There Is No World For ■■-Chapter 151: The Road to the Frozen Hell (2)

There was no more snowfield.

The startled sniper—no, the Key of Tears—snapped his fingers, and the surrounding landscape changed in an instant.

With a sharp snap, the vast white horizon transformed into walls stacked high with ammunition crates, and the snowy ground hardened into a concrete floor.

A bunker... no, a weapons depot?

As Yeomyeong scanned his surroundings, the Key of Tears casually sat atop the nearest ammunition crate and spoke.

"So... you really used an Artifact of Vision without knowing anything about it?"

"...."

A brief silence.

But in this moment, silence was as good as implicit agreement, and the sniper grimaced as if he had taken a bullet to the face.

"Damn it, this is going to be a long conversation. Tcheonyeom? Let’s start with introductions. I’m Ben."

"...Ben?"

The moment Yeomyeong heard that name, a voice echoed in his mind—the voice of the Holy Sword.

—Ben. The leader of the Blue Rats.

That was what the Holy Sword had said when it met Wallard in Incheon.

But the boss of the Blue Rat Yeomyeong had met wasn't named Ben—it was Moriné. He had assumed the Holy Sword had simply made a mistake...

"...You're the former boss of the Blue Rats."

It was a question spoken with equal parts doubt and certainty.

Ben curled his bloodied jaw and grinned.

"The former boss, and also the first boss. If you know my name... then you're not just some ordinary guy, are you?"

"...."

"I mean, even if Moriné is a crippled idiot, she wouldn't be dumb enough to hand over the Key of Tears to just anyone. Unless... you're her damn son-in-law or something."

Yeomyeong neither confirmed nor denied it. Instead, he swallowed a bitter smirk and sat down across from Ben.

"So, why is the great first boss of the Blue Rats inside an Artifact of Vision?"

"Why? Same reason mages beyond the Dimensional Gate make artifacts—to leave behind a legacy and secret knowledge for future generations."

Before Yeomyeong could ask what kind of legacy Ben had left, the man moved first.

He dipped his fingers into the blood dripping from his own ear and traced a line beneath his eye.

A mark resembling a bloody tear.

...So that’s why it’s called the Key of Tears?

The moment that thought crossed Yeomyeong’s mind, Ben’s mana twisted, and his face changed completely.

A sharp nose, eyes so fierce they resembled a hawk’s, and a slender jawline.

In the blink of an eye, his face transformed into someone eerily familiar—a young woman.

Yeomyeong stared for a moment before realizing whose face it was. His brow furrowed.

"...That’s Moriné in her younger years, isn’t it?"

"Oh, good eye. Not bad, huh? You wouldn’t believe how many high-ranking officials drooled over this face... If I hadn't stepped in, she would've ended up as some top Party official’s mistress."

"...."

"You know what’s really funny? After all that effort I put into raising her as an operative, she ended up falling for a Holy Knight and running away in the dead of night."

The tone was mocking, yet Ben’s voice carried a peculiar softness—like a parent proudly recounting their child’s mischief.

...Could they be related by blood?

If so, that would make this man the Saintess’s grandfather.

Yeomyeong shoved that unsettling thought aside and swiftly redirected the conversation.

"Anyway, this disguise ability—is that the secret technique stored within the Key of Tears? It certainly suits an intelligence organization’s Artifact of Vision."

"Disguise? No, look a little closer."

Ben pressed his finger under his eye again.

This time, his face morphed into that of a burly Georgian man with a thick, commanding mustache.

Yeomyeong recognized the face immediately.

It was Stalin.

"Still think it’s just disguise?"

"...."

Yeomyeong didn’t argue.

Instead, he focused, sensing the minute fluctuations of mana behind the shifting faces. The moment he picked up on the anomaly, Ben swiped his fingers across his face again.

His appearance cycled rapidly.

Hitler. Churchill. Roosevelt. An emperor. And then—

The Saintess.

Yeomyeong met the unfamiliar, unhidden eye peering from beneath the illusion.

And at last, he understood.

"...It’s not disguise—it’s illusion."

"Bingo. You really do catch on quick."

With that, Ben reverted to his original face.

He wiped the blood from his cheek and continued.

"Bloody Tears. For a few seconds, or at most a few minutes, it cloaks any blood-stained object or face in an illusion. Only a handful of Soviet special agents ever learned this technique, and..."

"And...?"

"Now, it’s a martial art that only the leader of the Blue Rats can learn."

Only the leader of the Blue Rats?

Yeomyeong’s eyes narrowed.

"...I’m not even an employee of the Blue Rats, let alone their leader."

"That’s exactly my point. And yet, Moriné handed you the Key of Tears. Can’t believe the executives let that happen."

"That’s—"

"I naturally assumed you were an agent assigned to this city, or at the very least, someone connected to the organization. Don’t tell me—you’re actually her son-in-law, aren’t you?"

"I swear to the heavens, I am not."

"But for someone who isn’t, your reaction to the Saintess seemed rather... peculiar."

Ben smirked knowingly, his eyes twinkling with the amusement of a grandfather teasing his grandchild.

Yeomyeong massaged his aching temples.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.

Son-in-law? Forget the Saintess—he would never get involved with her mother.

"...Let’s move on. You mentioned something about a Soviet weapons depot earlier."

"Ah, right. The weapons depot. Our greatest hope."

The moment Ben uttered those words, the air around him turned frigid.

"...How much do you know about the Cold War, Tcheonyeom?"

Yeomyeong knew it was all just an illusion created by an Artifact of Vision.

And yet, he felt it.

The Cold War.

A time of madness when the two superpowers, the United States and the Soviet Union, amassed an absurd quantity of nuclear weapons under the pretext of ideological rivalry.

Ironically, the terror of nuclear war prevented direct conflict, so the two nations unleashed their competitive zeal in every other domain.

Who could produce stronger superhumans?

Who could send a human to the moon first?

Who could amass more nuclear arms?

And—

Who could spread their ideology the fastest?

Pervobayashchensk—the city now known as Drayterial—was the direct result of that competition.

[We shall construct a grand city beyond the Dimensional Gate, lay down railways, and showcase the supremacy of communism to the world!]

No one believed the Soviets' lofty claims.

At best, people assumed they were trying to establish an economic colony in the southern region beyond the Gate, or to build a strategic outpost to pressure Apollo City, the American-controlled settlement.

But as always, the truths buried beyond the pages of history...

Were far more terrifying than anyone could have imagined.

Because the real reason Stalin built this city was—

****

When Ben lifted his head after finishing his explanation, he saw Tcheonyeom deep in thought, silently contemplating something.

As a longtime sniper and intelligence operative, Ben could read him with ease.

Those sunken golden eyes, that calm expression—he could see even the humanity hidden beneath it all.

Was it really the right choice to tell this guy the truth about the city?

His hesitation was brief. He trusted Moriné. And more than anything, he trusted his own instincts.

"When you return to reality, start practicing Bloody Tears first. It'll take at least a month to overlay illusions using mana infused with blood."

Sensing that the Artifact of Vision's time was running out, Ben offered his advice.

For the first time in a while, Yeomyeong raised his head.

"..."

He gazed at Ben for a moment before slowly drawing his sword. Then, without hesitation, he ran his thumb along the blade, cutting himself.

Ben furrowed his brows, wondering what the hell he was doing—until Yeomyeong lifted his bloodied thumb and traced a bloody tear beneath his eye.

And then—

Yeomyeong’s face transformed into an exact copy of Ben’s.

It wasn’t perfect, but for someone who had learned the technique in mere minutes, the illusion was astonishingly refined.

"..."

Ben stared at him, speechless.

Yeomyeong dispelled the illusion and added, "It's easier than I thought. Understanding its mechanics wasn’t difficult either... This martial art seems to suit me well."

"...Suits you?"

Since when was Bloody Tears a technique that depended on compatibility?

Impossible. The Soviets had literally bled vampires dry to create this martial art. The very idea of affinity was absurd.

Ben rubbed his forehead and asked, "I had a feeling something was off from the start... Are you a Soviet?"

"I've never even set foot on Soviet soil."

"Then are you a survivor of a gulag? An experiment’s end product? Or maybe... a disciple of the Dzhugashvili school—"

The moment Ben mentioned Dzhugashvili, Yeomyeong's brow twitched ever so slightly.

A blatant reaction.

I had my suspicions, but now I know.

"You were Dzhugashvili, weren't you?"

"...No. Swear upon the Five Gods, if you’d like."

Yeomyeong shook his head firmly.

His denial was so absolute that for a moment, Ben wondered if he had been mistaken. His sharp eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

And that was when he noticed something lurking behind Yeomyeong.

"If you're not Dzhugashvili, then why the hell are you leaking bloodlust?"

"...Bloodlust?"

Yeomyeong's eyes widened slightly in surprise.

Ben said nothing. He simply raised a hand and pointed behind him.

What?

Yeomyeong followed the direction of his gaze—and immediately frowned.

There, in the very spot where he had sensed nothing before, stood a familiar pair of golden eyes.

The Cleaner.

Holding the severed head of the Player—and an enormous bag.

"You..."

Yeomyeong started to say something, but before he could finish, the Cleaner tossed the bag straight at him.

It was not just heavy—it was massive.

The weight alone nearly buckled Yeomyeong's knees.

"What the hell is this?"

He barely managed to regain his balance and asked, but he never got an answer.

Because the Artifact of Vision’s time had run out.

—Inventory... take it out... Elik...

A faint voice echoed—whether it was the Cleaner’s or Ben’s, Yeomyeong couldn’t tell.

And then—

He awoke in reality.