Ch. 4 Murim Psychopath Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Log Out

He did not know whether his own body had tilted and collided, or whether the other side had crashed into him. Sensation had already been fading from his body.

“Did this bastard lose his mind?”

A rough curse rang out. It was that voice from just now.

Was it Machil? That was what he thought at first.

Thud, thump.

In an instant, three or four savage blows buried themselves in Sosam’s abdomen.

“Ugh!”

It hurt. It hurt as if he were dying.

Only after tasting the iron of the fist did Sosam realize this wasn't Machil. Machil’s violence was blunt and lazy; these strikes were sharp, vicious, and infused with a precision that felt like his belly was being shredded from the inside out.

Saliva streamed from his mouth, and tears burst from his eyes. It was not because he was sad. It was because it hurt. He thought he had become accustomed to being beaten by now, but this was far too painful. If there was anything fortunate at all, it was that his vision, which had blurred from the pain, was recovering at least a little.

“Huh…ugh. Keuh…ugh….”

His lungs refused to expand. Gasping for air that wouldn't come, Sosam collapsed to his knees. Even in the dirt, he used every remaining scrap of willpower to lift his chin.

A familiar face came into view. He did not know the name clearly, but it was one of the warriors of the Danli Clan.

Thud. A heavy boot caught Sosam across the jaw.

“S-spare….”

After taking a kick infused with internal energy, Sosam could not even finish begging to be spared.

The answer was cold and absolute. This situation was the only answer the world would give him. The Murim had never been a sanctuary for the weak. It was not a world built for herbivorous insects to survive.

“What is this piece of horseshit babbling about? Speak up, you filth.”

The curses were followed by a rain of endless, rhythmic kicks.

Sosam no longer felt the impacts. He was fading. He realized, with a strange clarity, that he had already stepped halfway into the gray mists of the Underworld.

It was unfair. He had only wanted to live somehow, in any way at all, yet he could not understand why the world treated him like this.

A sudden, black tide of resentment surged within him. He wanted to kill Machil, the spark that had lit this fire. He wanted to kill the warrior currently trampling his ribs. He wanted to slaughter every member of the Danri Clan who had looked through him as if he were glass.

He simply wanted to kill everyone. He wanted to tear the world apart with his bare hands.

But.

The words that came out of his mouth were different.

“…Sp…are…me….”

The only words his lips could fashion were a final, pathetic whimpering for mercy.

Thud.

That was the last sound he made in the land of the living.

Though his life had been a sustained hell, he had wanted to endure it until the very last second. And so, Sosam, the master of soul No. 3789028376 of the 112th Dimensional Plane, let go of the life he had fought so desperately to keep.

● ● ●

Thud.

“Kraah!”

With a soulless scream, a ‘Neighborhood Thug Elite’ died.

Dong Bong-su’s spear didn't linger. With every practiced arc of the weapon, another thug, elite or common, was swept into the dirt. It was a futile exercise; no matter how many he culled, the numbers never dwindled. They respawned in a continuous, mindless loop. Around him, other players were engaged in the same indiscriminate slaughter, hacking away at the endlessly regenerating mobs.

That was not all.

Despite using his body for such a long time, he did not feel tired at all.

It had not even been long since he logged in, yet Dong Bong-su had already lost interest in ‘Murim Online’.

Was this really the kind of game for which claims were raised that murder cases had increased due to the harmful effects of gaming?

Completely below expectations. He thought he had found a new hunting ground….

This was not a hunting ground but a playground.

The blood that sprayed when a thug died was the correct color, but it was a lie. It lacked the visceral heat, the metallic musk, and the intoxicating, sticky resistance of the real thing. There was no ‘hand-feel’, no feedback of steel meeting bone and sinew. Even the players being counterattacked and killed died with grins on their faces.

Dying was not truly dying. Killing was not truly killing. The acts of killing and being killed here were nothing more than play, not slaughter.

Worse still, there wasn't a single ‘carnivore’ to be found. The players and NPCs alike were either mindless toys or, at best, docile insects.

He hadn't expected the world of Murim to be a perfect mirror of reality, but the gap was cavernous. He had hoped for a digital fishing spot where he could occasionally feel the pull of a line, but this was a stagnant pond.

After caving in the skull of yet another charging thug, Dong Bong-su made his decision.

This would never be a hobby. Leveling up would change the numbers, but it wouldn't change the texture of the blood or conjure a true predator out of thin air.

A fake was a fake. It could never satisfy a man who knew the real thing.

Dong Bong-su turned his back on the battlefield, his mind already drifting back to the streets overflowing with genuine prey.

“Log Out.”

Dong Bong-su’s low, precise voice.

At the same time, his game character disappeared from the virtual reality game Murim, and Dong Bong-su’s consciousness also shut down.

In Korea. No, on Earth. No, in the Dimensional Plane to which Earth belonged.

That moment was—

The very moment Belteruk’s Soul Grafting succeeded.

Thus, Dong Bong-su, the owner of the soul numbered 3789028376 of the 111th Dimensional Plane, ‘logged in’ to the 112th Dimensional Plane.

● ● ●

“Umm….”

The moment consciousness returned, a wall of agony slammed into his chest. It was a crushing, suffocating pressure that made every breath a battle. His bones felt like powdered glass; his muscles shrieked in a cacophony of trauma, as if every fiber was on the verge of snapping.

Even his eyes were so swollen that they would not open properly.

What is this? Was I finally caught by the police?

Dong Bong-su thought that his past actions had finally fallen into the investigative net.

Three hundred and thirty-two murders.

He had thought it was perfect, but perhaps it had not been perfect after all.

Heh.

A dry, rattling laugh escaped his throat.

Well, it had been a dangerous vocation. He had known it would end eventually, and if this was the conclusion, so be it. He felt no regret. As long as he breathed, the hunt could continue. Wasn't South Korea effectively a non-death penalty state? Unless they drafted a law specifically for him, he would live to see another day.

The Republic of Korea, a nation of human rights, was the best hunting ground for a predator like Dong Bong-su.

But as the seconds ticked by… something felt wrong.

South Korea was a bastion of civil liberties. No matter the body count, a suspect couldn't be tortured to the brink of death without a trial. Even the most zealous investigators wouldn't risk this level of brutality.

Judging from the sensations he felt in his body, the injuries he had sustained would require him to lie still for at least several months to even have a chance of recovery. A slight misstep and he might have died.

This was not for interrogation, and yet they beat an unconscious suspect to this extent?

Unless all of Dong Bong-su’s charges were fully proven, such actions would place enormous pressure on the police. If the media and human rights activists raised an uproar, it would be the police who would suffer the headaches.

From Dong Bong-su’s perspective, it would have been welcome, but unless the police were idiots, there was no way they would handle things like this.

This was….

Wasn’t this far too strange?

Bong-su forced his eyes open. A searing needle of pain shot through his optic nerves. His vision was restricted to a sliver, perhaps a fifth of his normal range. Everything else was a blur of shadows.

A pale, silvery light filtered in from above, suggesting the onset of evening. The glow was dazzling to his damaged eyes, but it told him one vital thing.

Moonlight.

Naturally, this was not his room.

Because there was a window. Every source of light that existed in his room came from electric lighting.

Dong Bong-su slowly examined the environment where he was lying.

Immediately, a creaking sound came from his neck.

It further restricted his already limited movement. Even so, he endured the pain in his neck, minimized its use as much as possible, and rolled his eyeballs to look around. Because he could only open his eyes to a squint, they were not functioning properly, but even that was enough.

The first thing that entered his field of vision was several fairly large animals with long faces. He had never seen them in person even once, but they were animals he had encountered countless times through television.

A stable?

They were horses.

The air was a thick, suffocating bouquet of manure, rotting straw, and the heavy musk of livestock. Even if someone had planted a horse in his apartment as a joke, the smell wouldn't be this entrenched. This place was ancient with filth.

His brain began to churn, his predatory instincts flaring as he analyzed the unpredictability of his environment.

Then, his gaze caught something impossible. Something grotesque.

What is this!?

Translucent, shimmering letters were overlaid across the horse’s face. He snapped his head to the side. The horse remained, but the text followed his line of sight, hovering in the center of his vision.

He blinked, testing the phenomenon. The letters stayed anchored to his field of view—not as a flat image, but as a three-dimensional, solid construct.

A holographic window?

The memory was fresh. He had seen this format only moments ago in Murim Online.

A message of greeting, floating in the void of the VR world.

[ Welcome to Murim Online, the world of the truly strong. ]