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A small sling is only good for throwing stones, but a staff sling is different. It can throw bigger things. Like a Molotov cocktail.

“Should I throw the Molotov cocktail?”

“Yeah.”

Jeondohyeong frowned, looking uneasy as he glanced between the staff sling and me.

“Doesn’t seem like it’ll hit properly. Plus, it’s my first time using this. I might mess up.”

“Nah, I’ve got the hang of it.”

I swung the staff sling back and forth. The cord at the end of the sling sliced through the air like a fishing rod. After a few swings, I got used to it. Throwing things was easy to begin with.

“Even if I don’t hit the target, as long as it lands near the barricade, it’s fine.”

“Will that even work…”

Meanwhile, the survivors in the townhouse kept trying to provoke us, but their words were just noise. No one was seriously listening to them.

Instead, my bored companions started laughing and firing back.

“Idiots. You’re the ones who should surrender. Don’t you realize you’re all going to die? We don’t spare enemies. No matter who they are.”

“Just surrender and find a way to live!”

A battle of propaganda. My companions, who’ve been through bloodshed with me, have become skilled pillagers, handling various situations well.

Even now, they’re trying to sow discord among the survivors.

Of course, it didn’t work. The survivors had already seen us using prisoners as human shields, so surrender wasn’t even on their minds.

“Surrender? More like suicide! We saw how you treat people. You think we’d fall for that?”

While one of my companions went down to get a Molotov cocktail, the war of words continued.

The survivors, after a brief silence, lowered their demands slightly. One of them calmly stated their new terms.

“If we keep fighting like this, both sides will lose a lot. Let’s just call it even. Go back. There’s no need for us to fight.”

They’re confident. You wouldn’t say something like that without believing you could stand your ground against armed pillagers.

And they had a point.

The staff sling. A hard-to-master weapon, but they’ve mastered it. No, more than that, they’ve set up the situation well.

‘They’re hiding behind concrete walls, ready to throw. They’ve chosen their position well.’

A fire zone centered around the only road leading into the townhouse. They only needed to practice hitting that road, and with multiple people throwing, they could compensate for poor accuracy.

What if we get closer? They’ll drop furniture from the windows.

“Still, it’s meaningless in front of flames.”

“I’ve got the Molotov cocktail!”

A companion rushed over and handed me a soju bottle. The rag stuffed into the oil-filled bottle dangled loosely.

“Should I light it now?”

“No, wait a second.”

I quickly adjusted the staff sling. I let the cord hang behind me, made a few throwing motions, and then steadied my stance.

“Attach it. Light it up right after.”

“Got it.”

As my companion attached the Molotov cocktail to the sling, I got lost in thought.

Throwing a Molotov cocktail would easily distract them. They’d move to put out the fire, their focus would scatter, and it’d be harder for them to attack with their slings.

On the other hand, it’d be easier for us to attack.

…But why is this Molotov cocktail so hard to attach?

“What are you doing?”

“It’s, uh, not staying in place. It’s about to fall, ah, the oil’s spilling.”

I turned my head to see my companion fumbling nervously, making small mistakes. He hadn’t properly attached the Molotov cocktail to the sling. He was shaking it precariously, as if it could fall any second.

Jeondohyeong scratched his head.

“We might need to reinforce it with leather. Hold on.”

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, tied it into a small knot, and added it to the basket-like attachment. My companion shouted brightly.

“Done! It’s secure! I’ll light it now!”

“Uh, okay.”

What’s going on? Something feels off from the start. I wanted to stop them, but the Molotov cocktail was already lit.

The rag, soaked in oil, burst into flames. If left alone, the fire would spread to the staff sling. My companions fled in a hurry. I didn’t have time to think further and put all my strength into my arm.

I swung the staff sling like I was casting a fishing line. The cord traced a parabola through the air, the weight of the Molotov cocktail at its end.

Whoosh, the red Molotov cocktail flew across the blue sky and landed on the road, quite a distance from the barricade. The bottle shattered, oil spilled, and flames erupted.

The spot was far from the rooftop or building we were aiming for. Somewhere between me and the townhouse.

I stayed silent for a moment before speaking with difficulty.

“The range is a bit short.”

“It won’t even reach the rooftop, will it?”

Maybe it’s because we’re throwing uphill, or maybe I’m just not skilled enough, or maybe the staff sling isn’t that efficient.

As I pondered, the survivors in the townhouse started screaming in panic.

“Are you insane? Starting a fire? You lunatics! This is a mountain!”

I quietly watched the flames. The fire was outside their territory.

Things not going as planned isn’t new to me. What’s important is flexible adaptation. Dealing with unexpected twists with quick thinking.

‘Let’s use the fire as bait.’

Bait to lure out those turtled-up survivors.

I grinned and shouted loudly.

“Aren’t you going to put it out? Come out quick, or you’ll burn to death!”

“Bullsh*t! You’re attacking us because you want something! Water! Electricity! Food! If you leave the fire, you’ll lose it all! You put it out!”

Right. This townhouse is the goal. But if I reveal that, I can’t lure them out, so I played the nomad and replied.

“No. We’ve given up on that. You’re not easy prey. So we’re just going to burn this place and leave.”

I spat out the words, implying that burning down those who resist pointlessly is the priority.

The flames, fueled by the oil, started creeping downhill. I turned without hesitation.

“Let’s fall back for now. When they come out to put out the fire, shoot them.”

***

It’s a mountain. Flames spread easily. The situation moved faster than I thought.

I expected a drawn-out psychological battle—watching the flames, pushing and pulling, threatening each other. But the fire, fueled by oil, spread quickly.

The flames licked the weeds on the road, and the wind carried embers, spreading the fire further. It was like watching dandelions multiply. Scattered embers and blooming flames.

My companions’ legs trembled.

“The fire’s spreading faster than expected. Is this really okay?”

“…”

I stood still, watching the townhouse.

People abandoned their cover, running around frantically. I could hear shouts for water or dirt.

“Let’s wait. Even if this whole place burns down, we can just find another place to settle. But for them, it’s different.”

This is their home. A fortress they’ve built and maintained since the apocalypse. They can’t just move like we can.

They’re the ones in a hurry.

Sure enough, the townhouse survivors stepped out. Wearing white masks, they carried pots of water, wet blankets, and shovels to throw dirt.

Worried we might shoot, someone waved a white T-shirt through the smoky haze.

“Let’s negotiate.”

“Now?”

I chuckled, looking at the survivor who approached. A middle-aged man with streaks of white in his hair. He looked at me with tired eyes and sighed.

“I wondered who’d cross the line. Turns out it’s someone so young…”

He must’ve never seen someone like me, who’d burn everything down. They’ve fended off attackers with their defenses, but someone who doesn’t care if everything burns is new to them.

“Seems like you’ve been living peacefully. The world’s a harsh place these days.”

“It’s been tough, but it was still a livable world. Never had lunatics like you.”

The survivor wiped his face repeatedly, like he was washing it.

“You didn’t shoot us right away, so you’re not really planning to burn everything and leave. You don’t seem short on food either. Is it our facilities you’re after?”

“Correct. If we can’t have it, we’ll burn it.”

I admitted it openly. This wasn’t a weakness. I smiled and looked back.

The townhouse survivors were working hard to control the flames. They’d responded quickly, so the fire wasn’t spreading further.

The survivor who came to negotiate spoke earnestly, trying to extinguish the fire of conflict.

“Then let’s negotiate. Our house isn’t spacious, but we can make room for all of you. Just agree to a few conditions.”

“Conditions?”

“Honestly, after seeing how you act, who could trust you? We need some safeguards.”

I stared at the survivor. He counted off on his fingers.

“No using people as slaves. No threats of violence. Division of labor. Including villagers in the armed force.”

“…Sorry to ask now, but are you the townhouse representative? The head? Village chief? Something like that?”

The survivor nodded.

“Something like that. If you agree to these conditions, we can live together well. We can complement each other’s shortcomings.”

“I see.”

So he’s the representative. The representative came out to negotiate himself.

I naturally pulled out a hammer from my pocket and smashed his head. Not enough to kill him instantly, but enough to split his forehead.

“Ah!”

The representative screamed and collapsed, blood streaming down his face. He flailed, trying to get up, but his brain must’ve been rattled—he couldn’t find his balance.

I kindly grabbed his hair, pulled him up, and smiled.

“Hostage secured. Everyone, shoot them too.”

My companions swiftly turned their guns. The barrels aimed at the bustling townhouse survivors. They glanced at us in confusion, then turned to flee, but it was too late.

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

I raised my hand and spoke.

“Enough. No need for confirmation kills. Bring the survivors, and put out the fire.”

***(Mugshot image)

Separated by characters.

 

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