Strongest Deliveryman In The Apocalypse

The acrid stench of iron lingered in the still air.

"Haaa…" Sobin let out a long sigh, dragging the back of his sleeve across his cheek, smearing away a streak of blood that didn't even belong to him.

His boots squelched as he stepped between mangled corpses, each one a shattered reminder of how pitifully weak the so-called Plunderers had been.

"Seriously?" Sobin muttered, nudging one of the bodies with his foot. "This was supposed to be a Plunderer base?"

The corpse didn't answer, of course, though Sobin half expected it to apologize for wasting his time. He had come prepared for at least some form of challenge.

Maybe a duel worth sweating over, or at minimum, a coordinated ambush.

Instead, what he got was… this.

Sobin was beginning to think that maybe Plunderers weren't all they were cracked up to be.

Blood pooled around his boots.

Severed limbs decorated the sand like discarded props from a horror stage play.

A few weapons lay scattered where the Plunderers had dropped them mid-scream. Sobin stepped past all of it with the same lack of ceremony a janitor might have when sweeping up dust.

"They were even weaker than the last gang," he sighed again, voice heavy with disappointment.

"At this point, I should keep my expectations low for their loot."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered into the crude excuse for a base.

Ramshackle walls of corrugated metal leaned precariously, half of them collapsing from the force of Sobin's entrance. A couple of half-burned crates sat open inside.

Sobin crouched beside one, lifting the lid.

"…Beans," he muttered flatly.

The next crate: "More beans."

The third: "Oh look. A gun. A rusty one. Amazing."

He held up the battered firearm, tested the grip, then promptly tossed it over his shoulder. It clattered against the wall with a sad little thunk.

"Zone E's notorious Plunderers, reduced to hoarding canned food and cheap weapons. Pathetic." Sobin dusted off his hands and rose to his feet, frowning.

The last base he hit had at least boasted a stash of quality rifles and a hidden stock of rare meds.

By comparison, this looked like the aftermath of a toddler's shopping spree.

"Nothing worth taking. Not even a souvenir." Sobin began to walk out as he said this.

[What were you expecting? This was a mission meant to promote you to D Class. Did you really expect it to be very difficult?]

"... Maybe?"

[You're an idiot]

"Hey! No calling each other names! Two can play at this game, you know?"

[Try your worst, dumbass]

"Seriously? Stop it… Clanker."

[That's… alright then, I apologize]

"Much better!"

He started toward Bessie, already picturing himself back behind the wheel, humming as the truck's engine purred beneath him.

He might even allow himself a nap.

Then—

KABOOOOOM!

The entire world ignited behind him.

Sobin stopped mid-stride as fire and pressure roared out, swallowing the rickety base in a thunderous explosion. The ground heaved, flames licked skyward, and shrapnel screamed through the air.

A wave of black smoke slammed into him head-on.

"Ack… kack!" Sobin emerged seconds later, stepping through the rolling inferno with a light cough, brushing soot off his jacket.

His clothes remained spotless. Not a thread out of place.

"Ugh. Smells terrible." He pinched his nose, squinting into the smoke. "Was that… someone farting? Because if so, they need medical attention."

A shape stood in the distance, the faint gleam of metal catching the sun.

Sobin's eyes narrowed, locking onto a figure holding what could only be a shoulder-mounted launcher.

"Well, well. Looks like someone's cranky."

He walked forward, not hurried, not cautious—just casually striding across scorched earth as if returning from a grocery store errand. The closer he got, the more details came into view: the figure wore a Rider's uniform, dust-stained but intact, and clutched an identification card in trembling hands.

"W-wait! Don't misunderstand!" the man stammered, hastily lowering the missile launcher. His face was pale, sweat dripping down despite the dry wind. "I wasn't aiming at you! I was aiming for the base!"

Sobin stopped a few feet away, eyebrow arched.

"…You fired a missile at a base I already cleared?"

The man coughed awkwardly, flashing the ID card like it was a talisman warding off death.

"I'm a Rider! See? Official business. I was assigned to take down this Plunderer base. I—I didn't realize someone had already handled it."

Sobin leaned forward, studying the card. The lamination gleamed convincingly.

He nodded once.

"Oh. My bad then. Should've left you something to shoot at."

The man blinked, clearly not expecting Sobin to accept the flimsy excuse. Relief flickered in his eyes as Sobin straightened again, dusting off his hands.

"No harm done. Sorry for stealing your job." Sobin offered him a small, apologetic smile. "We sort of got off on the wrong foot. I'm Sobin, you?"

"Erm… Gary?"

Gary had already shown Sobin his ID Card, so he wondered why he simply didn't catch his name from there. Maybe Sobin simply didn't care enough to pay attention to it.

Or… maybe he was simply an idiot.

"It's always nice to meet a fellow Rider on the job, Gary. Sorry about… all of this." Sobin apologized once again.

"N-no problem! Really!" the man laughed nervously, clutching the card tighter. "We can just… part ways now, right? You go your way, I go mine."

"Sure, sure." Sobin turned to leave, then paused mid-step.

He looked back, expression thoughtful.

"By the way… where's your ride?"

The question landed like a guillotine.

The man froze, mouth opening, then closing again. His "ride"—his heavily modified vehicle, his pride and symbol of leadership—was currently a pile of twisted scrap inside the flaming wreck Sobin had just walked out of.

The honest truth was that Gary—this D Rank Rider—was actually a part of the Plunderer Base.

In fact, he was their leader.

After Sobin decimated everyone and ruined his base of operations, he thought he could at least get revenge by killing him and perhaps stealing his truck.

… How wrong he was.

"It's… complicated," he stammered, praying Sobin wouldn't press further.

Sobin tilted his head, unreadable.

"Complicated, huh?"

The man nodded rapidly. "Y-yes. Complicated."

Silence stretched.

The only sound was the crackle of fire behind them.

The false Rider's pulse thundered in his ears. If Sobin suspected anything—if he realized the truth—that he wasn't just a Rider, but the very Plunderer leader Sobin had unknowingly just robbed of both men and base—then his life was as good as over.

Then Sobin's hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"A-ah!" The man flinched so hard his knees nearly gave out.

His mind screamed at him to run, to fight, to do anything but stand here. Yet his body locked stiff, frozen under the weight of Sobin's casual grip.

But then—

"You can ride with me."

The words hit him like a slap.

"…E-eh?"

Sobin smiled, warm and inviting, as though this entire conversation wasn't happening in the middle of a battlefield littered with corpses and ash.

"You don't have a ride, right? It's fine. Bessie's roomy enough. I'll give you a lift."

"Y-you're serious?" Gary swallowed hard, dread sinking into his bones as Sobin cheerfully guided him forward.

He had wanted Sobin dead, but now he was being asked to share a cabin with him.

The irony was almost enough to make a grown man cry.