Lunatic Chapter 1

Chapter 1. 

The Plague—or the Black Death. 

It’s the name of the disease that led the world to ruin decades before I was born. According to my fathers, a great war broke out over the cure for that disease, and that war is what left the world in the state it is now.

Before the Great War, they say there used to be things called nations, and governments that ruled them. There were medical technologies that could treat and even cure most illnesses, and cutting-edge technology that allowed people to communicate in real time with others across the ocean.

They even said tens of millions of people lived together, and that if someone hurt or stole from others, they’d be punished under laws created by everyone in the country. It was hard to believe—but I loved sitting on my fathers’ knees and listening to those unbelievable stories from history. I loved the peacefulness that filled our home during those times.

“Liars…”

I choked up as I stared at the smoke rising endlessly into the gloomy sky, dark as if rain would pour at any moment.

“Liars…”

Uncle Young-woong and Uncle Tae-hoon. My fathers. They were the ones who took in a newborn abandoned to die, gave her a name, and raised her as their own—foolishly kind, gentle men. And now, they were burning along with the home they had so lovingly built.

I stared blankly at the flames, flickering endlessly like they would burn forever, then slowly looked down at the lifeless form sprawled beside me.

“Berry…”

Our family’s loyal hunting dog, Berry, lay stretched out beside my feet, dead. A bullet hole no bigger than a button was in his head. His white muzzle was stained with blood—proof that he’d bitten someone in the end.

I roughly wiped my tear-streaked cheeks with my scorched sleeve. The moment I saw the house burning, I ran inside to find my fathers. But all I found were their mutilated bodies, limbs severed—no hope they had made it out alive.

I clenched my teeth, recalling the last conversation I’d had with Uncle Tae-hoon that afternoon.

[Yeonwoo. Don’t come home until the guest leaves, okay? Stay by the zelkova tree and I’ll come get you once the guest is gone.]

[What am I, a kid? Playing in the dirt? I’ll go check the traps on the mountain and be under the tree before sunset.]

[Okay. Watch out for animals. Don’t climb just any rock—you could get hurt. And take Berry with you.]

[Berry only listens to you guys. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine on my own.]

That was the last conversation I had with him. Uncle Tae-hoon never came to get me, even after the sunset and night fell. He was dead—his head cut off.

They said a guest was coming. Not the peddler man who visited once or twice a month, but someone they had formally invited.

There had been times when people lost in the mountains stumbled into our abandoned village. But never before had an invited guest found their way to our home. After all, we lived deep in the mountains, far from anywhere.

When I was younger, I would secretly listen to the stories the chatty peddler told my fathers—horrors from beyond the mountains. Every time, I would imagine the scariest things I could, trembling in fear, and my fathers would hold me tight and soothe me.

[Don’t worry about anything, Yeonwoo. We’re here for you.]  

[That’s right. You just have to trust your fathers.]

We’ll protect you. Our family will always be together.

“Liars! You said you’d stay by my side! That we’d always be together!”

I screamed hoarsely at the house engulfed in flames.

“You promised! You said we’d be happy together forever!”

Even when I threw tantrums, my fathers would always smile and gently calm me down. “Our sweet daughter—even your little fits are adorable,” they would say.

But now, their breath had stopped. And there was no one left to soothe my whining or comfort my sorrow.

“Hic… Hah… A-Appa…”

The only reason they could afford to indulge my childishness was because this mountain had always been safe. Wild animals might roam nearby, but we were far, far removed from the horrifying world the peddler used to speak of.

They said babies and women were traded like objects. That knife fights broke out almost daily to steal food and weapons, and people were constantly being killed. The peddler who had survived well over forty years below the mountain said he was still scared stiff every single day. He even added a grim joke: if a different peddler ever showed up instead of him one day, it meant the guy had finally gotten stabbed in the gut and died.

“Waaaah! Uncle… sob… Little Uncle…”

A swirl of emotions—fury toward the enemy who killed my fathers, sorrow over their deaths, and the shock of being left all alone in the world—consumed me. Fear surged over me, triggered by the sudden absence of the strong, loving figures who had always protected me.

Without realizing it, I begged aloud for them not to leave me behind. That quickly turned into a desperate scream for them to come back. I remember watching helplessly as the roof, patched with metal sheets after last year’s rainy season, collapsed into the flames. I screamed until my throat was raw, crying in vain.

I had no sense of how much time had passed. The fire that had consumed our house kept burning through the night, as if it still had more to destroy. I sat in the yard in a daze, collapsed with exhaustion. Only when the soft light of dawn began to break did the flames begin to subside, and I stared blankly at them with dry, lifeless eyes.

“Do you live here?”

Amid the crackling of flames that had been the only sound all night, a stranger’s voice reached my ears. I felt the presence right behind me. Startled, I shrank my neck and, frozen with fear, forced myself to turn around.

“…Who… are you?”

My hoarse voice rasped out unpleasantly, enough to make my own brow furrow. But the man standing before me just looked down with an unreadable, expressionless face. There was no sign of pity, nor any disdain. He simply addressed me because I was there—his demeanor cold and detached.

“How many people live here? Is there another village nearby?”

“…Yesterday, someone visited looking for my fathers… was that you?”

“…I just got here. I followed the smoke.”

I glanced at the man up and down with dry, wary eyes. With the rising sun behind him, his face was cast in shadow, but I could see a scruffy beard covering it. 

He was massive and imposing, his clothes old and worn, but thick and sturdy like the ones my uncle wore when he went hunting. His large, gloved hands—each the size of my face—rested near a threatening hammer strapped to his waist, ready to be wielded at any moment.

Under my guarded gaze, the man spoke again.

“I’m looking for a place to settle. I came up this mountain to live quietly, away from people. So if there’s a community here, I’d appreciate it if you told me. I’m not looking to bother anyone. If people have already settled here, I’ll quietly leave.”

Taller than either of my fathers, with a solid, muscular build—he wore strength like armor, his presence radiating toughness.

I staggered to my feet and stood facing him, meeting his eyes directly.

There was no trace of deception in his steady gaze. He really did seem to have just arrived and had nothing to do with my fathers’ deaths.

It wasn’t until I looked into his eyes for a while that I noticed they weren’t ordinary. Unlike mine or my fathers’, his irises were a deep blue, like the glass marbles I used to treasure.

Surprised by the striking color—my first time seeing such blue eyes—I lost my words and just stared. He was a foreigner. The kind of foreigner I’d only seen in book illustrations.

As my silence dragged on, the man clicked his tongue and narrowed his brows slightly. When it seemed like he was about to turn and leave, I snapped out of it and took a step toward him. The color of his eyes didn’t matter. That wasn’t what was important right now.

“There’s no other village on this mountain. Those houses over there—they’re all abandoned.”

Thankfully, he reacted to my hurried response.

“So you’re the only one living here?”

“For now… yeah. The peddler comes by maybe once or twice a month for herbs or things like that…”

The man still looked displeased, his brow furrowed. It seemed the thought of others passing through bothered him. Afraid he’d lose interest in the mountain, I quickly added.

“But—but! If you go two or three more hours up the mountain, there’s a cabin even the peddler doesn’t know about. My dad used to stay there when hunting or gathering herbs.”

His gaze, which had been locked on my hollowed face, now slowly dropped to my burned and tattered clothes.

“There’s a clean stream near the cabin. Plenty of game to hunt, fruit trees… even some flat land you could use as a field…”

“So?”

“S-So…”

I clasped my trembling hands together to hide the shaking. My head throbbed from staying awake for so long, but I held on to consciousness with sheer will.

“You can have it all. The cabin, the mountain.”

“….”

“In return… help me get revenge. Help me kill the one who murdered my fathers.”

I barely managed to get the words out in a trembling voice. But the man simply scanned me with an indifferent gaze, showing no reaction. Growing anxious, I hesitantly stepped closer to him. He didn’t stop me.

“There’s… food stored in the house down the hill. Things like sweet potatoes… You can have those too. Please, I’m begging you. Help me.”

“There’s no need to go through the trouble of helping you. I could just kill you right here and take everything for myself.”

“W-what…?”

The man’s chilling words left my mind spinning.