Chapter Title: Destroyed Earth
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Jeron, who had crossed dimensions to Earth, didn't let his guard down for a moment.
He kept his sword at the ready and left the portal open, prepared to flee back to the Karen Continent at any time.
Unlike Pellow Territory, where knights and soldiers could at least save his life in the worst-case scenario, no one here could protect him.
If he sensed even a hint of mutants appearing, he planned to bolt immediately and bring people back with him.
He scanned the surroundings with his sharply honed senses.
First, the yard showed no unusual signs.
He carefully checked the fence while keeping watch in all four directions.
The front gate was smashed and creaking, but the fence itself hadn't collapsed.
After confirming the yard was empty, he roughly fitted the gate back into place.
Creeeak!
"...."
His heart sank.
It felt like his old instincts were slowly returning.
In his previous life, he had raced from house to house, always hyper-focused while scavenging for any canned goods that might be left.
He was sensitive to the slightest noise, and if he heard a monstrous screech, he'd drop low and search for cover.
He had thought those senses had faded after so much time, but they had actually sharpened. After all, Jeron's body was now that of an 18-year-old boy, not a 40-something man.
Fortunately, nothing appeared.
If sound-sensitive mutants were still around, they would have swarmed at that noise without fail.
As he looked around the yard, his chest tightened at the sight of three overgrown graves.
There was a pile of weathered firewood on one side, and the shed door hung broken as ever.
The house itself, about 20 pyeong in size, was covered in ugly green moss, its windows shattered like some abandoned ruin.
"Whew."
Jeron took a moment to steady his breathing.
He was getting too sentimental all of a sudden, and there was no need for that.
It was all in the past anyway.
He took a quick look inside the house.
The living room was stuck with bloodstains from who-knows-how-many years ago.
He grimaced involuntarily.
It looked like it had been abandoned for years—even if he found antibiotics, would they still be effective?
Especially in Korea, with its distinct four seasons, the chances seemed slim.
Step, step.
The house felt utterly devoid of human warmth.
Dust blanketed the furniture, and household items lay scattered in disarray.
Naturally, Jeron recalled the day he had been torn apart by mutants.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
It was like PTSD kicking in on its own.
"I thought I was over this."
The faded emotions he tried to suppress peaked when he saw the family photo.
A jolt shot through his entire body.
In the photo, a couple in their mid-30s smiled alongside their children.
A single snapshot from before the world had gone to hell.
Jeron crumpled the photo and stepped outside.
He had no time to wallow in sentiment.
Thankfully, it was daytime on Earth.
Mutants tended to be active at night, so he needed to move as much as possible while the sun was up.
He left his old house and walked the streets.
Asphalt cracked with weeds sprouting through.
The whole neighborhood was an unmanaged ruin.
Were there even any people left?
The dusty ground bore not a single footprint.
Mummified corpses littered the streets here and there. At this point, maybe the mutants were gone too—but it was hard to say for sure.
He walked streets that grew familiar from resurfacing memories.
His first stop was the pharmacy.
In a world destroyed years ago—who knew how many?—there was no way medicine would still be there.
Antibiotics in particular had been rare even when Jeron was surviving on Earth.
[Yuhan Pharmacy]
The pharmacy's glass windows were completely shattered.
He peered inside.
The ready-made shelves were all toppled, utterly empty.
Even if he monopolized this destroyed Earth, medicine seemed hopeless.
Crunch!
Stepping on broken glass made an unusually loud noise that echoed.
With no other sounds around, it felt amplified.
Sword first, he entered the dispensing room.
Of course, it wouldn't be intact.
Drawers that might have held medicine were all yanked open or missing, with household items smashed and scattered.
At best, a few bandages were shoved in a corner—he grabbed those.
Sterilized ones would be better than boiling rags.
The pharmacy surprisingly had little worth taking.
Next, he decided to check the attached two-story house.
The stairs were covered in dark red stains.
They must have been drenched in blood during the incident.
A typical rural two-story home, its front door half-destroyed and leaning.
He squeezed through the gap.
A few more dried-up mummies here too.
One hung by the neck—easy enough to guess what happened.
This place seemed relatively untouched; he found a few canned goods in the cupboard.
Jeron opened one and sniffed.
If a decade or more had passed since his death, even antibiotics might be useless if found.
Canned food too—wouldn't it spoil after ten years?
It smelled sweet.
He checked the contents; they seemed decent enough.
This suggested not too much time had passed.
He checked the master bedroom.
Bed, vanity, one wardrobe.
Opening the wardrobe released a musty stench.
He began rummaging through the room thoroughly.
"Ha, really nothing here."
At this point, he'd settle for painkillers, not just antibiotics.
With his arm severed, even painkillers might ease Baron Pellow's suffering.
He found green pills in a wardrobe drawer.
Sealed, not liquid—good.
"Acetaminophen painkillers. Not bad."
He stuffed them into his backpack.
Anything else?
He dug through every drawer.
One yielded a haul of jewelry: gold rings, gems.
To survivors amid the apocalypse, gold and jewels were just worthless rocks.
But on the Karen Continent?
"Not a bad haul."
He scraped up the jewelry and crammed it into his backpack.
Pulling out blankets one by one, he found a gold bar too.
Running a pharmacy must have paid well.
Not a full kilo, just 300g, but still.
Gold was rare even on the Karen Continent.
Then he spotted a pill case.
[penicillin]
"...!"
Penicillin.
The oldest antibiotic, but highly effective.
If Baron Pellow was suffering sepsis, this would work.
Half a case left—maybe enough for a full recovery.
"Hoo."
Jeron exhaled heavily.
Mission accomplished.
But first, one more stop.
He headed to the village blacksmith to check the warehouse.
[Cheolhui's Blacksmith]
The display shelves had little left.
Sickles and hammers made decent weapons too.
He checked the workshop first.
Anvil, workbench, various metalworking tools still hung there.
Specialized hammers were too heavy for weapons, same for the tools.
Just hauling this equipment back to the territory would upgrade their metalworking several levels.
No, it definitely would.
Building a forge modeled after this one, including the furnace, would be useful in wartime.
He moved to the connected warehouse.
Creak!
The door, unopened for ages, stuck stubbornly.
Then came the feast of iron.
Raw pig iron piled high in one corner.
Aluminum too, various metals scattered about. Just this could arm hundreds of territory soldiers.
Not full plate armor—just key parts or helmets in solid iron.
Though processing modern iron products properly was questionable in their current state.
"This is a goldmine."
He wanted to stay longer, but couldn't.
Sunset was near; mutants might swarm.
No human traces so far meant no mutants, but lingering here could get him surrounded fast.
Time to head back today.
***
Pellow Territory, lord's chambers.
The knights still guarded the lord's quarters rigorously.
If barbarians reached here, the territory was done for—but the knights showed their loyalty.
Veteran knight Jenald saluted.
"Young Lord, you must rest. If even your health fails, the territory falls."
"It's weirder if I can sleep now. Step aside."
The knights parted.
His father's condition was dire.
Face bluish, stump far from good.
Jeron first ground painkillers and penicillin, mixed with water, and fed them to the baron.
Then unwrapped the bandages and disinfected with alcohol from Earth.
His father's body shuddered once.
Trembling even unconscious meant agony.
"Whew."
Jeron slumped there.
From now on, he'd nurse his father personally.
Locals lacked hygiene; changing bandages cleanly could cause reinfection.
Plus, he had sterile ones.
He nursed through the night, eventually dozing off.
Sunlight seeped through his eyelids.
No idea how much time passed.
"Ugh...."
A groan woke Jeron with a start.
After overnight care, antibiotics, and painkillers, Baron Pellow's state improved markedly from yesterday.
*Good. The antibiotics worked.*
Plus, he'd had priestly healing.
Combined, recovery was swift.
Jeron was genuinely thrilled.
"Father! Are you awake?"
"Am I... still alive?"
"Yes, Father!"
Jeron hugged him tight.
A world without Baron Pellow was unimaginable.
How to lead the territory in this barbaric age?
"You saved me."
His face still bore illness's mark.
But he'd recover for sure.
Knowing the baron wouldn't die was enough.
Jeron planned to start transporting the blacksmith's metals to the territory today.