Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 71: A Will

Recently, leaving a will has become a trend in our corner of the internet.

The reason becomes apparent the moment you step outside.

Current Temperature: -22°C

The traditional pattern of cold snaps and warm spells (Samhan Saon) has disappeared, replaced by relentless sub-zero temperatures below -15°C for an entire month. The world has been frozen solid.

The catalyst was Monster Park, a flagship online game created by Fox Game.

It wasn’t to my taste, so I dropped it quickly. But many players clung to it, escaping from reality, even during the onset of this deadly cold. The game remained immensely popular. Monster Park has a hidden mechanic called the "Cemetery."

If a player remains inactive for a week while logged in, their character transforms into a tombstone within the game.

Initially, these tombstones were rare. However, with the advent of the harsh cold, their numbers skyrocketed. Now, they can be found almost everywhere. Even a quick visit to the game's entrance lobby makes the severity of the situation obvious.

<Monster Park - Lobby>

This is the lobby of Monster Park.

A vast space where a chandelier studded with thousands of jewels sparkles at the center.

Surrounding it are 352 tombstones, standing solemnly, including one marked:

"Class of 2015, Civil Engineering"

You can move to: (East), (West), (South), (North), or (Rest Area).

The lobby itself has turned into a massive communal cemetery. Each tombstone displays a brief self-introduction written by the deceased while alive.

<Self-Introduction: Class of 2015, Civil Engineering>

Hi! I’m a Civil Engineering major, class of 2015~ Looking for friends to play without stress~ I’m online all day but usually active at night. Pretty and sexy women are especially welcome, haha. Netkama? Prepare to die!

A typical, mundane introduction. But after the Cemetery feature gained attention, players—particularly those from PaleNet—began using these introductions as their last wills.

Here are a few examples of those "wills."

<MasterShim’s Self-Introduction>

Real name: Shim Ju-yeop, age 23, male~

Family? All dead.

Possessions: A phone and two pairs of underwear.

Lived a shitty life, died a shitty death. Peace out.

<YubiPa’s Self-Introduction>

Kim Hak-chul, 43 years old.

Law school graduate from Reconnaissance University.

Legal team of the Cheolju Group.

If I survive this winter, maybe I’ll get married.

Let’s overcome this winter!

<Gongdeok 832 @ColdNoodles’ Self-Introduction>

Dong-chul, where are you~?

I’m sorry for what happened back then, son.

I miss you.

Each will carries its own story, its own weight. None are insignificant, but one tombstone in particular has captured the public’s attention.

The most famous tombstone belongs to a well-known celebrity from before the war. After disappearing without a trace, they left behind only this humble grave. I recognized their name and had even seen their films—proof of how renowned they were.

Other notable tombstones became popular topics of discussion, but one, in particular, caught my eye.

<Tombstone of the Bandit King>

The Bandit King’s tombstone is unique. Unlike the average user who froze to death in the lobby, it is located in the middle of a mid-tier hunting ground. A place inaccessible to beginners, as the aggressive monsters there would quickly kill them.

In this perilous area, the Bandit King left a will befitting his name:

Let’s skip the chatter. I’ve attached a link and an address.

Anyone who wants what’s in the photos can come and find it.

Whoever locates it, it’s all yours!

The link led to a PaleNet post containing several photos. They showed a hoard of canned goods, fuel, colorful new clothes, ammunition, and a tattooed woman’s slender arm—likely the photographer’s.

For someone like me, these supplies were ordinary. But for refugees in the Incheon camp, surviving on rationed scraps, these were treasures worth killing for.

The PaleNet community exploded with chatter about the Bandit King’s treasure.

ㅇㅇ: The Bandit King’s stash is no joke!

ㅇㅇ: If you get it, surviving this winter will be easy.

ㅇㅇ: Not just this winter—maybe even next year.

ㅇㅇ: But the location is too far away.

ㅇㅇ: How can you get there in this weather?

ㅇㅇ: But it’s only in this weather that you can claim it, right?

Indeed, in times like this, the Bandit King’s stash was synonymous with survival itself. It was natural to covet it. He even provided the precise address for his treasure at the end of the post.

The location felt familiar.

It was near my old workplace before the war, not far from where Rebecca and her daughter now lived. Though slightly outside their territory, anyone traveling from major cities like Incheon or Seoul would inevitably pass through their domain.

What should I do?

The location is close. It’s within Rebecca’s area, so the risk is minimal. Even with temperatures dropping to -20°C, I’m better equipped than Amundsen was when he explored the North Pole a century ago.

But what moved me most was this: come spring, scavengers and looters will flock to the Bandit King’s treasure. If that happens, it could spell trouble for Rebecca and her daughter, who plan to leave soon.

Feeling restless after spending the entire winter in my bunker, I readied my weapons, layered up, and started my motorcycle.

Vroom—!

I stopped by Rebecca’s place first.

"Skelton? Why the sudden visit? Thanks."

Handing her a can of fuel, I asked about the address.

"Southwest? Oh, that area? There were some buildings there, mostly one-room apartments. Lots of people used to live there."

When I asked if anyone still lived there, Rebecca shook her head firmly.

"I’ve never seen anyone alive in that area. No one lives there now. They all left before the war."

Sue chimed in, backing up her mother’s words.

"No survivors? Hmm..."

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

The Bandit King’s address had an exact building number, which raised two possibilities:

The Bandit King was like IAmJesus, not moving from his room for three years.The Bandit King lied.The latter seemed more likely. Still, I decided to proceed. Even if it was just to preemptively check for scavengers, it was necessary.

Sue insisted on coming along.

"It’s our territory, after all."

With Sue riding pillion, I headed for the address. The damaged roads were littered with debris, broken lampposts, and wrecked signs. Together, we cleared the way and checked our location.

We arrived at a cluster of abandoned one-room buildings. The area matched Rebecca’s description—a desolate housing complex surrounded by barren fields.

Sue added, "We’ve been here before. Mom and I checked it out. Nothing but corpses or bad smells."

The entrance to the complex was marked by a ruined supermarket. Outside, a frozen cat lay motionless, curled up as if sleeping.

"This cat..."

Sue crouched down, examining the lifeless body.

"It was here last time too."

Fortunately, it hadn’t mutated. Mutations were rare, but not unheard of—perhaps 2-3 out of every 100 cases. Any higher, and South Korea would have turned into a wasteland like Australia.

Tossing the cat’s body aside, we approached the address.

It was a one-room building. Something felt off. The photos in the Bandit King’s post had shown a larger apartment complex, at least 50 square meters or more.

The specified unit was 301. A contradiction, as the building was only five stories tall, and the third floor wasn’t large enough to house such a stash.

The address was confirmed: Bethel One-Room Apartments.

Sue nodded.

"This place stinks. It’s where we smelled that awful odor."

The icy air sliced like blades, but the moment I opened the door, a putrid stench greeted us. It was the unmistakable smell of decay, clinging to the walls like a graveyard's breath.

Almost all the windows and doors had already been pried open by Rebecca and her daughter.

Windows were shattered, and doors had been forcibly opened with tools like crowbars. Some doors bore bullet holes, likely from gunfire.

Stepping over piles of garbage, layers of dust, and snow that had blown in through the broken windows, we climbed to the fourth floor.

Each floor had six one-room apartments. All the doors were open—except one.

“That’s the one,” Sue said. “The place with the corpse.”

“When did you come here to check it out?”

“Over two years ago.”

A vague suspicion began solidifying into grim certainty as I opened the door to unit 301.

The room was as cold as a freezer.

Lying on the bed was a half-mummified corpse, its mattress stained dark red with dried blood.

I double-checked the address.

No mistake.

This was the hideout the Bandit King had shared in his post.

Taking pictures as evidence, I inspected the room.

It was barren.

A few pieces of clothing lay scattered. A pill bottle sat forgotten on a table. Through the slightly ajar refrigerator door, I spotted a chicken, moldy and hardened, matching the same decay as its owner.

There were delivery packaging remnants from when the chicken had been ordered, likely just two weeks before the war erupted. That time was marked by fierce debates between optimists and doomsayers.

Near the corpse, there was a small notebook.

Notebook Contents:

Interview Location: Geoje Gohyeon, Sampung Building, 3rd Floor, by 11 AM.Check the Mugunghwa train schedule!Gas station shift: 5 AM–2 PM. Hourly wage: 10,000 won.Mom’s birthday: November 2nd. At least give her a call!Check hospital loan details.The notebook detailed mundane concerns about interviews, jobs, and hospital bills, interspersed with crude sketches of women.

It was easy to infer that this person had struggled with health issues and was desperately seeking work.

In one corner of the notebook, where it had been soaked by fluids leaking from the corpse, I found an attached ID photo. The man looked to be in his early twenties.

It also became clear that the cat outside had been his.

Tucked between the pages was a faded Polaroid photo of the deceased man holding the cat in his arms.

The timeline of the man’s life stopped right around the same time the chicken had been delivered.

War may have destroyed the world, but for this man, destruction had come earlier. He had met his ruin before the apocalypse officially began.

“Skelton, why did he die?” Sue asked, white puffs of breath escaping her lips in the cold. “Suicide?”

“No,” I replied. “Natural causes.”

“Oh.”

After taking a few more photos for evidence, we left.

One thing was certain:

The Bandit King’s treasure didn’t exist.

Skelton’s Report:

Braving the bitter cold, a search for the Bandit King’s treasure!

If I had suffered, it was only fair to reap some reward. My post also served a second purpose: a warm-hearted gesture to prevent anyone else from freezing to death chasing a non-existent treasure.

The Bandit King was a famous name in Monster Park, so, unusually, my post quickly garnered attention:

ㅇㅇ: Of course it was fake.

ㅇㅇ: Was he trying to get people killed by making them wander in this cold?

ㅇㅇ: So that guy died alone?

ㅇㅇ: The address was weird from the start. 301? That’s just a one-room apartment!

mmmmmmmmm: ...Hmm...

Anonymous 458: Good job, Skelton, for checking it out!

Gijayangban: Wait. That place?

Unfortunately, my carefully crafted report didn’t make it to the trending posts.

A new episode of Live! Apocalypse! had just started, stealing the community’s attention.

Dongtanmom, now embracing a mysterious persona, captivated viewers with an over-the-top action-packed cooking stream.

“So, in the end, the answer is live streams...”

I sipped my coffee while watching the show, letting my mind wander.

Ding!

A notification popped up.

Was it a comment on my post? At this point, it didn’t matter if it went viral, but curiosity compelled me to check.

ㅇㅇ: Can you message “ProfuchinaMania” in Monster Park for me? It’s urgent.

Monster Park? Now?

I glanced at the live stream—a user riding what seemed to be a private yacht, slicing through the ocean. Thrilling, sure, but something about the anonymous user’s request felt off.

Opening another tab, I logged into Monster Park.

/m ProfuchinaMania

This is Skelton. What’s up?

Using the game’s messaging command, I reached out. Shortly after, ProfuchinaMania initiated a conversation.

ProfuchinaMania: I saw your post. Is it true?

Skelton: Yeah.

ProfuchinaMania: I see.

Skelton: Are you the Bandit King?

I had a hunch.

ProfuchinaMania hesitated before replying:

ProfuchinaMania: ...Yeah.

I asked why. Why lie about the treasure? Why leave the address of a room containing a dead man?

Monster Park’s world is crude, leaving much of its emotional nuance to the players’ imagination. Though not particularly imaginative, I thought I could almost hear ProfuchinaMania sigh during the brief silence.

ProfuchinaMania: It was my brother. We lost touch years ago.

I see.

ProfuchinaMania: I just started thinking about him... what might have happened to him.

I shared my observations.

The man had likely died before the war, and while the exact cause was unclear, the peaceful posture of the body suggested that his final moments had been calm.

I didn’t mention the moldy chicken, his job struggles, or his illness.

ProfuchinaMania: Thanks. I don’t have anything to give you, but... really, thank you.

Skelton: If you’re grateful, give my post an upvote. I’ve got a stream to catch.

Logging out of Monster Park, I returned to the live stream.

On screen, a woman in a bikini and a mascot head flaunted herself provocatively in a makeshift pool.

Ten days later, I came across ProfuchinaMania’s tombstone.

Fox Game had moved the overwhelming number of tombstones to a new Memorial Park and uploaded the list.

There, among the names, was ProfuchinaMania.

<Tombstone of ProfuchinaMania>

Another user, frozen to death in the bitter cold, without even a will to mark their passing.

That day, 372 new tombstones were added to Monster Park.