A Survival Guide for a Counselor in the Apocalypse Chapter 86

Chapter 86

 

I am not close to death. I’ve hardly ever even been to a funeral.

There are several reasons for that. One is that I don’t have a family. I’ve never met anyone who could be presumed to be family, nor have I ever been adopted, even briefly.

There is no such thing as family in my life. Nor are there many people I’ve thought of as family. In the first place, when it comes to thinking of someone not bound by blood as family, in many ways… yes, in many ways…

‘Because I know they can’t become a real family.’

Those people have their own families, truly bound by blood. How could I wedge myself into that and become family? I knew that well, so I never wished for one.

As for friends, at some point, I gave up. Humans, when they lack something, tend to crave it endlessly. I kept expecting too much from friends, so I figured it would be better to have none at all. That’s why.

I worked part-time jobs like crazy, but I never contacted coworkers privately. The only people I spoke with somewhat regularly were the kids I counseled through volunteer work, but even that was just the kind of personal conversation that might happen between a “counselor” and “clients.”

 

—

“Can something like this be reported as school violence? Or, well… things like that.”

—

 

I had no intention of crossing the line of society, so although I cared about those kids, I never crossed the boundary. Maybe that was for the best. I was still immature, and they were deeply wounded.

In the first place, not forming multiple relationships was the primary rule. The center monitored it, and I also believed that the ethic was right.

Inexperienced children are more vulnerable to grooming. Especially when I hold the psychological upper hand as a “counselor,” they trust me, and without realizing it, they believe everything I say.

So all the more…

 

—

“Is it even fun living like that? Hey, connections are a kind of spec.”

—

 

I know. I knew that better than anyone. Maybe because I had no specs at all, I knew it even more. But what could I do? This is just how I am.

Honestly, it felt more refreshing to have no one at all.

So I’ve never been invited to anyone’s funeral. No family, no friends, no acquaintances. There’s simply no one like that.

My world… my life… has always been far removed from the “normal” track. Death and birth alike were distant. Death was always something inside fiction, not part of my story.

And now, I am rolling around inside death.

So I could understand it now. Only now, as I began forming relationships, did I understand everything.

About death. I had learned about its weight through education. But experiencing it firsthand was different.

So damn different.

 

Death is…

 

‘A heat that fills your hands.’

 

And…

 

‘A nauseating, metallic stench…’

 

And…

 

‘Damp and sticky, cold and hot at the same time.’

 

So…

 

‘Something I wish no one around me would ever experience.’

 

This is how I came to understand death.

Even if I have the ”Broken Oath”, I will save them as much as possible. Somehow, I will save as many as I can.

They say it “brings back the dead,” but being treated as a lifeform bound to someone isn’t truly “revived.”

Living is something more complicated.

To act by one’s own will. If one can only exist by someone else’s summons, by conditions imposed on them, can that really be called “living”?

Damn it… I was clearly the kind of person who couldn’t adapt to a world like this.

I am someone who cannot turn death into a means.

Foolishly so.

If only I could accept it easily… if I could treat all of this as “inevitable”… maybe it would’ve been better.

I knew that too.

But it wasn’t as easy as it sounded.

It was foolish and stupid.

That’s what I did.

“…Foolish.”

The old man speaks. After finishing our conversation that day in the hospital room, he returned alone and muttered to himself.

“Living stubbornly isn’t bad. Yes… How kind that is.”

Sitting on the hospital bed, my master continued quietly.

“…The one that survives a typhoon is the reed, you fool.”

So stubborn that I might break in the storm.

His evaluation was correct. Someday, I might break. Like tempered glass shattering into even more pieces than ordinary glass… I might shatter like that.

 

So…

 

I am desperate.

There are people I must save. There is a reason I must return quickly.

‘Come.’

There’s no more time to delay. There are too many people to save. Only now have they begun to truly live… Shin Yerim, who just made her resolve, and Lee Hoin, whom I must hold onto as always.

 

—

[The narrator desperately calls for a skill.]

—

 

Countless messages saying “something faint is sprouting” appeared. At the end of them, there was only one thing I was waiting for.

 

—

[‘Skill: Broken Oath’ is looking at you.]

—

 

***

 

Shin Yerim ran across the battlefield with a face on the verge of collapse.

There was no one left to carry the wounded. The few remaining medics rushed between people, treating and transporting those in need.

But everything was insufficient.

They had failed.

Everything had failed.

The walls had been breached. The first barricade had fallen. The second was nearly gone, and people were beginning to gather inside the inner fortress.

The sound of medical staff moving patients echoed frantically. Wheels rattled wildly. The few remaining fighters at the barricade could barely hold off the monsters.

“Ah… ah…”

She knelt before someone whose thigh had been pierced, unable to stand, losing consciousness from excessive bleeding, and pressed bandages against the wound while gasping for breath.

Her winter gear was soaked in sweat, cold seeping into her bones. Her hands were raw and frozen from repeated washing.

“J-just… just wait, please…!”

I want to lose consciousness.

That thought crossed Shin Yerim’s mind.

After seeing people she knew lying dead in corners, unrescued, about six times… it felt like her mind was collapsing.

But she couldn’t break.

She had responsibility.

The responsibility for all of this was clear.

With dimming eyes, she forced her body to move… running, administering medicine, even as her wounds increased from being cut by people suffering from PTSD who lashed out at her.

But she didn’t even feel the pain in her fingertips.

This was something she had to bear.

Don’t die. Please, no one die. Just three more hours. If we endure three more hours…

We don’t have to win.

If we endure, that will be victory.

So no one…

“P-please, stay conscious…!”

Please… nobody die.

She ran frantically.

At the very front, she saw a familiar back still holding the line. Someone she had grown closer to through Nam Muyeong.

Unlike Nam Muyeong, he looked exactly like a 20-year-old man.

He had become a pillar.

Even when people were losing hope, they regained it by seeing him still standing.

He continuously relayed time updates through the communicator. Time was steadily decreasing. If they just endured, they would survive. If they stayed alive, they could leave this place.

His actions became a standard.

A boy in the middle of the sea.

The presence of ”Lee Hoin” itself gave energy that barely held this chaotic battlefield together.

‘He needs to rest…’

Since he had been deployed as a special unit, his fatigue must have accumulated heavily. Yet he continued swinging his greatsword.

Compared to earlier, it was clearly slower. His movements dulled. His breathing grew ragged.

Eventually, Yerim pulled out a potion and threw it toward him.

“L-Lee Hoin! C-catch!”

He turned his head and caught the flying bottle with beast-like reflexes.

“T-that’s… a potion… a fatigue recovery potion!”

She didn’t know how effective it would be, but at least…

He stared at it briefly, then uncapped it and drank. Then he turned back and silently raised his sword again.

Yerim also turned away and ran toward others.

 

***

 

I opened my eyes immediately and checked the remaining time.

One hour.

Damn it.

From beyond the inner walls, screams echoed, and through the communicator, different voices were heard now.

 

—

[…My name is Kim Seohyun, 28, female, living in Eunpyeong-dong, Seoul… If someone returns to Earth, please tell them I lived…]

[Please… send medical support here… people are dying…]

—

 

This was no longer structured communication.

It was desperate cries.

A collapsing stage.

In that place, we struggle to be remembered.

I stood up.

And placed my hand over my master’s body.

“…Answer me, Master. Your damn foolish last disciple has come.”

 

—

[Broken Oath (1)]

The night when the dead were brought back.

Who passed it down… doesn’t matter.

※ Contracted soul: 0/1

※ The current “owner’s” level is far below the skill’s level. Operation may be difficult.

—