaningless."

"I brought the Molotov cocktail!"

A companion rushed over and handed me a soju bottle. A rag hung from the sealed bottle filled with oil.

"Should I light it now?"

"No, wait a moment."

I quickly adjusted my grip on the staff sling. Letting the string hang behind my back, I practiced the throwing motion a few times before settling into position.

"Put it in place. Then light it."

"Yes."

While my companion secured the Molotov cocktail to the sling, I sank into thought.

Throwing the Molotov would provide easy cover. They'd have to move to extinguish the fire, their concentration would be divided, and they'd find it harder to attack with their slings.

Conversely, it would become easier for us to attack.

...But why was it so difficult to secure the bottle?

"What are you doing?"

"It's, uh, not staying secure. It'll fall right off—oh, I spilled some oil."

Turning my head back, I saw my companion fumbling, making small mistakes. He hadn't properly secured the Molotov to the end of the sling. He was nervously shaking the bottle as if it might fall at any moment.

Jeon Do-hyung scratched his head.

"We should reinforce the leather pouch, right? Just a second."

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and tied it lightly into a basket shape to reinforce the pouch. My companion exclaimed brightly:

"It's done! It's secure. I'll light it now!"

"Ah, yes."

What was this? Something felt off from the start. I tried to stop him out of unease, but the Molotov had already been lit.

The rag, soaked in oil, blazed up. If left alone, it would spread to the staff sling. My companions hastily backed away. I too had no time to think and put strength into my arm.

I swung the staff sling forcefully, like casting a fishing line. The string of the sling arced from back to front, with the weight of the flaming bottle at its end.

Whoosh, the red Molotov cut through the blue sky and landed on the road well short of the barricade. The bottle shattered with a crash, oil spilled out, and flames erupted.

It landed nowhere near the rooftop or building I'd been aiming for. It was somewhere in the middle between me and the townhouse.

After a moment of silence, I finally spoke.

"The range is a bit short."

"It won't even reach the rooftop, will it?"

It was probably due to throwing uphill from below, or my lack of skill, or perhaps the weapon itself wasn't very efficient.

As we stood there, we heard the townhouse survivors shouting in alarm.

"Are you crazy? Starting a fire? You insane bastards! This is a mountain area!"

I silently watched the flames. The fire had ignited outside their territory.

It wouldn't be the first time things didn't go according to plan. The important thing was to adapt flexibly—to respond with improvisation when the scenario twisted unexpectedly.

'Let's use the fire as bait.'

Bait to draw out those who were huddled like turtles.

I grinned and shouted loudly:

"Aren't you going to put out the fire? If you don't come out quickly to extinguish it, you'll burn to death!"

"Bullshit! You're attacking us because you want something! Water! Electricity! Food! If you let the fire spread, you'll lose everything too, so you put it out!"

Correct. This townhouse was our objective. But revealing that completely wouldn't draw them out, so I answered like a nomad.

"No. I've given up on that. You're tougher than I expected. So I'm going to burn everything and leave."

I spat out the words, implying that it was important to burn to death the flies who neither surrendered nor stopped their pointless resistance.

The flames, flowing along the oil, traveled down the slope. Without hesitation, I turned around.

"Let's back up a bit. When they come out to extinguish the fire, shoot them."

***

It was a mountain area. Fire spread easily. The situation developed faster than I'd anticipated.

I'd expected a psychological battle—watching the flames burn quietly, pushing and pulling, threatening each other. But the fire, traveling along the oil, spread rapidly.

The sideways flow of flames caught the weeds sprouting from the road, and sparks carried by the wind spread further and further. It was like watching dandelions reproduce. Sparks flying and flames blooming.

My companions' legs trembled.

"The fire's spreading faster than expected. Is this really okay?"

"..."

I stood still, watching the townhouse.

People were moving busily, abandoning their cover. I could even hear shouts of people searching for water or dirt.

"Let's wait. Worst case, if everything here burns down, we can just move and find another shelter. But it's different for them."

For them, this was home. A fortress they had settled in and cultivated since the apocalypse. People who couldn't move as easily as we could.

They were the ones in a hurry.

Sure enough, the townhouse survivors stepped forward. Wearing white masks, they emerged carrying pots filled with water, blankets soaked in water, or shovels that could scoop and scatter dirt.

Worried about us shooting, someone approached from beyond the smoky haze, waving a white t-shirt.

"Let's negotiate."

"Now you want to talk?"

I smirked, looking at the survivor who had approached. A middle-aged man with white mixed into his hair. He examined me with tired eyes before letting out a sigh.

"I wondered who would cross such a line, and it turns out to be such a young person..."

He probably hadn't encountered someone like me who would start fires before. He had successfully repelled attackers with his prepared defenses, but it seemed this was his first time facing someone who didn't care if everything burned down.

"Well, you seem to have lived quite peacefully. It's a harsh world these days."

"It's been difficult, but it was still a world where people lived like humans. We hadn't met anyone as crazy as you."

The survivor repeatedly wiped his face as if washing it dry.

"Since you didn't shoot us immediately after we came out, I'm guessing you don't really intend to burn everything and leave. You don't seem short on food either. Is our facility your goal?"

"That's right. And I will burn it if I can't have it."

I readily revealed my objective. This wouldn't be a weakness. I smiled and looked behind me.

The townhouse survivors were working hard to contain the flames. They had responded quickly enough to prevent the fire from spreading further.

The survivor who had come to negotiate was doing his best to contain us, the real fire.

"Then let's negotiate. Our houses aren't exactly spacious, but if we squeeze in, we can accommodate all of you. You just need to make a few promises."

"Promises?"

"Honestly, who would feel safe after seeing how you act? We need safeguards too."

I stared at the survivor. He folded his fingers one by one.

"No using people as slaves. No intimidation with force. Division of labor. Including townspeople in the armed security team."

"...Sorry to ask this now, but are you the representative of the townhouse? The village head? Community leader? Something like that?"

The survivor nodded.

"Something like that. If you make these promises, we can live together reasonably well. We can complement each other's shortcomings."

"I see."

So he was the leader. The leader himself had come to negotiate.

I casually pulled out my hammer from my chest and struck his head. Avoiding the crown to prevent instant death, I hit his forehead at an angle.

"Agh!"

The leader screamed and collapsed. Blood flowed from his split forehead. He flailed his limbs trying to stand up, but his brain seemed rattled and he couldn't keep his balance.

I kindly grabbed his hair and pulled him close, smiling.

"I've got a hostage. Everyone, shoot those people too."

My companions nimbly turned their gun barrels. At the end of those barrels were the townhouse people moving busily. They looked at us in confusion before frantically turning away, but it was too late.

Gunshots rang out in succession, and people fell onto the small flames. Screams and groans of pain filled the air.

I raised my hand and said:

"Stop. No need for confirmation kills. Bring in the survivors and put out the fire."