A truck with a strange symbol engraved on it began to roll into the parking lot, where soldiers were standing on high alert.

On top of the vehicle, something was written in Sanskrit.

As the driver’s door opened, a junior colleague of mine jumped out and came running toward me, shouting loudly.

“Senior! I’m here!!”

“Yeah, I can hear you just fine. No need to shout.”

I couldn’t help but smile a little at my junior’s familiar behavior.

I had been incredibly pressed for time, so I had entrusted him with a few crucial tasks.

Considering how tight the deadline was, he had done an outstanding job.

When the cargo compartment of the truck he arrived in was opened, a thick scent of blood suddenly filled the air.

Accompanied by heavy footsteps, a huge man appeared.

He was so enormous that only a large truck’s cargo hold could have accommodated him.

A giant who stood nearly 3 meters tall.

What was even more impressive was his massive bulk of muscles, as large as his height.

Despite his bulging muscles, the deep wrinkles on his face hinted at his old age.

“Old man, you’ve gotten even bigger since last time.”

In his right hand, he held a giant stone staff, in his left, a large book, and around his neck, prayer beads.

Though he looked like a monk, in reality, he had nothing to do with Buddhism.

In fact, if you looked at his face, you’d hardly think of a monk.

That’s because his eyes were filled with large nails, hammered in tightly.

He had driven those nails into his eyes in his desperate search for his daughter.

I led the old man to a place where he could stay.

“Old man, just wait here.”

“Understood.”

The old man was a crucial part of my plan.

He was the insurance in case the search ended in failure.

The object the old man carried was dangerous to use, but he had willingly accepted my request.

Perhaps he was helping me to repay the favor I did for him when he was searching for his daughter.

The ability of the “Book of Prophecy” that the old man possessed was simple.

It could reveal the location of an object nearby.

It was the perfect object for finding something in a confined space like this.

However, the problem was that to use the book, he had to destroy his own eyes with nails, and there were several other side effects.

His enormous size was one such side effect, which was sure to have fatal consequences.

I had always told him to stop using the book if he wanted to live longer, but the old man never listened.

Of course, I had little credibility, given that I continued to carry Watson around.

The “Book of Prophecy” was perhaps a lesser object compared to Watson, but it was necessary to solve this case.

I could probably find the answer to this case by asking Watson.

But my instinct told me this was the kind of request I should never make.

“I must never ask Watson to solve this case.”

That was the feeling I had.

Ignoring this instinct might lead to something terrible.

More people arrived after that.

There were freelancers who survived by reporting on objects they found while wandering around Seoul Forest and the research institute’s search team, which mainly conducted search operations.

I borrowed as many hands as my influence allowed.

The only regret was that I couldn’t bring in the black-suited investigators from the Central Research Institute, but they were busy with hearings these days, so it couldn’t be helped.

There were two plans: A for search and B for using objects.

Plan A was the camp search operation carried out by experts in investigation and search.

If the object was found through their efforts, it would be the best outcome.

Plan A, the normal search, was almost certain to fail, but it had to be done, so it was Plan A.

If they couldn’t find anything, we would move on to Plan B.

The “Book of Prophecy,” which could reveal the location of an object, should be able to find it for sure.

The book’s range was broad enough to cover the entire camp, so there was no worry about missing it.

But if we still couldn’t find it?

Would we just have to watch the missile strike happen?

Or would I have to turn to Watson?

I looked down at the camp from the high walls.

Before the missiles arrived, we had to completely secure the camp and find the object responsible for creating the butterflies.

However, just by looking, it was clear that this was going to be difficult.

“Wow, is that really the evacuee camp? The people are positioned like guards.”

“That’s the problem. It’s tough to infiltrate.”

If we caused a commotion, journalists from places like “Daily Object,” who were looking for stories near the evacuee camp, would swarm in and start taking photos.

To avoid headlines like “Forced Suppression of Evacuee Camp” or “Oppression by Authorities,” we had to handle things quietly and quickly.

Plan 0 - Capture everyone in the camp as quickly as possible.

Plan A - Search the camp with the search teams.

Plan B - Have the old man use the “Book of Prophecy” in the center of the camp to find the target object.

“In the end, if Plan Zero doesn’t work, we can’t do anything else, can we?”

My junior was deep in thought, alternating between the operation map and the plan sheet.

“Senior, can’t we just shoot them all? They say there are no survivors anyway, right? We have soldiers—let’s just kill them all!”

My junior once again came up with a reckless idea.

“Oh! But if we use guns, the noise will attract the journalists! And the soldiers don’t even know the full details, right? Ugh, what do we do? Isn’t there another way?”

There was clearly some means by which the Gray Reaper could suppress the butterflies, but considering there hadn’t been any changes in the camp yet, was it taking longer to have an effect? Or does the Gray Reaper need to do something directly?

Not being able to communicate was truly inconvenient.

Speaking of which, where did the Gray Reaper, who was here just a moment ago, disappear to?

It seemed clear that these detectives couldn’t solve the case without my help.

If the problem they faced at the Central Research Institute was Agu, this time, it was the “butterfly-infected.”

They were already aware that the infected were no longer human, but unable to prove it, they were forced to treat them as such.

Listening to the detective and his assistant’s pointless discussions, I had a realization.

Yes, if I just burst them all, the problem would be solved.

There’s no need to struggle like we did with Agu.

The butterfly-infected burst the moment I touch them.

With that in mind, even the wall I had thought was meaningless seemed to have a purpose.

I crossed the wall in ghost form and found a man lying on the ground, spewing blood from his mouth—he was practically dead.

Wasn’t he the reporter from “Daily Object”?

It looked like he was trying to say something, mumbling with his mouth, but what was it?

The butterfly-infected were gathered around him, feeding him butterflies.

The man, who had turned into something like leather, quickly swelled up again, regaining his human shape.

The behavior of the butterflies seemed a bit different from what I had seen at the Central Research Institute.

They seemed smarter and more horrifying now.

They also seemed to consume a person much faster.

The butterflies didn’t react much, probably because it was their first time seeing me.

I walked up to the man with a broad smile, and with a light tap, he exploded.

With a pop, the human burst like a water balloon, leaving behind only torn pieces of skin and myself, drenched in blood.

The butterfly-infected, now realizing the situation, scattered in all directions, trying to escape.

And so, the fun game of hide-and-seek began!

“Aaaaaah!”

A scream echoed from a corner of the camp in the distance.

I covered my mouth with both hands and took slow, deep breaths.

I mustn’t get caught. I mustn’t get caught.

If I’m caught, I’ll turn back into a butterfly.

Squish, squish.

I could hear the soft sound of footsteps pressing against the sandy ground.

“Hick.”

Startled, I let out a sharp gasp.

The sound was far away, wasn’t it? I was sure it was far away!

Tap, tap, tap.

A small, cute knocking sound echoed.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

The knocking grew faster and faster, and I held my breath, praying and praying that the Reaper would pass by without noticing me.

Bang!

The wall of the container burst open, and a small arm of the Reaper shot through.

“Aaaaah!”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The Reaper’s arm kept breaking through the container wall, over and over.

All I could do was scream and tremble uncontrollably.

From the large hole in the container, the Reaper’s face emerged.

With its eyes glowing a terrifying golden hue, the Reaper’s expression was blank, but it felt to me as though it was saying, “Found you!”

“Aaaaah! Please, save me!”

I clenched my teeth and ran like a madman.

But this camp was a closed space, walled off on all sides.

There was nowhere to run.

There was no place to escape the monster.

Eventually, I was caught, and as my body dissolved into blood, I watched, as a butterfly, the scene of my demise.

This post was easy enough, but there were so many strange things about it.

It was odd enough that we were ordered to lock down a civilian camp with steel walls and keep a strict watch over it.

And despite the stern warnings, the duty had been unusually quiet.

As usual, we were at the guard post on top of the wall, leaving the quiet shift behind and heading down to make some ramen when we heard a strange sound.

“Let me in! Open the gate now! There’s a monster—a monster is coming! Open up right now!”

A camp resident was banging on the iron gate, screaming at us.

When I took over this post, I had heard stories about attempts like this happening frequently.

They said people would try to draw attention to get the gate open, and as soon as it was, they’d rush in and attempt to escape.

Since then, no matter what kind of noise we heard, the manual for the guard post was to ignore it.

But the odd thing was that usually, the excuse was that someone was sick. A monster? That’s ridiculous.

It wasn’t even funny.

The banging sound, which had been loud and persistent, gradually faded away until it stopped altogether.

“What’s this? Nothing to worry about after all, huh?”

I turned to talk to the junior soldier next to me, but he didn’t respond.

When I looked over, I saw that he had gone completely pale, his mouth hanging open, pointing toward the gate with his hand.

I followed the direction he was pointing and saw that thick, dark blood was pouring relentlessly through the cracks in the firmly closed iron gate.