There Is No World For ■■
Chapter 170: For Whom the Bag Opens

Humbly addressing the Crown Prince.

(Omitted)

…Even those foolish nobles have some valid points. Farming is possible without fertilizer, and merchants can still sell goods without trains.

However, freedom is a different matter. Freedom is like mana; those who have a taste of it even once can never go back to how they were before…

(Omitted)

…Even though the Demon King has been defeated by the hero, the Demon Domain still remains; similarly, the Communist demons sowed by Stalin still lurk in the shadows…

(Omitted)

…Thus, please light the torch of peace before the flames of revolution spread.

『Excerpt from a letter sent by the Magic Tower master, Mahagan, to the Crown Prince 13 days before his assassination.』

His lips moving beneath his long beard, the First Secretary, Bykov, took a step forward.

“Now it’s my turn to ask questions.”

Was it the Killing Aura he exuded? Red light gleamed from Bykov’s eyes, and blood tears streamed down his cheeks.

Almost simultaneously, the muscles hidden beneath his Mao suit began to swell, and the small wounds healed, proving that he had awakened the power of the Dzhugashvili School Sect.

Yeomyeong responded in kind by invoking the Mārīcī Divine Arts, causing Mana to manifest above his body, rippling like a heat haze.

Observing the haze, Bykov raised an intrigued eyebrow and continued speaking.

“Do you know what the other Count Palatines were planning to do with the nuclear weapons in this armory?”

“…I do not know. And I do not care to know either.”

Bykov smirked on hearing the reply, his sinister grin causing the blood tears to pool in the wrinkles around his eyes.

“The Western Count Palatine, that fool infatuated with Earth’s culture, intended to sell the nuclear weapons to become an Earthian noble. Ha, an Earthian noble. Did he even know about democracy?”

“…”

“And the Southern Count Palatine… how should I put it, was more traditional. He simply wished to present the nuclear weapons to the Emperor so the Empire would be able to stand on equal footing with America. What’s left of the empty shell Empire, anyway… Don’t you agree?”

Yeomyeong glared at Bykov with even colder eyes.

Knowing the intentions of the other Count Palatines meant he was able to somewhat anticipate their actions.

Yeomyeong quickly realized that the one wholly responsible for the chaos in this city was none other than the commie standing before him.

It was also Bykov himself who spread the rumors about the World Tree Crystal, the Magic Tower master’s Arcane Relic, and the nuclear weapons in the city.

And even the other Count Palatines, who were obsessed with nuclear weapons, bringing in external forces was all part of Bykov’s plan.

“…Why did you do this?”

“Because this city needs a revolution.”

“A revolution…?”

“Chaos is the seed of revolution. When outsiders sow chaos, and the Count Palatines not only fail to quell it but actively fan the flames, do you think this city of scum’s citizens will remain idle?”

“…”

“I intended to be the one to end the chaos by leading my Rat legion during the finale, but…”

“…Our interference disrupted your plans, didn’t it?”

More precisely, it must have been the rumors spread by Seti that caused the problem.

As soon as the rumor of a treasure in the sewers spread, blinded by greed, the city’s dwellers sought treasure instead of revolution.

“Yes, you understand well. Thanks to the rumor you spread, the revolution didn’t even get started, and I was forced to move my carefully hidden Rat legion prematurely.”

“…”

“Fortunately, the plan hasn’t failed completely. If I take care of you and the dragon hovering above this city now… it should suffice.”

Bykov uttered as he assumed a stance.

Raising his right fist high, moving his left fist low, and spreading his legs wide, he was ready to spring forward at any moment with mana coursing through him.

It was a stance designed simply to rush forward and throw a punch.

Though it looked clumsier than even the basic martial arts taught at the academy, Yeomyeong’s gaze remained fixed on him.

He couldn’t predict what sort of attack would come from that clumsy stance.

A moment of silence passed between the two.

From the entrance of the control room came a voice, either a prayer or a curse, from the Saintess, accompanied with gunfire, but to the two men, only the sound of each other’s hearts reached their ears.

Deep breaths, contracting muscles, and the blood, sweat, and tears streaming down.

The next moment, as Bykov’s blood tears and Yeomyeong’s sweat fell simultaneously, the two charged at each other.

The distance between them closed in the blink of an eye.

Though Yeomyeong’s reach with the sword was slightly longer, Bykov was the one who struck first.

His speed was incomparable from a moment ago.

Aimed directly at Yeomyeong’s face, his fist contained a mixture of mana and Killing Aura, the force stirring the air and making Yeomyeong’s hair flutter.

Yet seemingly unfazed, Yeomyeong countered with his sword, slicing into the fist.

Bykov’s fist split open, spraying blood, but he used the opportunity to close in and attack Yeomyeong’s lower body with his left hand.

Specifically, his groin.

Avoiding the attack, Yeomyeong retreated instinctively. This movement was tinged with emotion, naturally exposing a brief opening.

And Bykov didn’t miss the chance. He immediately spun his waist and delivered a roundhouse kick to Yeomyeong’s wrist.

Crack! Bykov’s kick infused with Killing Aura shattered Yeomyeong’s mana and broke the wrist bone.

The broken bone pierced his muscles, draining his grip strength. The hand that lost the sword felt empty.

A groan escaped Yeomyeong’s throat, but he had no time to waste as Bykov spun his body once more, aiming his hand blade.

Yeomyeong immediately used the Flying Kick technique and leaned back. The Hand Blade, laced with Killing Aura, grazed past his hair by a hair’s breadth.

Yeomyeong then pushed off the ground with his feet, swinging his legs.

Could it be called a back-handspring kick? Yeomyeong spun backwards, and the raised foot struck Bykov’s chin with full force.

“Gah!”

As Bykov halted his attack after receiving the unexpected strike, Yeomyeong planted his palm on the ground and rose again.

Perhaps having broken his jaw, Bykov didn’t charge immediately. Touching his chin, he glared at Yeomyeong with eyes glinting fiercely.

“To be this capable even after expending mana fighting the dragon… It would’ve been close had you been at full strength.”

“…”

“But you know, when a swordsman loses his sword, the outcome is already decided.”

With those words, Bykov lunged forward again.

Glancing at his sword lying on the ground, Yeomyeong conjured a Hand Blade to confront him.

But without a sword, close combat was inevitable.

And after just a few exchanges, Yeomyeong and Bykov were close enough to feel each other’s breath.

Neither of them retreated, and their battle quickly devolved into a slugfest targeting the other’s vital points.

A Hand Blade slashed the shoulder, and a fist struck the face.

Having broken Yeomyeong’s nose, Bykov proceeded to crush his wrist and kick him in the stomach with his knee…

Each strike sent shockwaves through the room, toppling desks and sending monitors flying.

Yet neither of them backed down. Instead, they directed even fiercer Killing Aura at each other.

Bykov yelled as he threw another punch.

“This Killing Aura! This Regeneration ability! Anyone watching might assume you’re a Dzhugashvili!”

As if in response, Yeomyeong swung his left leg, striking Bykov’s lower body.

A sickening crunch came from his knee, and his body trembled violently, but Bykov leaned forward and headbutted Yeomyeong’s forehead.

“Ugh!”

For the first time, Yeomyeong let out a groan.

Seizing his instinctively retreating leg, he used the recoil from his swaying head to return the headbutt to Bykov.

Crack— It was impossible to tell whose skull had cracked. Perhaps both.

And maybe it was a good thing for Yeomyeong. Bykov grabbed him by the collar as he swayed and swung his fist right into Yeomyeong’s face.

As Yeomyeong felt his regenerated nose bone shatter once again, his toes collided with Bykov’s groin.

“Ghhhk!”

Both men staggered back simultaneously.

Bloodied from head to toe, they were a terrifying sight to behold, though Bykov, clutching his crotch, seemed slightly worse off.

“…That last strike—were you copying my attack?”

Bykov asked casually. Of course, trying to sound casual while bleeding profusely and clutching his lower half only made him look ridiculous.

Yeomyeong swept back his blood-soaked hair and replied.

“If you have something good, you should share it with others. Isn’t that communism?”

“…Hoho.”

“So, is that all you have to share?”

It was an utterly, provocatively rude remark, carrying not even a hint of courtesy.

Bykov simply laughed in disbelief and slowly stood upright.

“You still don’t understand the terror of a Dzhugashvili.”

The Killing Aura surrounding him rippled and seeped into his wounds.

A hissing sound escaped the injuries as they were healed in an instant.

It was as fast as, if not faster than, Yeomyeong’s Regeneration ability.

But the issue wasn’t just the regeneration—it was the mana he had left after the regeneration.

…Why isn’t it depleting?

No, it wasn’t just that. Even the Killing Aura surrounding Bykov showed no signs of diminishing; instead, it seemed to have grown since the battle began.

“Oh, have you noticed?”

As Yeomyeong narrowed his eyes, Bykov grinned, baring his teeth as blood dripped from his lips.

Blood tears and spitting blood—side effects of overflowing mana. Could it be…?

“This is why I don’t fear dragons.”

Before Yeomyeong’s suspicions could turn into certainty, Bykov charged at him again.

Just like before, Bykov went straight for Yeomyeong’s face. The only difference was that he was faster now.

Naturally, Yeomyeong’s response had to change as well. He used Telekinesis to draw Bykov’s fist closer. Then, he used Quake Stomp.

BOOM!

The concrete beneath his feet cracked, and vibrations rippled through the control room. Resisting the Telekinesis, Bykov wavered briefly and lost his balance.

Seeing the brief opening created by combining magic and the ultimate skill of the Flying Kick technique,Yeomyeong didn’t let it slip by and moved in towards Bykov.

A punch? A kick? Or perhaps a Hand Blade?

Bykov watched Yeomyeong close in with a calm expression.

He was confident he could block any attack aiming for his vitals, and even if Yeomyeong aimed elsewhere, he could just regenerate endlessly.

However, Yeomyeong’s next move was beyond his expectations.

He didn’t use his hands or feet. Instead, he conjured waves of mana, smashing them directly against Bykov’s tangible Killing Aura.

!

Was he trying to fight with mana directly instead of using martial arts with his limbs?

Well, whatever miraculous elixir he might have taken, Cheon Yeomyeong had an abnormal amount of mana.

And while it would have been a significant advantage against most opponents…

It means nothing to a Dzhugashvili.

Bykov was certain of his victory.

“It seems that you still haven’t realized the true power of a Dzhugashvili, have you?”

“…”

The two people’s mana clashed, pushing against each other as they engaged in a battle of strength.

For a brief moment, Yeomyeong seemed to have the upper hand, but the crimson mana of Dzhugashvili quickly turned the tide.

Bykov, taking a step closer towards the gritting Yeomyeong, spoke.

“A Dzhugashvili has the ability to convert Killing Aura into mana. Be it their own or their opponent’s, it doesn’t matter.”

The more Killing Aura, the more mana they gained. That was the ultimate skill of the murder martial arts that the Soviet Union sought.

“It’s a simple truth. Once you have the speed and strength required for efficient killing, what’s the last thing you need?”

The solution the Soviet’s arrived at was straightforward: sustainability.

Power that didn’t diminish even after dozens of attacks. Stamina that didn’t falter after running for miles! That was the perfected Dzhugashvili.

“Your downfall lies in not knowing your opponent.”

Bykov pressed down on Yeomyeong confidently. He even spared a glance toward the door, checking to see if Yeomyeong’s companions might intervene.

To his relief, the three girls were too busy holding off the horde of Rat Beastfolk legion to pay any attention to this side.

He could deal with those girls once he finished off Cheon Yeomyeong.

With that thought in mind, Bykov turned his gaze back to the barely standing Yeomyeong.

Yeomyeong’s mana was almost depleted, with only the crimson mana of the Dzhugashvili swirling around him.

It’s truly a pity, but it’s time to end this.

Bykov raised his Hand Blade straight at Yeomyeong’s motionless neck.

Right at that moment, Yeomyeong raised his head, dodging the strike. And in a swift counter, he swung his own Hand Blade, slicing deep into Bykov’s chest.

“Urgh…!? How?”

Clutching his chest, Bykov staggered back. And instead of responding, Yeomyeong manipulated the mana around him.

Not the previous rippling, wave-like mana, but the unmistakable crimson mana of the Dzhugashvili, tainted with Killing Aura.

“…”

Bykov just stared blankly at the crimson mana moving through the air.

How? Even if, by some absurd chance, Yeomyeong was a Dzhugashvili successor, this should have been nigh impossible.

To master this ultimate skill, one must first fill oneself to the brim with Killing Aura, then suppress it through an intricate process.

However, no matter how much he tried to deny it, the scene taking place before his eyes was an undeniable reality.

The seemingly endless supply of Killing Aura and mana was suddenly halved, and that was clear proof.

“…So, it was me who didn’t know my opponent.”

Wiping the blood streaming down his eyes, Bykov added.

“Who the hell are you, really?”

Upon hearing his question, Yeomyeong directed his calm golden eyes to meet Bykov’s gaze before answering.

“Cheon Yeomyeong.”

“…”

“The man who’s about to beat you to a pulp.”

* * *

Neti used her Telekinesis to hold the control room’s steel door partially open.

While she intended to slam it shut initially, her strength only managed to stop it halfway.

And even that would have been impossible without the Saintess’ blessing.

However even the blessing was nearing its limit now.

-Ura! Ura!!

-Squeak, squeak! Push! Push!

-Fire! Keep firing!

The shouts of the Rat Beastfolks, accompanied by gunfire slipping through the gap, came from beyond the steel door.

Neti glanced back at her sister and the Saintess, who were holding their position at the entrance.

The two displayed near-perfect coordination, alternating between firing and reloading.

Most of the guns and ammunition they were using came from the enormous bag slung on the Saintess’ back. And as to why the Saintess was carrying such weapons, it remained a mystery to Neti.

No, the more baffling part was where she had learned to shoot like that. Sure, her sister had been forced by the government, but why the Saintess of all people…?

Boom!!

A deafening explosion echoed from deeper within the control room, interrupting her train of thought. Finally!

Brother-in-law.

As Neti began to turn her head, something whistled past her and collided with the steel door.

It was a person—one drenched in blood from head to toe.

The figure left a bloody smear on the door before crumpling to the ground. The gunfire exchange between the Rat Beastfolks and their group briefly halted.

And that moment of silence was quickly broken by a Rat Beastfolk wearing a Mao suit.

- Squeak, squeak! Your Excellency! The First Secretary has fallen! Save! Save him!

Hearing its cry, the rest of the Rat Beastfolks’ eyes turned crimson. They threw away their guns and sprinted toward Bykov.

Rat-a-tat-tat!

The Saintess continued firing her weapon at them, but they ignored the shots. No, they only ran faster, as if desperate to protect the First Secretary at any cost.

However, they all came to a screeching halt in the next instant because Seti had taken Bykov hostage.

“All of you stop! Take another step, and this old man dies.”

Finger poised on the trigger, she pressed her gun barrel against the dying man’s temple. Her menacing stance was unmistakably ruthless.

“…Really, whose sister is she?”

Letting out a sigh of relief, Neti finally released her Telekinesis. The strain of maintaining the spell beyond her limits had left her body aching all over.

She turned her gaze to the center of the control room, where her brother-in-law was standing before the main monitor.

How did that manage to remain intact?

Now, all he had to do was input the codes and take control of the nukes. Then, this hellish battle would finally come to an end.

Smiling brightly, Neti approached her sister and the Saintess.

In front of the iron door littered with shell casings, Seti spoke without looking back.

“What about Yeomyeong?”

“He’s entering the codes now.”

Only then did Seti and the Saintess breathe a sigh of relief. As their group began to collectively envision the end of the ordeal, Bykov, who was held by the collar with a gun to his head, smiled.

The blood streaming from every orifice on his face made it impossible for Seti or the Saintess to notice that smile.

But Neti, who remembered the bloodied smile of a certain family member, immediately caught his expression.

“…Why the hell are you smiling?”

Bykov didn’t answer. What’s this? A sense of unease crept over Neti as she urgently racked her brain.

She replayed everything about Bykov, starting from their first meeting to his exchange with Yeomyeong just moments ago.

Then, it struck her: something was wrong.

“…Why didn’t you ask brother-in-law for the launch codes?”

“…”

There was no response. As Neti hastily turned her head to look back, Bykov’s voice made her freeze in place.

“The Emperor’s Birthday.”

“…What?”

“Tomorrow is the Emperor’s birthday—the day when nobles and mages from across the empire gather in the capital.”

“…”

“While it would have been ideal to launch it tomorrow… you hecklers were far stronger than I anticipated.”

What the hell was he talking about? Feeling something was off, Seti pressed the barrel of her gun against Bykov’s neck with more force.

“Speak clearly if you wish to live.”

“Cough, you’d obviously need the launch codes to launch all the nuclear weapons in the arsenal. But for a single missile?”

“…”

“The decoy missile prepared to verify proper launch functionality? That one can be launched by the field commander using the temporary code issued by the Party.”

The shocking revelation left the Saintess holding her breath while Neti scoffed audibly.

“Ha! What kind of lunatic mounts a nuclear warhead on a reserve missile?”

“You think… cough mounting a nuclear warhead on a decoy missile is difficult?”

“…Still, it doesn’t matter because the launch codes will override the temporary codes. That means brother-in-law has higher authority than you.”

“Keugh… Hahaha…”

“And Soviet missiles use liquid fuel, which takes dozens of minutes to prepare for launch. You’ve lost.”

Before Neti could even finish her sentence, Bykov’s body began to tremble. It was as though he was struggling to suppress his laughter.

“Lost, you say? Little girl, I’m not some villain in a work of fiction. If there was any chance that the plan I’ve prepared over the past few decades could fail… do you really think I’d have been wasting my time prattling until now?”

“…”

“I entered the code… thirty-five minutes ago.”

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