Chapter 9: The Living Necronomican.

“Nobody said the target our goddess picked was this kind of monster…”

One of the contractors, staring at the two corpses on the ground, swallowed hard.

Why didn’t our goddess warn us?

We’re in deep trouble.

They had expected to hunt a rookie contractor in their first arena match, but a terrifying figure stood before them. Even in an arena where death wasn’t permanent, the chilling aura of someone who treated killing and dying as routine was far beyond what a normal person could project.

The thick scent of blood drifted through the forest breeze.

Unlike the contractors, who hadn’t even begun farming gear, this relentless figure was already looting the equipment of the two he’d defeated.

“Ugh, what’s this? Nothing but junk.”

Yoo Da-hee didn’t find much of value, but the three remaining contractors weren’t foolish enough to challenge such an unpredictable threat.

Quickly assessing the situation, one stepped forward, raising both hands.

“…Fighting doesn’t seem like it’ll end well for us. How about we just go our separate ways?”

He tried to sound subtly threatening, but such weak posturing wouldn’t faze Yoo Da-hee. He’d faced far worse threats in the outer cosmos.

“Go our separate ways? That’s a bit underwhelming.”

Wiping the blood-soaked dagger on a corpse, Yoo Da-hee flicked its tip tauntingly.

“Hand over everything you’ve got and leave, or fight me here. Those are your options.”

“You want to escalate this…?”

No room for negotiation.

Bad move.

The leader regretted stepping forward.

As the other two tried to slip away, Yoo Da-hee crouched, ready to pounce.

“It’s not me who’ll meet their end—it’s you. Oh, and don’t think splitting up will save you. I’ll hunt at least one of you down. Speaking of which… Leader, your gear looks the best.”

His predatory gaze and poised stance radiated danger. This man was serious. His eyes burned with absolute resolve.

Realizing he was the primary target, the leader had no choice but to raise his hands.

Their goddess had advised them to try if it was 3:1, not to throw their lives away on a reckless gamble. Retreating was the smart move.

Sighing, he pulled a small staff from his cloak and placed it on the ground—a gesture of surrender, not attack. Yoo Da-hee slightly relaxed his stance.

“…I’ll back off for each piece of gear you drop. Can’t have you ambushing me while I’m collecting.”

“Fine, that’s fair.”

What am I going to tell my goddess after this match? That we backed down from a 3:1?

This is humiliating.

Dropping gear piece by piece, they retreated step by step. Yoo Da-hee, keeping his word, relaxed further and inspected the loot.

“Oh, this looks valuable.”

A pauldron shimmering with magical dust caught his eye.

“…Can I get that back later?”

“If you’ve got a problem, come and try.”

They dropped their final staff and vanished into the underbrush.

Yoo Da-hee listened for any sign of them doubling back, but their retreating footsteps confirmed they were gone. The forest hummed with insects once more.

In a battle royale, eliminating other players was more rewarding than scavenging items. Now decked out in gear from head to toe, Yoo Da-hee resembled a chaotic rainbow—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. Appearance didn’t matter; gear just needed to function.

To prevent the contractors from reclaiming it, he smashed the joints with his axe, Parashu.

[You coward…]

A faint curse echoed, but he ignored it.

If they had an issue, they could face him.

Despite the gear’s weight, its enhancements made him feel lighter, and he surged forward.

The hologram above displayed the remaining participants. Moments ago, it showed [97/100] after his three kills, but now, with battles erupting, it was down to [80/100].

Only 30 more to reach the top 50.

Hiding and playing defensively might get him there, but in this mode, that was a foolish strategy. The longer the match went, the stronger everyone became. Those highlight clips from the waiting room? Meteors could crash down and obliterate the arena at any moment.

Better to eliminate careless players while there was time.

Planning his next move—

Zing—

A high-pitched hum grazed his ear, and the dice rolled automatically.

[A detection spell passes over Yoo Da-hee.]

[The forest’s obstacles make targeting difficult. -2 modifier applied.]

[The caster targets only heat sources. +3 modifier applied.]

[Dice rolling…]

[…1D20 rolls.]

[1…!]

[Minimum evasion threshold for detection spell: 10…]

[Non-direct spells are unaffected by spell resistance.]

[The dice seem to mock you.]

No, what is this?!

Was he cursed?

Why did every roll end in a fumble?

His unreliable alien-acquired abilities never worked as intended—unpredictable, like the outer gods themselves.

[You’ve been precisely located by the detection spell…!]

[The target screams, “It’s that pauldron’s revenge…!”]

“…”

Those guys?

“…I shouldn’t have let them go.”

[Detection spell’s critical success triggers an additional effect.]

[Your location is broadcast to all arena participants for 10 minutes.]

A blinding golden pillar erupted above his head.

“Oh—”

Nobody said it would shine this brightly.

Hiding was impossible now. The forest terrain offered no cover; every move would be countered.

But if Yoo Da-hee were the type to give up, he’d have perished in that alien nightmare long ago.

“…You’re all finished.”

—

“Hieeee!”

Dike’s face, briefly hopeful, paled instantly.

In a sniper-heavy match, this spell was a death sentence.

Without detection countermeasures or divine blessings, she’d sent Yoo Da-hee in unprepared, her divine power completely drained.

As a participating goddess, she was failing miserably.

The golden pillar rose, and participants’ attention shifted.

Realizing what it meant, they dropped everything and charged.

“20 points! 20 points’ location is live!”

“You useless contractor, move! Don’t let others claim it!”

The gods, frenzied, urged their contractors toward the 20-point bounty.

Normally, gods in the waiting room couldn’t communicate, but with special equipment and costly divine power payments to the Administration, one-way messages were possible.

Divine power flared across the arena.

Even those uninterested in sniping joined the chaos.

Contractors, mid-fight, abandoned their opponents to sprint toward the beacon—a chaotic scene, but Dike couldn’t find it amusing.

“Cosmic debt…! Unicorn & Bicon Inc. is coming…! The debt… it’s growing…!”

If this continued, a grim future awaited. She glanced at Yoo Da-hee through her assigned screen.

Yoo Da-hee was doing something incomprehensible.

He was heading back.

Why?

A question mark hovered over Dike’s head.

Then, shock replaced confusion.

“What’s this lunatic doing?!”

Yoo Da-hee was dragging the corpses of the contractors he’d defeated.

With only 10 minutes of detection, even fleeing would be difficult, yet he was carrying dead weight—a clear suicide move.

“Dikeeee!”

Dike burst into tears.

—

Yoo Da-hee returned to the clearing.

The camouflaged assassin’s split head greeted him.

Dropping the two corpses with a thud, they landed messily atop each other.

Ten minutes was a long time.

The arena, per the guide, was a 10km by 10km square with varied terrain—deserts, swamps, forests like this, volcanoes.

If contractors from all zones rushed him, 10 minutes was enough to get overwhelmed.

He hoped as many would come as possible.

His original plan was already ruined. Sticking to it would only lead to a spectacular death under pursuit.

That meant a future of servitude alongside that reckless goddess, Dike.

How do you pay off 500 trillion?

Even at 2% interest, that’s 10 trillion a year, but this absurd goddess borrowed at 20%.

Her financial sense was a disaster.

So this was his only option.

The penalty.

The restriction that his mind’s primary tool could only be used once.

The axe, Parashu, wasn’t it.

“Dice, just roll.”

[Dice rolling…]

[…1D20 rolls.]

[1…!]

Another fumble.

Terrible luck.

He seriously considered finding a shaman for an exorcism once he escaped.

Another failed roll meant neither the dice nor Parashu’s swings were his primary tool.

So what was his one-shot trump card?

Translation.

The book that dragged him into that indescribable alien horror…

The Necronomicon.

Read, reread, corrected, cross-verified—memorized so thoroughly it surfaced in his mind effortlessly.

That memory was his true primary tool.

A mistranslated text that drove people mad just by reading it. The only being in this world who understood the Necronomicon’s true text—a translator and recorder.

[Living Necronomicon, Yoo Da-hee.]

A guaranteed victory or a self-destruct that takes everyone with him—a gamble.

But better than dying without trying and drowning in debt.

The vast, unsettling records of the Necronomicon unfolded in his mind.

He hadn’t dragged three corpses for nothing.

A ritual of human sacrifice requiring three bodies.

Gazing at the approaching crowd, Yoo Da-hee flashed an unreadable smile.