Beast King Yong Nam-joon (2)

Noah stepped into Central Park, a once-vibrant oasis now morphed into a tableau of despair. The calamity that had swept through the city left a trail of ruin, its effects palpable in the air. No longer just a green expanse filled with laughter and joy, it was now a somber refuge for those who had lost everything.

Tents and makeshift shelters stretched like dark shadows across the landscape, each a testament to the fragility of hope in the wake of catastrophe. Survivors huddled together, faces drawn and eyes hollow, as they awaited a salvation that seemed perpetually out of reach.

Noah's presence was almost ghostly as he maneuvered through the throng of humanity, his movements precise and deliberate. He was not just a part of the crowd; he observed it with a detached intensity, calculating the weight of despair that hung in the air.

As he approached the entrance, a red-haired boy, no older than sixteen, thrust himself into Noah's path. The boy's bravado seemed a thin veneer over the fear that lurked in his eyes.

"You have to pay the entrance fee,"

he declared, puffing out his chest in a vain attempt to appear imposing.

"It's 100 coins, thank you."

Noah regarded him with an arched brow, his lips curling into a sardonic smile that barely concealed his amusement.

"Entrance to Central Park is free,"

he replied, his voice cold and dismissive.

"Not anymore!"

The boy shot back, indignation fueling his voice.

"This is the Beast King's territory now. Got it, kid?"

With an almost imperceptible flick of his wrist, Noah summoned a single gold coin from his inventory. The coin glinted in the dim light, a promise of power. He tossed it into the air, allowing it to dance before the boy's eyes, a lure designed to ensnare.

The boy's eyes widened as he tracked the coin's arc. But before he could react, Noah extended his fist, brushing dangerously close to the boy's face before deftly snatching the coin mid-air.

"Call me 'kid' again…"

Noah warned, his voice low and steely,

"and next time, I won't stop so close to your face. Understand?"

The boy's bravado evaporated like mist under the sun, and he stood frozen, mouth agape, while Noah stepped past him, leaving the guard to stare at his retreating form.

__________

"So someone took out six of our men on 5th Avenue, right?"

The voice reverberated through the dimly lit chamber, sharp and unyielding. The air was thick with tension, the kind that clung to the skin and ignited the senses.

"Y-yes, s-sir…"

stammered a subordinate, his voice trembling as he avoided the icy gaze of the man seated at the head of the table.

"Do you have any idea who it might have been?"

the man asked, his tone dangerously calm.

"N-no, sir…"

The subordinate's heart raced almost as if trying to fly out from his chest.

"Then what are you still doing here? Organize a team, gather information, find him, and bring him here!"

The subordinate nodded vigorously, desperation flashing in his eyes.

"C-certainly, sir."

He turned on his heel, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere, leaving his superior alone to contemplate the consequences of failure.

The lone figure in the room leaned back, fingers steepled under his chin, a calculating glimmer in his eyes. He understood the peril of uncertainty; ignorance was a luxury he could not afford.

________

Noah moved through the makeshift camp, his demeanor as cold and calculating as the winter air. The unique aspect of being a necromancer allowed him to continue gaining experience points through the skeletons he summoned. They required neither sleep nor sustenance, enabling them to fight ceaselessly, their existence a constant contribution to his growth.

"If only they understood,"

he mused, a flicker of disdain coursing through him.

As he walked, the weight of loss pressed against him. Thousands of people filled the park's pathways and alleys, each wearing an expression of resignation, eyes reflecting the profound emptiness that accompanied disaster. They were a chorus of silent suffering, united in grief, yet utterly unaware that life as they had known it would never return.

Noah navigated through the crowd, observing the weary faces around him. The scent of despair mixed with the fresh air, a cruel reminder of the delicate line between existence and oblivion.

"Hey! You!"

A voice broke through his reverie, sharp and insistent.

Noah turned to see an older man, unkempt and wild-eyed, waving him over with an almost frantic urgency.

"You look like you could use a good deal! I have supplies—food, weapons, even armor! Best quality in the park!"

Noah approached, his gaze unflinching.

"What you got?"

"Listen, you look like you can handle yourself. I can get you good stuff if you help me out. There are rumors of a group that's been attacking the merchants. If you help me deal with them, I'll make it worth your while."

________________

The atmosphere of Merchant's Gate Plaza was a stark contrast to the desolation outside its gates. Stalls filled the area, vibrant and noisy, each a testament to resilience. Vendors shouted, voices rising above the din as they hawked their wares.

"50 coins! You won't find a better deal!"

a merchant called, brandishing a gleaming sword as if it were a trophy.

"Please, come! If you buy two, you pay for one!"

another cried out, desperation lining his features.

Noah moved through the marketplace with purpose, his demeanor as icy as the autumn air. The emergence of monsters had thrown society into disarray, forcing people to adapt quickly to their new realities. Jobs shifted and morphed into roles of survival and necessity, marking a turning point for humanity.

"These people will be the backbone of our recovery,"

he mused, observing the merchants and buyers interact. They were the architects of a new world, rebuilding civilization amidst the ruins.

As he delved deeper into the market, the sounds of commerce enveloped him, drowning out the lingering sadness of the outside world. People of every race and creed mingled, a tapestry of humanity woven together by shared struggles and a flicker of hope. Noah noted the mothers bargaining for food, children playing among the stalls, and men haggling over the price of weapons.

His gaze landed on a young girl, no older than ten, standing beside a stall brimming with handmade trinkets. Her eyes sparkled with determination as she called out,

"Want to buy something? It's for a good cause!"

Noah approached, his expression unreadable.

"What cause?"

"We're collecting money to help the injured at the shelter!"

she explained, clutching a handful of colorful bracelets.

For a fleeting moment, a flicker of something akin to warmth stirred within him. But he quickly quashed it, knowing that compassion was a weakness he could not afford.

"Find another way,"

he replied flatly, turning to leave her behind.

The girl's smile faltered, but she stood her ground, determination burning in her eyes.

"If we help each other, we can survive!"

Noah felt the weight of her gaze but refused to acknowledge it.

"If we help each other we may survive."

He said, dismissing the reminder of humanity's innate goodness with a practiced indifference.

_____

Arriving at the center of the plaza, Noah spotted a large bulletin board that took up most of the open space. It was plastered with notices, a chaotic mix of hopes and despair, a reflection of the collective anxiety that gripped the city. He scanned the announcements, his eyes flicking over the messages, each one a reminder of the harsh reality they faced.

He paused, a particular notice catching his attention:

_________

WARNING!

LOOKING FOR PERSON TO UNDERTAKE RAID.

REQUIRED LEVEL 10.

DUNGEON IN QUESTION: WEREWOLVES' NEST.

REPORT TO THE ENTRANCE OF THE CENTRAL PARK ZOO ON 12/09/2022 AT 7:00.

BEAST KING.

_________

A thrill of anticipation coursed through Noah, but he tempered it quickly, reminding himself to remain composed. This could be the opportunity he had been waiting for. He tore the notice from the board, folding the paper carefully before tucking it into the back pocket of his pants.

"Looks like I have a plan,"

he murmured to himself, the corners of his mouth twisting into a faint smirk. The pieces were falling into place, and he intended to capitalize on every moment.